#Butcher x Latina!OC
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And So It Goes - Part 18
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Word Count: 5,600
Tags/Warnings: Love triangle, tension, more of Ben’s asshole behavior, angst, hurt/comfort, implied smut
ASIG Series Masterlist
18: Being Human
Maybe I really do have a death wish, Helena thought, as she let the most wanted supe alive into her home.
Butcher and Hughie joined him, with the latter taking in her two-story house for the first time.
“Nice,” Hughie said with a nod. “This place is beautiful.”
Helena gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”
Though she gave Ben a pointed look. “Try not to break it, please.”
He shot her a raised brow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched her turn and show them one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Meanwhile, his gaze lingered on the curve of her ass in those jeans.
Butcher caught the supe’s lazy perusal with a sharp eye. Ben felt his stare and had the gall to shoot him a wink with his smile. Ben’s steps had a certain swagger as he followed Helena down the hall.
It succeeded in setting Butcher even more on edge.
Hughie glanced over at his friend with concern; he’d seen the exchange between the men and didn’t like the fact that Helena was caught in the middle. More and more, he was starting to question just what the hell they were doing.
“Are you sure about this?” Hughie asked.
Butcher didn’t even look at him. His ears were perked to the conversation Soldier Boy and Helena were having down the hall, about fresh bedsheets, of all things.
“There’s no turning back now,” Butcher said.
Hughie frowned. “I know, but…”
Butcher ignored him in favor of starting down the hall to follow Helena and the unstable supe he’d brought into her home.
After everyone had showered and changed and devoured a few pizzas Helena had ordered, Ben puttered through her living room, rummaging through her things. He opened drawers and surveyed her various picture frames, like he was actually interested in her life or something.
“Got any reefer?” he asked.
Helena rolled her eyes. There goes that theory.
Not that she wanted his interest.
“Fresh out,” she said wryly.
She watched him from her corner of the sofa while Hughie graciously did the dishes. Butcher was sitting at the breakfast nook with a cup of tea.
Helena knew he was monitoring the supe out of the corner of his eye, but she was now very careful in what she left on the TV. She didn’t think Dumb and Dumber should have anything triggering.
She eyed him more sharply when Ben started thumbing through her record collection.
“Hey, easy with my vinyl, please,” she said. “It’s vintage.”
He raised up one of your favorites: I Wanna Dance with Somebody.
“Sweetheart, I’m vintage. I think Whitney Houstonis safe with me,” he quipped wryly.
She rolled her eyes at him, but she had to fight a laugh.
“I knew her, by the way,” he mentioned.
Helena’s interest was piqued, with a tilt of her head. “Did you?”
“Yeah. Her and Bobby knew how the fuck to get down. That’s for damn sure.”
“Oh my God,” Helena giggled.
Butcher couldn’t fucking believe what was happening in front of him.
Well, technically, behind him. He was facing the kitchen, and it gave Hughie the vantage point to see Butcher���s irritation.
Helena was more amused than disgusted by the man’s ridiculous flirting. He was an old, old man in that 40s-ish, practically indestructible body. He was like a man out of time, complete with outdated sexism and hyper-machismo. His attempts were often so obvious, it was funny.
But, she also felt guilty for being able to laugh and be pleasant, when this was a man who had killed, and not just during his PTSD-fueled episodes over the past few days. This was the man who murdered M.M.’s grandfather.
The problem was, she had long ago become desensitized to asshole supes. And she couldn’t help her gut instinct…that there was more to Ben than met the eye.
Helena called it a night an hour or so later, when her eyes were starting to droop. She’d slept for a couple of hours in the car, but there was nothing like being back in her safe space, in fresh clothes, and soon to be in her own bed.
A knock at her bedroom door had her frowning in confusion. She put on a robe over her pajamas and opened the door. Her brows raised at finding Butcher there.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was deep and tired, full of gravel. He tried to slip past her inside the room, but she grabbed the doorjamb, blocking his way. She gave him a flat look.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked. He gestured to the bed with raised brows.
“To sleep. I’m fucking knackered, love.”
Helena’s lips formed a thin smile.
“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall,” she said. For a moment, they just stared at one another, as one refused to leave, and the other refused to bend.
“Hel,” Butcher tried.
“You ended this,” she said, pushing him back with a hand in the center of his chest.
“Technically, that was you,” he returned. He backed up a step, but wouldn’t let her move him much farther.
This time, her lips pursed and her expression tightened.
“You know what you said, Billy,” she said. “And you know what you did. You still don’t even have the decency to apologize.”
She stepped closer into his orbit, until her breasts barely brushed against his chest. He could feel the warmth of her skin under the thin cotton of her shirt, could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She leaned up on her toes and almost brushed her lips against his. She smelled minty fresh, along with the jasmine shampoo she often used.
“You…don’t get any part of this,” she said. “And you certainly don’t get to make some kind of claim on me just because you’re jealous.”
Helena pulled away. Butcher didn’t know what was more infuriating: not being able to touch her, or the deadly accuracy of her words.
“Jealous?” he said incredulously. “Of fucking what, might I ask?”
Instead of answering him, she smiled and closed her door in his face.
Butcher was left in the hall, teeth gritted and fists clenched. What the bloody hell just happened?
When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he trudged down the hall and into the second bedroom, where Hughie was already slipping into the queen-sized bed. Butcher yanked him out of bed, despite the younger man’s yelp and protest.
“Hey!”
“There’s a couch nice and comfy there for ya,” Butcher said, gesturing at the nearby sofa. It was little more than a loveseat. If Hughie was lucky, it would only be his legs hanging off the side.
He frowned. “Come on, man.”
Butcher shrugged off his jacket and boots, tossing them on a nearby accent chair.
“You can try your luck bunking with Soldier Boy downstairs, but that might be ill-advised,” he retorted.
And he got into bed, turning out the bedside lamp as he went.
Helena slept for maybe a couple of hours before her eyes opened in the dark, her heart racing. She groaned and covered her face with a hand.
She still saw flashes of manic blue eyes in her mind, a hand wrapped around her throat. She felt throbbing pain radiating from the side of her head and half her ribcage.
It forced her out of bed in search of her medication, which Butcher had somehow gotten for her without a prescription. She chose to ignore that fact, and she grabbed her pill bottle, put on her favorite robe over her pajamas, and ventured downstairs for a glass of water.
When she turned on the kitchen light, her bleary eyes made out a shape sitting at the breakfast nook.
She jumped halfway out of her skin, until she realized that it was just Ben, sitting there with two cartons of Mint Milano cookies and three empty beers from her fridge. He raised his brows at her.
“Evening, sweetheart,” he said, smirking when he eyed her fuzzy purple robe. “Cute.”
“Down, boy,” she warned. She laid a quivering hand on her chest and caught her breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She retrieved the jug of water from the fridge and asked him if he wanted some. He shook his head, leaving her to consider him as she poured herself a glass of water. She saw the familiar threads of self-medicating with the empty beer bottles.
“I can make you some tea,” she offered.
Ben frowned. “Piss water, you mean? I’ll pass.”
Helena rolled her eyes. She got out the chamomile anyway and started up the kettle. It was an electric brewer, so the water would be hot within minutes.
“It could help you sleep better,” she pointed out. She felt his hot gaze on her back as she went about her business in the kitchen. She set up two mugs and took out the bottle of honey.
“One of two things helps me sleep,” said Ben. “Good drugs or a good fuck.”
Helena paused. Her hand clenched on the honey bottle on reflex, and made a large spurt squeeze out in one of the mugs. She eyed him tartly over her shoulder.
“You’ll find neither in this house,” she said. Her tone was pointed. His sly gaze said he wasn’t too sure about that.
“What’s keeping you up?” she asked, and she put a cup of tea in front of him with honey already stirred in. He gave her a flat look.
“I don’t drink that shit,” he said. She smiled.
“But I made it especially for you,” she replied, saccharine sweet. “I thought guys like you were supposed to be chivalrous.”
Ben just stared at her, hard.
She stared at him right back and raised her brows.
“Just try it,” she cajoled. “You might like it.”
He still didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he slowly reached out and took the handle of the mug. He brought it to his lips and took a reluctant sip.
He grimaced. It was everything he thought it would be: weak in flavor, but warm and a hint sweet.
Helena smiled in satisfaction, and he fought one of amusement, even as he considered how sweet she might be to taste.
She went to get her own mug and her bottle of pain meds. While her back was turned, Ben poured most of the tea into the sink.
“Why’re you in my kitchen, eating all my cookies?” she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder while holding up one of the empty boxes of Milanos. “These are my favorites.”
Ben’s gaze roamed down the length of her fuzzy robe. It hinted at curves he’d already seen and taken note of. She was the hottest young thing he’d seen in…well, a while. Still, he’d be willing to eat up Miss Chiquita Banana and leave no crumbs.
“I’ve slept long enough,” he said. She turned back around, and he tried to disguise his hunger (for now).
Helena glanced up at him wryly. “Hmm. You’re allowed to say you can’t sleep.”
Ben didn’t answer, but he watched her struggle to open her pill bottle. She twisted and twisted the cap, applying pressure, but it refused to budge.
“Damn it. What, did they reinforce this with, titanium?” she muttered.
The pill bottle eventually broke free, raining little white pills onto the counter. A few of them rolled off to the floor.
Her shoulders deflated. “Of fucking course.”
With a sigh, she slowly bent down and gathered up the pills that fell. She grabbed onto the counter, but the sharpening pain in her ribs wouldn’t let her straighten up, let alone get back onto her feet. She looked up at Ben in annoyance. He was just sitting there, watching her in bemusement.
“Coño pero… Are you gonna help me, Mr. Chivalry?” she snarked. “Best generation, indeed.”
Ben raised a brow at her. “I might, if you ask a little fucking nicer.”
Helena gaped at him. What a dick.
But she expected nothing less, really. She let out a tense breath through her nose and through much effort, she angled a less pissed off face at him.
“Will you please give me hand off the damn floor?” she asked.
A smirk crossed his lips. He actually obliged her, sliding off his seat and coming her way around the kitchen counter. He bent down and helped her up with a hand on her lower back and her elbow. He didn’t back away from her until her feet were steady on the ground, and she nodded in thanks. He took a few pills out of her hand as payment, popping them into his mouth like Tic Tacs.
Helena sighed in annoyance. Unlike him, she actually needed those.
“Why’re you up, anyway?” Ben asked.
“Well, I could blame it on the pain,” she replied, after downing two pills with her water. “But um…I keep replaying yesterday in my head, over and over like a bad movie. It always stops at the part where I look up at Homelander’s psychotic fucking eyes, and I just…I knew.”
Helena shook her head. Ben’s lips tugged downward.
“Knew what?” he asked.
“I’m officially on his hit list now,” she said.
She knew it was partly her own fault. She chose to follow Butcher, to keep making reckless decisions. But at least now she wouldn’t have to spend every damn second of every day looking over her shoulder. She could just turn around and accept whatever happened next.
Helena could admit it though. She was afraid.
“What’s it like, not being afraid?” she asked Ben, with a small sarcastic huff. His brow arched.
“When you’ve routinely pounded Nazis up the ass, nothing much bothers you after that,” he said, sipping at his mug of tea. Though he soon grimaced again at the taste and pushed the offending drink away.
Deep inside, however, he refused to acknowledge the darker chasms. Stolen years that were now blurred together in memory, and yet, certain moments rang painfully clear. His eyes were unseeing for a moment, before they glanced back up at Helena.
He nearly missed the way she chuckled.
“That shit isn’t fooling for a second,” she said. “I saw you lose your grip, Ben.”
His gaze sharpened. His fist clenched on the counter.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he warned.
Her eyes narrowed. “Let me ask you a question. Do you really not remember M.M.’s family? Or was that routine for you too?”
He paused, his brows crunched in irritation.
“I don’t have to fucking justify myself to you. I was doing my fucking job. Sometimes—”
“What, shit happens?” She threw her hands up mockingly. “God, you’re just like Homelander. Like almost every supe I’ve ever met.”
He rolled his eyes, dismissive, but his anger was prickling just under the surface of his stoic front.
And on the off chance that it was a mask for any spark of shame he felt deep down, Helena was at least a little satisfied. For 100-something years of machismo and supe arrogance, that spark would’ve been well-won.
“Regret is human, Ben,” she said. “So is fear. And pain. And love.”
His face remained stoic. “I’m a lot fucking more than human.”
She huffed at that. “If you say so.”
She shook her head and delved back into her pantry. As a peace offering, she broke out her secret backup stash of cookies, that she doubted even Butcher knew about. They were raspberry and milk chocolate Milanos. She subtly shook the box at Ben with a smile.
He tilted his head. “I don’t remember that flavor.”
“Ooh. Brace yourself,” said Helena. She dug out the first two sleeves of cookies and gave him one.
“How come there’s five in yours?” he asked with a frown. There were only four cookies in his sleeve.
“The Lord giveth, and he taketh away,” she joked. “I get the bonus cookie.”
Ben gave her a deadpan look, but he ate in silence. He looked all surly, and she had to hold in a laugh. What a man-child.
Instead, she tossed her extra cookie at him. He raised a hand to instinctively fend off a projectile.
“Hey,” he said, with his mouth full.
Helena ended up giggling at the sight of crumbs falling from his mouth and in his beard. Again, man-child.
She wanted to hate him.
She should hate him, on principle alone.
Perhaps she had a weakness for deeply flawed men with massive egos. But fleeting as they were, she saw the glimpses of humanity in Ben—rare moments that got swallowed up by Soldier Boy.
In the morning, Butcher aimed to work on the list of safehouses where one of his most paranoid of ex-teammates, Mindstorm, could be hiding out. This next one was a few hours north. He’d be gone for the day, at least.
He was forced to leave Helena and Hughie behind, but not without a warning for the latter. Butcher had pulled Hughie aside and let him know that he wasn’t to leave her alone with Soldier Boy again, under any circumstances. Hughie didn’t have to ask “or what.”
Butcher was gone early in the morning. It allowed Helena and Ben to make their way into the kitchen slower in the morning. She was dressed for the day with her coffee mug in hand, sitting at the breakfast nook while Hughie caught up on the news from her laptop in the living room.
Ben grabbed a cup of coffee and took a seat next to her.
“What do you say you get started on breakfast. Huh, baby doll?” he asked. Or more like demanded, by his actual tone.
Helena shot him a dry look. “There’s cereal in the pantry.”
“Come on, now. I could use a home cooked meal,” he said.
Her brow twitched in irritation.
“It might be nice, since I have cracked ribs at the moment, if you might make yourself something,” Helena replied.
Ben gave her a smirk as he eyed her. “Why would I do that when you look like a perfectly good cook.”
“Oh, I am,” she said. “But I’m neither your servant nor your maid.”
“You’ve got two working hands, don’t you?” Ben remarked, as he sipped his coffee. “God fucking knows you’ve got a working mouth.”
Helena seethed as she got up from her chair, but not to make anyone a damn thing. She went to the sink to dump her empty coffee mug. She turned back to Ben and opened her mouth to say something she would very likely regret, but Hughie interjected, perhaps seeing that an explosion was about to happen.
“Uh, why don’t I make us something?” he said, getting up from the couch and heading into the kitchen with Helena. “I can whip us up some scrambled eggs. Bacon, if you’ve got it. Ooh, looks like you’ve got bread to make toast.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Knock yourself out.”
She ate her eggs on the couch in simmering silence while the news played on the TV. Hughie sat with her, casting her a look of concern every now and then. She ignored it all, including Ben’s less than discreet grumpy staring.
Apparently, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.
“I swear to Christ. What the fuck is wrong with women today?” he said.
What a good start, Helena thought sarcastically.
“My mom never kept my father waiting for a meal. Even when he came home at whatever goddamn hour of the night, she had a plate waiting for him,” he said.
Helena rolled her eyes and quipped dryly, “That plate must’ve been cold as hell.”
Ben eyed her as she got up from the couch and went to bring her plate to the sink. She had her back to him as she began to rinse the dishes and put them into the sink.
“When did women get so fucking lazy? And disrespectful,” he remarked.
Helena hit the lever on the sink closed to turn off the faucet. She turned around to face the man and crossed her arms.
“You want a fuckable maid, pay extra,” she said. “But if you want a partner you can rely on. Someone you can trust not to give you to the damn Russians, then you share the load. And you respect the woman who lets you into her bed.”
She turned back to the dishes so she wouldn’t have to look at Ben’s angry, brooding face. But the way she turned her back on him, along with her pointed words, irritated enough to spark his anger. He got up from his seat.
Hughie sensed the danger before Helena did. He stood and made a cautious approach to the kitchen.
Helena reached for a hand towel, and found her wrist encased with an iron grip. She gasped as Ben turned her to face him.
“I’ve put up with a lot from you,” he said. “I think I’ve been a gentleman, considering what a disrespectful little brat you are. But I really think you wanna get bent over my knee.”
His face told her that she wouldn’t enjoy it.
“Hey,” Hughie tried to intervene. “Let’s just calm down, all right?”
Helena let out a shaky breath, but she looked up at Ben and somehow managed to hold her ground, despite the iron grip on her arms.
“If it makes you feel better, go ahead,” she said. “Slap me around until I break.”
“Soldier Boy!” Hughie said in warning.
Ben ignored him. He stared down at Helena with cold anger in his eyes. His hold on her arms tightened, and it hurt. She failed to stifle a gasp of pain.
But she stared up at him defiantly, even though there were tears forming in her eyes.
“You want me to respect you? You killed my friend’s family, and you don’t even care,” she said. “I don’t see anything here that earns my respect.”
Ben reacted to her words, mostly with anger as his brows furrowed.
Hughie grabbed the supe’s shoulder. “Hey, man, just let her go!”
Ben shoved Hughie away so hard that it made the younger man slide across the kitchen and into the far wall, until he hit a bookshelf and fell to the ground.
Helena flinched in shock, and pain at the way he was still holding her. Ben saw it play across her face…and he let her go abruptly. He stared down at her for a moment, nostrils flaring with his heavier breathing. She tried to calm her own breathing as she met his gaze, wondering what he would do. Wondering if this was the moment she’d signed her own death warrant by being her smartass self.
But Ben walked away from her.
Well, stalked away, more like. He left through the front door and it swung open on its hinges.
Helena took in deep breathes of relief. Eventually she gathered enough of her wits to go to Hughie, who was still picking himself off the floor.
“I gotta go after him,” he said with a sigh.
“Get that man away from my house. I don’t care where you take him,” Helena said, frowning tersely. Hughie couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and touched her arm gently. She pulled away from his touch and held herself with crossed arms.
“I’m fine. Just go get him,” she replied.
He nodded and took off after Soldier Boy. It gave Helena the reprieve she needed to let out a long, tremulous breath. A tear fell down her cheek as she leaned on the kitchen counter.
She just couldn’t help taking her life into her hands.
Butcher returned to Helena’s house in the evening. Her car was still in the driveway, but when he let himself in with the spare key she’d given him, he realized that the house was empty, except for her.
She was washing dishes from a dinner she’d clearly made for just herself: a Lean Cuisine.
“Where the hell are Hughie and Soldier Boy?” he asked, approaching where she stood in the kitchen, dressed down in a long-sleeved shirt and yoga pants.
“I couldn’t give a fuck,” she said. “Hello to you too, by the way.”
Her voice had little energy in it, save for anger and sarcasm, and Butcher took notice. He frowned.
“You’re the one who brought ‘em here. Weren’t my fucking idea, remember?” he snarked back.
Helena finally gave up on the dishes and turned to him with angry tears in her eyes.
“But you’re the one who made it happen, Billy. You wanted to cut a deal with that ancient, unstable fucking asshole? Well, you got your damn wish,” she said. “You are the reason we’re in this mess.”
Butcher paused at the sight of her unshed tears. His jaw worked as he tried to make sense of why she was this upset, when just yesterday she was joking and laughing with the supe like he was the guest of honor.
His brows drew together. “What did he do?”
Helena refused to answer.
Butcher went to her and tried to grasp her arm, but she pulled away from him with a flinch. Her eyes flicked away from his.
Unbidden, it reminded him of the day he waited for her at her apartment. And she’d come home after work looking skittish and drained. She’d flinched away from his touch then, just like she’d done now. That had been the day Homelander nearly strangled her to death.
“What the fuck did he do, Helena?” Butcher repeated. She met his gaze.
“You better find him,” she said, “before he blows up another damn building.”
Butcher stared hard at her, but she wouldn’t say anything more.
He fished out his cell and called Hughie, who told him that he’d brought Soldier Boy to the Legend’s penthouse apartment in the city.
“Good,” Butcher nodded. “Keep him settled there while I look for Mindstorm.”
He glanced at Helena, but she was already walking away from him to finish cleaning up her kitchen.
Butcher ended his call. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’ve gotta go,” was what he settled on.
She shrugged. Butcher nearly sighed. He went to her though, while she was wiping down the counter with a clean rag. His hand reached out to touch her back, but at the last moment, he thought better of it. His arm drifted back to his side.
“You okay?” he asked gruffly.
“Like you care,” she said. Her tone was one of both snark and exhaustion. “Just go.”
Reluctantly, he went.
Helena was angry, to say the least—at Butcher, at Soldier Boy, and even at Hughie. She was also angry at herself for not having been able to leave well enough alone when Butcher left the first time.
Which first time? She snorted.
But she was especially mad at herself when she allowed the three men to traipse back into her home, a week later.
“‘Ullo, love,” Butcher greeted at her door.
They were covered with dried sweat and dirt, like they’d been hiking. She only let them in because of how they looked—each a bit rattled by whatever they’d faced. Her house was safer than the Legend’s at this point, Butcher explained.
“Just one night,” he asked. “We’ll fuck off in the morning.”
“Fine,” she agreed, despite her better judgment. Again, it was that look in his eyes. Unsteady.
Ben gave her a predictable once-over of her pajama shorts and tank-top, but it seemed he didn’t have it in him to volley with her like usual, especially after what happened last time. He didn’t acknowledge that as he made his way to one of the guest rooms.
Helena followed Hughie and Butcher upstairs…but something made her grab Butcher and steer him away from the second guest bedroom.
He wasn’t sure what she was doing while she guided him into the bathroom in her room. There he leaned against the counter of the bathroom sink. She picked the twigs out of his hair and brushed the dried mud from his shirt.
“Did you take a dirt nap or something?” she asked.
“Something like that,” he replied.
“What the hell happened then?”
He looked down at her. “Mindstorm is dead.”
She sighed at that, but something else was there, behind his eyes. Just under the surface.
“And what else?” Helena asked.
Butcher remained quiet, hesitating. She slowly took a chance by reaching for his scarred hand. She held it with both of hers.
He couldn’t help himself. He brushed his thumb over the back of her warm, tan, smooth hand, reminding himself that she was real and alive. And he wasn’t locked in his mind.
“When I left for the SAS,” he said, “I left my little brother behind…with our raging cunt of a father.”
Helena inhaled deeply; she remembered what Butcher had told her about Lenny, about how he died young. But somehow, Butcher had left out this detail. He met her gaze with tears forming in his red-rimmed eyes.
“I shouldn’t have left him,” he confessed.
Helena was half in shock as she watched the first tear roll down his cheek. She realized then that she had never seen the true depths of this man. Not until tonight.
Her eyes burned with sympathetic emotion as she reached for him and pull him into her arms. He held her back, burying his face in her neck and grounding himself in her as his body shook. Those brutal memories, along with the grief that had been locked deep inside had loosened, and the doors were now swinging open on their hinges.
“Jesus Christ, Helena…I’m sorry,” he said. His voice wavered, and his hand clenched in her hair. “For what I keep doing to ya. Dragging you down with me with every goddamn step.”
He pulled back enough to see her, to be faced with her tears as she bit her lip.
“And for what I said…to you, and to the kid. I’m fucking sorry,” he said.
Helena broke down just as much as he did then. She nodded in acceptance, and she held his face in her hands. Then she brought him down for a tender kiss. Butcher gave into the soft warmth of her as he held her against him, unwilling to let go this time.
And she led him back into her bed.
In the late hours of the night, Butcher returned to Helena’s bed after a shower. She was already fast asleep. He slid in behind her, gently caressing the back of his hand up her naked back and over her shoulder, down her arm…
And he saw it. A purplish, yellow band around her arm.
It looked like a bruise, formed by a large hand. A man’s hand.
Butcher was damn certain it wasn’t his own, and he’d just finished tracing all the contours of her body tonight.
Though he was reminded of what happened a few days ago…
His brows drew together. “What did he do?”
Helena refused to answer.
Butcher went to her and tried to grasp her arm, but she pulled away from him with a flinch. Her eyes flicked away from his.
Soldier Boy. That old cunt.
Rage built and built inside him. That unfathomable rage that so often fostered lethal energy in Butcher’s blood.
Carefully he slipped out of bed. He got as far as the doorway before he looked back at Helena. He focused on her easy breathing, her messy dark hair splayed on her pillow.
The rage he felt began to simmer down, bit by bit, into self-loathing. Because he did this.
She’d been right before. Butcher made the deal with Soldier Boy. And Butcher brought this shitshow into her home.
So he forced himself to join her back in bed. He traced down the back of her neck, down the length of her lotus tattoo. It made her shiver in her sleep.
Butcher had failed his brother, and Becca. But he couldn’t fail this time. He’d keep Helena and Hughie safe, and alive.
Butcher’s phone was on silent, but the light from his phone on the nightstand illuminated the dark room and stole his attention. He grabbed it and frowned at the strange number on the caller ID. He took the phone into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Hello?” he answered.
“I need to talk to Hughie. Where is he?” Annie asked.
“Oh, Starlight. How delightful,” he muttered. And then he lied.“He’s just popped out for a bit.”
“Okay, well he’s not answering his phone.”
“Bit hard to keep a phone when you’re teleporting all day, innit, love? How can I help?”
“Temp V is going to kill you both,” she said.
“Well, it’s gonna have to join the queue,” he quipped.
“I was just in the lab. It causes lesions, okay? It turns your brain into fucking Swiss cheese!” she shouted. “So please be honest with me, and tell me how many doses have you taken?”
Butcher hesitated at that. His stomach began to churn.
“Just a couple,” he replied. Or a few.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Butcher, five to six doses kills you. Got that? You need to tell Hughie.”
Butcher hesitated. “Yeah…yeah, I will. I promise.”
“Okay, but I’m calling every five minutes until—”
He hung up on her. All the while, his mind was reeling.
Fuck, he thought. Fatal after five doses. He’d already had three. Hughie’d had two.
And they needed more, if they were going to face Homelander and Black Noir.
“Scorched earth” was going to come at a price. Butcher had known that going into this, but it suddenly took on new meaning as he opened the bathroom door and looked over at Helena, peacefully sleeping in bed.
Butcher thought of Ryan, and all of his broken promises.
But come the morning, Butcher didn’t tell anyone of what he’d learned.
AN: Oooh, we're getting so close to the end here, folks!
Next Time:
“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Butcher asked.
Her head tilted as she gave a wry smile. “What do you mean?”
His grip on her waist tightened a little.
“Why’re you staying with me?” he pressed. “Hel, you know where this ends.”
“Billy, I don’t have a death wish,” she told him. She squeezed his arms back. “But I don’t just want you alive for me. Ryan needs you too.”
Keep Reading: Part 19
The Boys Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Ko-Fi Me ☕
Tag List:
@lauraaan182 @homielander @calizmor @haibara-ai-tsii @brujaporfavor @sleepyqueerenergy @adoringanakin @skyesthebomb @lunaticgurly @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007
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#Being Human#And So It Goes#Part 18#the boys#billy butcher#soldier boy/Ben#soldier boy#billy butcher x oc#butcher x oc#billy butcher x ofc#poc!oc#billy butcher x reader#Butcher x Latina!OC#karl Urban#poc oc#latina!oc#hughie campbell#zepskies writes
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(OC Universe questions)
4, 12, 23, 24
4.) what would you say is the message, if there is one.
frankly there is a significant overlap between CW and GD's messages. let's go down the list
trapping someone in a miserable place only continues the cycles of abuse and pain.
the bad things that happened to you really were that bad. you're not crazy. you're right to be angry. those grownups did fail you.
you can't fix someone. you can only love them.
dying for love usually just looks a whole lot like regular dying
you deserved better than you got; someone's gotta say it sometime cuz it's true. people should have told you you were awesome instead of taking advantage of you.
living your whole life assuming you'll die young makes it incredibly scary to acknowledge the fact that youll keep living, but you have to rise up to it. and you wont rise up alone
one day the sadness will end.
12.) okay be honest. pick a favorite oc from this ocverse.
i do the most with sicely but i gotta be honest. miss hero complex is the number one in my heart
23.) describe how everyones character gets butchered once in the public eye?
Sicely - CRANKY. spicy latina trope. verbally berating and doesn't actually like any of their friends.
Anthea - i think a lot of people would go some flavor of yandere-lite with anthea and really play up her sweet-but-murdersome angle rather than acknowledge she has very good reasons to be mad
Ari - she'd become the serious nerd who puts up with everyones shenanigans (Rose and Kanaya syndrome). shipped with lucerne only in a token gesture in the bg of opaljiro fics
Lucerne - who
Opal - the fandom darling, he is mischaracterized in ways you didnt even think god could invent. sweet idiot babbu who doesnt know what hes doing or the harm hes causing! no matter what happens people still ship him rosy-style with sicely. opalsicely is like kris x berdly but stupider and way more unhealthy
Jiro - opals boyfriend. his status as this is the primary bastion against opalsicely shippers
Araceli - irredeemable bitch of a woman who is morally worse than the men murdering children bc she doesnt react rationally to the fact that shes trapped in an apocalyptic time loop
Midas - i think a lot of people would, upon knowing midas' true colors, forget that he's a very charismatic and caring person. he'd be treated as a mastermind chessmaster manipulator who never really loved anyone, rather than a guy whose overabundance of emotional reactions causes him to act in manipulative and confining ways
Thomas - uke who has no agency, was forced into helping midas and is secretly really affectionate and sweet and moral deep down. "i can fix him"
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And So It Goes - Part 20
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
AN: We’re almost to the end!
Word Count: 5,000
Tags/Warnings: Angst, peril, love triangle, a final showdown, character death, and a goodbye…
ASIG Series Masterlist
20: Father & Son
We’re probably gonna die, Helena thought, as M.M. pulled their off to a shaded side street behind Vought Tower.
Kimiko and Frenchie soon split off to get down to the lab, after Helena gave them precise directions on the best way to get there. While Hughie went to the Security control room to try and evacuate the building, Helena went with M.M. and Annie up several floors to find Butcher and Soldier Boy.
Once they got up to the upper floors, they came across a few stray Vought employees that were hastily making for the stairwell. When M.M. questioned where they were going in such a hurry, one of them answered, “Homelander’s about to fight Soldier Boy.”
Helena, M.M., and Annie continued at a faster clip down the hall, where they were able to hear familiar voices. M.M. slowed them to a stop in front of an office door, drawing his gun. Annie stepped in front of them protectively.
When she broke into the room, she raised a glowing hand. She soon dimmed it when she realized what was happening. Even M.M. stopped short, but Helena pushed through them both as her mouth fell open.
“Ryan!” she gasped.
He was with Homelander at the far end of the room. They, along with Butcher, Maeve, and Soldier Boy turned their heads at the intrusion. It was three on two, but Homelander had a loose and familial hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Ryan, a—are you okay?” Helena asked. She tried to step forward, but M.M. held her back. She glanced at him in annoyance, but he raised his brows at her.
She realized then he was just trying to protect her from making a potentially dangerous move forward, even though he was probably still angry at her. She was grateful, but still worried when she met Ryan’s blue eyes.
“I’m fine,” Ryan answered, though his voice had a slight shake to it. He seemed happy to see her (as happy as he could be in a moment like this), but Homelander’s hand kept the boy from taking a step forward. Helena softened, her heart aching. Homelander must have found him…and taken him.
She glanced at Butcher next. He was eyeing her in what the bloody hell are you doing here sort of way. She gave him a look he ought to know well.
For you, you idiot. But her focus shifted back to Ryan.
Without Helena realizing, Ben’s gaze had drawn to her—at her panic-stricken face when she saw the boy with Homelander. Now that he knew who Ryan was, it made Ben look at her harder. She’d known what she was doing when she kept that information to herself, about her best friend’s son. His grandson. But Ben also begrudgingly understood why she kept that secret.
She was an idiot to come here though. His mouth firmed in a line when, unbidden, something she’d told him filtered back through his mind, on that first late night in her home.
“Why’re you up, anyway?” Ben asked.
“Well, I could blame it on the pain,” she replied, after downing two pills with her water. “But um…I keep replaying yesterday in my head, over and over like a bad movie. It always stops at the part where I look up at Homelander’s psychotic fucking eyes, and I just…I knew.”
Helena shook her head. Ben’s lips tugged downward.
“Knew what?” he asked.
“I’m officially on his hit list now,” she said.
And the way she couldn’t help but look at Homelander in fear, like the supe was some kind of monster… Ben couldn’t help thinking (deep down), would she say the same of him?
“Don’t you see?” Homelander said. Once again, he commanded the attention in the room, even though it was Ben he was talking to, as if all the others didn’t matter. They were just specks in the realm of his existence.
Homelander smiled. “You have a family. You have him, and you have me.”
He nodded at Ryan, his hand tightening a fraction on the boy’s shoulder. Ben saw the kid tense up a little. Ryan’s eyes shifted from Homelander behind him, to Ben. And then beyond him, to Helena, and even Butcher. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to be, and Ben saw it.
Deep down, he could relate.
He stared back at Homelander, this thing that should’ve been his son. Ben’s lips quirked, and he stepped forward.
“It’s a shame that I’ve missed so much,” he said, in the face of Homelander’s burgeoning tears. “I wish I could’ve raised you, and taught you, father to son.”
“That’s okay,” Homelander whispered. “We’re not alone anymore. We have each other.”
Ben’s smile became more dry. He grasped Homelander’s shoulder. “Maybe if I’d raised you, I could’ve made you better. And not some weak, sniveling pussy, starved for attention. But there’s no fixing that now.”
“Weak?” Homelander echoed. His expression had dropped from tearfully hopeful, to shocked, and the beginnings of anger. “I’m you.”
“I know,” Ben said, hating the way his lips actually trembled at the admission. “You’re a fucking disappointment.”
He grabbed at Homelander’s face, tilting his laser eyes back. Butcher and Maeve came up on either side to secure the supe, but Ryan protested.
“Ryan, get out of the building, now!” Butcher told him. Still, the kid pushed back to try and help his father.
Helena broke away from M.M. and Annie in their shock to go to Ryan, but M.M. reacted at the last second to grab her arm.
“Let go of me!” she whipped back. M.M. stared down at her incredulously. She was human, the same as him, but unlike him, she wasn’t a fighter. She didn’t even have a weapon on her, let alone one that would work on Homelander or Soldier Boy.
“Are you crazy?!” he asked.
“Are you?” she retorted. She twisted out of his grip and managed to slip away from him.
By the time Helena turned back to the scene before them, Ryan’s eyes were glowing red.
He shot a laser beam right at Soldier Boy, knocking him through the far wall and onto his ass. When he got up, shaking rubble from his shoulders, he clearly wasn’t happy about it.
Fortunately, Helena reached Ryan just as Ben took a few intimidating steps forward.
“Ben, stop!” she shouted.
And it actually halted the supe’s steps. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pulled into a frown. His gait was tense, but she held her ground with her arms wrapped around Ryan. The boy’s fear made his eyes dim back to their normal hue as he glanced up at her, and then back at Soldier Boy. She was able to slowly tug Ryan behind her.
“Please, don’t hurt him,” she said. Her tone was pleading, a hint unsteady. If he really wanted to get to Ryan, he’d have to go through her first.
Ben knew it…and found himself conflicted.
Meanwhile, Butcher had been mostly distracted with trying to help Maeve (and now Annie) keep Homelander held down. Now, he realized just how much this was all about to cost him. His eyes widened when he saw Soldier Boy’s threatening stance.
“Helena!” he called out, just before Homelander broke free. He punched Butcher down with a crack against his face. V24 was coursing through the man’s veins, allowing him to take the hit and deliver one right back.
“Scorched earth, eh William?” Homelander taunted. His red-hot gaze glanced in Helena’s direction. Butcher sneered and landed a blow right between the supe’s eyes.
Helena and Ben shared one last look.
Finally, he relented. He turned away with a surly frown, jumping back into the fray with Homelander. That was his real target, and she was grateful, blowing out a relieved breath before she turned back to face Ryan.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked.
She set her hands on his shoulders. “That’s my line, bud. Come on, let’s go.”
He resisted when she tried to pull him away from the warzone happening far too close for comfort, in an office that was not meant to contain a whole five-on-one super battle.
“No!” Ryan refused to move, shirking her grasp. “Homelander…he’s my dad. He cares about me.”
Helena let out a shaky breath. She laid more gentle hands on his arms.
“Ryan, he’s using you,” she said. “Whatever he told you, maybe he believed it…but I doubt he’s truly capable of caring about anyone but himself.”
“No, that’s…that’s not true,” Ryan shook his head in protest. When he pulled away from her, she tried to hold onto him a bit tighter so he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire of the battle. M.M. saw them both and was trying to get around the danger zone himself to help them, but Ryan wasn’t helping Helena at all.
In fact, he broke away from her with such strength, he actually pushed her to the ground. She gasped at the impact when she fell. Not just at the shock of it, but at the pain; it disrupted her still broken ribs…which she’d ironically gotten when Homelander shoved her into a wall back at Herogasm.
Fuck, she sucked in a pained breath. She also saw the shock and dismay cross Ryan’s face. He hadn’t meant to push her that hard, to hurt her. She knew it when she saw that look.
She held up a hand to him, “It’s okay. I’m okay—”
But in his guilt, Ryan backed away from her. He bolted out of the enclosed office and towards the rest of the fight that had finally moved into the other room.
“Ryan!” Helena called, even as he was escaping her. With difficulty, she got back onto her feet.
She was startled half out of her skin when Ben was flung into a nearby wall, making her scream and duck for cover as debris and office supplies exploded as a result. She took another painful spill across the floor. And rolling out of her inside pocket of her jacket came a small, green vial of V24.
Her eyes zeroed in, just before her hand closed around it. She dragged herself off the floor and back onto her feet, and then towards Ben, who was growling and shaking the dust off. He was prepared to head back into the fray, where the rest of them were still fighting Homelander. Ryan was hovering at the edge, scared and worried, no matter who got punched or tossed.
That’s it, Helena thought. Fuck it all.
“Ben,” she said raggedly, earning his attention. “Can you do me a favor?”
She went to him and offered him the tail end of a syringe she’d been storing in her other pocket. It was a miracle that it hadn’t broken in her tumbles.
“Out of the fucking way,” he barked, after he eyed her in irritation. Clearly, I’m busy, his face suggested.
She took one of the biggest chances of her life and grabbed his arm.
“Please! I need your help,” she said.
He looked down at her through furrowed brows, asking a silent question with his eyes. Why me?
Her hand was shaking. She really just couldn’t bring herself to inject her body full of poison…but she had to.
“I don’t want to be anyone’s weakness. I don’t want to be collateral damage,” she said. “But more than anything, I’m sick of being afraid.”
She grabbed his hand and put both the vial and the syringe in it.
“Goddamn it, Ben, just do it!” she said, through tears.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her arm, found a vein, and did his best to inject her correctly. But when that vile shit hit her system, she nearly collapsed.
“Fuck,” he muttered, but he kept her upright. She shuddered, her eyes briefly closing. All the while, Ben’s grip remained steady. Inside, however, he didn’t know why the fuck he was doing this.
It felt too close to being soft. But maybe it was because a part of him, deep down (a part he didn’t want to think about), wanted to prove he was still some kind of hero. Or maybe, it was because he felt like he was repaying a debt.
When the pain subsided, her body hummed with chemical electricity in her blood. She breathed through it and nodded.
“Thank you,” she said. After a short hesitation, his hands fell from her. Ben responded with a nod.
He turned on his heel and was about to head back into the battle fray, but was hit with a star bolt. It pushed him back a few feet but didn’t bring him down. His head snapped up with annoyance. Helena looked over with wider eyes to find Annie, now joined by Frenchie, Kimiko, Hughie. M.M. sideswiped Helena, forcing her out of the way while Kimiko and Annie surged forward against Ben.
With the temporary V coursing through her veins, Helena was finally strong enough to push back against M.M., making him stumble. He stared back at you in surprise.
“Are you on V?” he asked. “Did you just shoot the fuck up?”
Her lips pursed. She couldn’t deny it, nor would she.
“You know it’s fatal after a few doses, right?” he said tersely.
Helena’s eyes widened. She looked over at Butcher, who was still fighting Homelander and taking hot lasers to the arm, blocking his face.
She didn’t know how many doses he’d taken, but she could hazard a guess.
Too many.
Ben startled them both by tossing both Annie and Kimiko at opposite ends of the room. He stalked forward, ignoring her and M.M. in order to get to Homelander.
M.M. tensed up, like he was about to follow the supe, but Helena grabbed his arm.
“Look, I know what he did to you, but let him at least end Homelander, for fuck’s sake!” she snapped.
“Do you want the entire building to blow the fuck up?” he shot back. He gestured over at Ryan, still huddled against the wall. “Try to get him out of here first!”
On that, they could agree.
Just then, Homelander tore through the room with his laser vision, regardless of who or what he hit. When the beam swept across the middle and went for Ryan on the other side, Helena ran to him and had them both dive for the ground. She protected his head.
Meanwhile, Butcher grabbed the supe by the cape in attempt to bring him to heel. Ben came up on the other side and pinned him down to the ground while Homelander fought both of their holds.
Ryan turned onto his side after Helena raised off of him. He looked up at her with wide eyes, but there was guilt behind them, lingering from when he pushed her.
“Why…why are you and Butcher here? Why do you hate my dad?” he asked. His voice was so small and upset, it made tears well up in Helena’s eyes.
“I’m here because I care about you,” she said. “Homelander’s not your father. Not really. He’s the reason you and your mom were alone for all those years. He’s the reason she couldn’t be with Billy, and why you had to grow up alone. Your mom was protecting you from him.”
Tears stung at Ryan’s eyes as well. He bit his lip and shook his head; he didn’t want to believe her.
“You’re wrong,” he said tremulously. “He’s…he’s not mad at me for what happened to Mom. For…”
Helena had to try and swallow past a tight ball of emotion. She was about to respond when an iron grip tangled in her hair and grabbed her up. A shriek tore from her throat as she was yanked to her feet and almost off the ground. Her hands flew up to claw at Homelander’s.
Ryan’s eyes flew wide again. He scrambled onto his feet as well and faced his father.
“Stop!” he pleaded. “Don’t hurt her!”
Homelander tilted his head at his son, with a grim set to his face. “Don’t you see? They’re all cockroaches. They’re mud people. Ryan, they’re not like us.”
V24 didn’t take away her fear, Helena realized. It just magnified what was already inside.
“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch,” she hissed, regardless of the terrified, angry tears burning in her eyes.
Across the room, M.M. stared down at Butcher angrily. It was hard to maintain it when the other man had just saved him from getting pounded with Soldier Boy’s shield, but M.M. had a high threshold of “Fuck you, Butcher” leftover.
Despite that, M.M. helped Butcher pick himself up from the rubble. Then he noticed something else.
“Butcher,” M.M. said sharply. Butcher followed his gaze and landed on Homelander; he saw the supe’s killer grip on Helena’s hair, with Ryan pleading at him to stop.
Butcher’s eyes widened. He called her name from across the room.
Slowly Homelander’s head turned.
He smirked. The kind of manic smile that said he’d get to have his revenge twice.
His eyes took on a red, glowing hue.
But a violet haze surged from Helena’s hands, not only disrupting Homelander’s concentration, but forcing him to let go of her entirely. It was a forcefield that threw him back across the far wall.
She stumbled to her feet and would’ve fallen if Ryan hadn’t reached out to steady her. She gave him a grateful smile, and she let her arm fall around his shoulders.
Butcher was shocked, relieved, and angry all at once.
When and how the fuck did she take Temp V?
Despite the look of surprise on most faces in the room, Ben was the only one who remained stoic.
Homelander peeled himself from the wall with a growl. He stalked forward, but he was met with Butcher stepping in front of Helena and Ryan.
Butcher blocked the first punch Homelander threw. He just couldn’t avoid the second brutal one that cracked against his nose. Homelander twisted his arm and wrenched, until Butcher was forced almost to his knees.
“You may be hopped up, but you’re just a try-hard, dick-sucking groupie,” Homelander taunted. “Real power is—”
Ryan stumbled forward and pushed Homelander hard in the chest, enough to make the other man’s grip on Butcher loosen. Ryan moved to stand in front of Butcher and Helena.
“Son?” Homelander asked, with wide, confused eyes.
All the commotion in the room paused. Even the fight against Soldier Boy came to a standstill, including Maeve, who was sporting one eye and a bloody hole where the other used to be (courtesy of Homelander). She propped herself up against the wall and watched Homelander intently.
Soldier Boy watched as well. If he lit up the nuclear power in his chest now, he could make Homelander powerless. But…it would be hard to control it in here. He glanced at Butcher and Helena kneeling on the ground. She’d come to his side and was propping him up, just as his arm was around her protectively.
I don’t want to be collateral damage, she’d said.
Meanwhile, Ryan was scared with tears in his eyes, but he held his ground against his father with determination.
“Stop,” he said. “Please just stop.”
Homelander couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His own son was protecting the one man he hated most in this world.
“But…why?” he asked incredulously. “I’m your blood. I’m…I’m your family.”
Butcher grabbed Ryan’s jacket.
“Ryan, don’t,” he said. Ryan looked over his shoulder at them, at Butcher.
“It’s okay,” he said.
Butcher didn’t entirely know what that meant, but he couldn’t help but marvel when the kid turned back to face his father.
“I understand you, Ryan. Better than anyone,” Homelander said earnestly. He probably even believed that.
Ryan lip wobbled with emotion. He hadn’t realized it, not until Homelander grabbed Helena and threatened to kill one of the only people who’d ever been nice to him. Ryan saw it when Homelander had turned to Butcher next, with something evil in his eyes.
“You’ve hurt everyone I care about,” Ryan realized, with a small gasp of a sob. “You…you hurt my mom.”
Homelander’s eyes soon became glassy, angry, and insane.
“I think you took the fucking cake on that one, sport,” he retorted.
Ryan flinched. Tears poured down Ryan’s cheeks as that blow cut into him.
But he instinctively let those emotions fuel him. He hovered above the ground in flight, almost eye-level with Homelander. His eyes glowed red.
Homelander smirked through unshed tears. He supposed it was fine; he’d been prepared to rule through fear before.
You don’t need anyone, that voice deep inside whispered. Not even Ryan.
And here, Ben finally saw his chance.
“Hey, Real Power,” he snarked, just before he grabbed Homelander by the edge of his cape and headbutted him. After throwing him off balance, Ben kicked him into a glass coffee table, making it shatter. He continued forward and grabbed Homelander by his collar next.
Then he began to charge up that nuclear power in his chest. Homelander grabbed his arm and tried to twist out of his grip, but Ben held on in determination. Maeve helped him by kicking out Homelander’s knee. She and Ben briefly shared a grim look.
“We could’ve taken on the whole world,” Homelander gritted out. Ben smirked.
“Maybe. But I never took well to sharing the spotlight,” he said, and threw another punch that snapped Homelander’s head back. All the while, his chest continued to illuminate and become impossibly hot.
If Ben let go of his power now, he could end Homelander for good. But if he did, he’d probably level the whole block. He glanced over Homelander’s shoulder. Butcher held both Helena and Ryan, waiting to protect them from the impending blast.
Butcher kept Helena close with an arm around her waist. Deep down, Ben reluctantly felt a twinge of jealousy. Until Helena peeked up fearfully and found Ben’s eyes. Even with the power V24 gave her, he doubted it would do them much good.
With that brief distraction, Homelander broke free with an angry shout.
“Goddamn it,” Ben growled.
While the other supe tried to fly backwards to save himself, Ben rushed forward and leapt, grabbing the supe in mid-air. They both crashed through the far window out of the Tower.
Ben blasted him with everything he had.
Homelander tried to fight off his hanger on, but the power behind the blast disrupted his own, including his flight.
And from that great height, Soldier Boy and Homelander fell. Whatever wasn’t contained by the two of them grappling hit the rest of the Tower behind them.
Inside the building, Helena managed to draw up a forcefield that protected them all from the initial blast. Whatever she couldn’t cover was eaten away, leaving a giant hole in the side of the building. Butcher looked up at the violet haze, then at her with consternation.
“Oh, don’t even,” she snapped at him. “One dose of Temp V won’t kill me.”
His lips pursed, but he still helped her up to her feet, along with Ryan. Helena checked the boy to make sure he was all right. She brought her hands up to his cheeks and held his face.
“You okay?” she asked.
Ryan smiled a little a nodded. “Yeah.”
She smiled back. “Good.”
Butcher’s lips twitched. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he also moved a hand down to the small of Helena’s back, earning her attention. For a moment, their eyes met. That look was charged with unspoken meaning, cutting through things like, “I told you so,” and “What were you thinking?” And, “You ass.”
But the common denominator of it all was this.
Butcher tugged her close for a hard kiss. His beard was rough, his grip was tight, but his lips were tender. She responded in kind, gripping the shorter hair at the back of his head and matching his passion with her own.
He pulled away after a moment, meeting her eyes with a silent request. She held his cheek, and she nodded. Later they would hash the rest of this out, but for now, this was enough.
Butcher then turned to Ryan and took a knee in front of him.
“You don’t hate me anymore?” Ryan asked, in a small voice.
Butcher sighed, wiping a hand over his tired face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “for what I said last time. What happened to Becca, to your mum…it ain’t your fault, son.”
Ryan’s eyes glistened with tears. He sniffed, and Butcher squeezed his shoulder.
“Look, kid. I’m not a good man. Christ, you’re already a better one than me. But, as long as you want me around…I’m here for ya.”
Ryan hugged him. Butcher was surprised by it at first, but slowly, he let himself hug Ryan back.
Helena teared up and laid a gentle hand on Butcher’s back. Hughie even came up on her left to nudge her shoulder. She smiled and patted his arm back. The others, though battered, bruised, and in some cases bloody, had gotten back on their feet.
“Butcher, we gotta go,” M.M. reminded him. “Homelander and Soldier Boy damn dear exploded the block down there.”
Homelander’s crash landing had created a crater inside the ground outside of Vought Tower. Coils of smoke came off of his body, as most of his uniform was burnt off, along with a good part of his neck and torso.
Butcher stood over him, creating a shadow that Homelander couldn’t escape. Homelander opened his eyes wide, as if to laser him, but nothing came out.
His eyes widened in shock this time. “What the fuck…”
He crawled out of the crater, his uniform in tatters. He managed to stumble to his feet and throw a punch at Butcher, who easily dodged.
The blast had done its job. Homelander was a powerless mess. That realization dawned on the man, and soon had him frothing at the mouth in disbelief. Butcher pulled out a gun from his belt, a formerly useless gun, and shot Homelander in the head. Right between the eyes.
Homelander’s body fell to the ground, just as Helena came out of the building with Ryan. With a gasp, she shielded the boy’s eyes.
“Don’t look,” she told him. Ryan allowed himself to bury his face against her chest, biting his lip as a few tears escaped and soaked into her shirt.
Grace Mallory showed up minutes later with two SUVs of CIA agents for the cleanup—not only to set a perimeter around the crater, but to take Homelander’s body. Helena had Mallory steer Ryan away, though she promised to check on him soon.
Helena was going to join where Butcher, M.M., and the rest of them had gathered next, but she noticed something. There were drops of blood leading away from the crater, into a nearby alley.
With suspicion churning in her gut, she followed the trail into the alley. By now it was still dark outside, even with the sun starting to peek out from between the city skyscrapers. The deeper part of the alley was still cast in darkness.
A hand shot out and grabbed her by the waist, at the same time another covered her mouth. She gasped and was about to scream, when she came face to face with Ben. He shushed her.
She frowned at him with furrowed brows.
“Ben?! What the hell?” she hissed between his fingers and tried to pry them off. He eventually let her go. He still had a supe’s strength, so she could assume that the blast had only taken away Homelander’s powers, not Ben’s.
“What are you doing?” she asked, both incredulous and annoyed. “Are you okay?”
He gave you an amused smirk. “I’m fine.”
He hadn’t been sure what she would do when she saw him. Ask about his wellbeing wasn’t it, but it had smugness welling up in his chest. It seemed like she didn’t hate him too much after all.
“I know all about the Mob Squad’s genius plan to gas me up and stuff me in a goddamn box,” he said, less pleasantly. “That’s not fucking happening.”
Helena’s lips pursed. “So what are you going to do?”
Maybe she didn’t want to see him in a box either, and maybe he’d just done the entire world a solid by taking out Homelander, but that didn’t mean Ben wasn’t dangerous all on his own.
“I’m taking my well-earned vacation,” he said. His smirk deepened. “But two tickets to paradise could be arranged.”
Helena sighed with a smile, shaking her head.
“I don’t think so, Ben,” she said, though she tilted her head at him. “You could be a real hero, you know. If you did the work.”
He stared down at her for a moment. He eventually quirked a grin.
“A lot of your friends would call that a lost cause,” he said.
“Prove your father wrong. Prove me right,” she said, raising a brow. “I dare you.”
“Hmm,” Ben said. He considered her as his smirk softened slightly, into a more sincere smile.
Instead of answering her, he slid a hand around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She gasped and held onto his arms on reflex. It gave him the opening he needed to steal a kiss.
Helena was too shocked to heed her first instinct, which was to slap him in the face.
He soon pulled away, giving her another familiar smirk at her angry, blushing face.
But after he stroked her cheek and finally let go of her, she realized that this was a goodbye.
“Maybe next time, sweetheart,” said Ben.
He backed away from her, deeper into the darkness of the alley. She couldn’t see him well, just the outline of his broad form, but she thought she heard the last bit of his voice.
“Goodbye, Helena.”
And then he was gone.
AN: Sigh. Thus ends Homelander, son of no one. How did you like Ben and Helena's goodbye? 😂
We're at the end, folks.
Next Time:
When his gaze found hers, they didn’t need words.
They were home.
His head bowed to greet Helena with a kiss, languid and unhurried.
His hand moved under the sheets to slip under her silky top, splaying across her lower back. Her arm twined around his neck in turn, her fingers slipping into his dark hair. Hers was already wild this morning; it both tickled his arm and fanned across her pillow.
She nipped his bottom lip and earned a pleased sound from him, deep in his throat. But before he could roll her onto her back, they heard quick footsteps coming up the stairs.
Butcher groaned, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. But a smile twitched at his mouth.
“Incoming,” he muttered.
Keep Reading: Epilogue
The Boys Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Ko-Fi Me ☕
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And So It Goes - Part 17
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
AN: I have the entire week off work, so I'm catching up with my WIPs. 😜
Word Count: 5,800
Tags/Warnings: Angst, violence, more of Soldier Boy’s bad flirting, hurt/comfort, PTSD, explosions…
ASIG Series Masterlist
17: Emotionally Deficient Men
Helena used an old bobby pin in the pocket of her jeans to break free of her restraints. It took her a while, but eventually the metal handcuff clicked open and she hastened to her car.
Butcher, Hughie, and Soldier Boy had maybe half an hour on her, but she could make up some of the time if she didn’t stop, only for gas halfway through the six-hour drive.
Vermont was lovely this time of year. The only sights she could afford to take in was the luxurious mansion owned by the infamous T&T Twins, who were hosting an even more infamous…party.
Oh fuck, not Herogasm, Helena thought, as she pulled up to the side of the road and parked her car. She zipped up her leather jacket against the windchill as she got out and surveyed the huge lot.
She’d heard about Herogasm, but she’d never had the misfortune to go to one of these events; she wasn’t a supe. And she was never more grateful for that as she took in the scene.
The mansion was already on fire. It was a clusterfuck of half-naked supes and working professionals fleeing, screaming, crying as they filtered out across the manicured lawn and back to their cars.
Helena’s eyes widened as she took in the half-demolished house, which looked like it had been blasted right through the front. Soldier Boy.
They must’ve already gotten here before her.
She was cautious in approaching the house, coming in from the back gate by the pool that was swinging open. She made it through the debris in the house with careful steps. It was quieter inside, eerie in a way. She avoided looking down at the bodies and held her breath at the smell of charred flesh.
She turned a corner of the house and stopped short. Her breathing shallowed with a gasp when she came face to face with the one man she’d hoped to never see again.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” asked Homelander. He looked almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him, and her eyes widened.
In her mind, his blue eyes flashed like a memory: of a hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. A lazy, crazed look in his eye as he debated whether he was going to let her breathe again.
“I was…invited,” she lied on the fly. “I’m just a bit late to the party.”
Homelander’s smile was subtle, but telling. He didn’t believe her. He tilted his head and took a booted step forward into her orbit. Helena stepped back out of reflex, but when she turned her head, she realized she had unintentionally stepped into a battlefield.
Soldier Boy stood mere feet away, suited up with his shield in hand. He regarded her with a half-smile in greeting, though his gaze was focused on Homelander.
“Out of the way, sweetheart,” he said.
She wanted to be annoyed by the nickname, but she tried to oblige him. The last thing she wanted was to be caught between the past and present of dickhead supes.
But a gloved hand grabbed the back of her neck. She gasped, instinctively cringing and glancing back at Homelander. His eyes flicked down to hers.
“Oh, Helena,” he drawled. “Don’t tell me you know this guy.”
“I think we all saw him on the news,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “I’m surprised it took you this long to catch him.”
“What fucking rock did you crawl out of, I wonder,” he mused out loud. His hand tightened a fraction, making her wince and suck in a breath as she fought to remain still. “But I don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you?”
Panic welled in her lungs, squeezing around her heart like a vice. Her gaze darted to Soldier Boy. It was pure instinct, the plea in her eyes. He saw it, though he said nothing until his attention turned back to Homelander.
“Homelander, I take it.” Soldier Boy eyed the other supe with a quirk of his lips. He gestured to the long red and white cape hanging from Homelander’s shoulders. “Nice candy stripes.”
Homelander tensed, though Helena wasn’t sure if it was because of the other man’s taunt, or because Butcher stepped into the hallway beside Soldier Boy. Butcher’s eyes widened when he saw her, and he hardened when he realized her predicament.
He sharpened on Homelander, who was perceptive enough to catch the brief exchange. His gaze narrowed.
“William Butcher and Soldier Boy,” he remarked. “Of course, you’re behind this. This whole thing… It really is all about me.”
Bile rose up in Helena’s throat. Just the sound of his voice made her sick, but the sheer size of his ego was even worse.
“William, we made a deal,” he continued. “To fight to the death. You, and me.”
Helena’s eyes widened. What kind of fucked deal was this, and when was that bargain struck?
Again, Butcher glanced at her, but he focused on Homelander.
“This is cheating,” said Homelander. His brows pinched with a glare. “Deal’s off.”
He lasered at Butcher with his eyes. Helena screamed as the man went down hard on his stomach. She tried to go to him, but Homelander’s hand tightened on the back of her neck and yanked her back.
She gasped and was forced to look at him through tearful, wide eyes.
“What, are you on their side now? Are you helping them?” His hand moved into her hair and started to squeeze even tighter, making her unconsciously whimper and twist against him. Her nails bit fruitlessly into his hand.
The mania behind his eyes was familiar. It had been featuring in her nightmares. “Be honest, Helena.”
“Figures that you’d hide behind a woman,” Soldier Boy remarked.
It earned Homelander’s attention.
“Excuse me?” he asked. He took a step forward, dragging Helena along with him. Her boots scrambled for purchase over fallen debris.
Homelander had to chuckle a little. “You know, you were my hero growing up. I watched all your movies, hundreds of times. You were the only one that was nearly as strong as me.”
Helena bit the inside of her lip. She could tell, just by the look on the other man’s face, that that was the wrong way to endear himself. Soldier Boy’s ego was more than a match for Homelander’s.
“Buddy, you think you look strong?” Soldier Boy said dryly. “You’re wearing a cape.”
Homelander took in an irritated breath.
“You’re just a cheap fucking knock-off,” Soldier Boy added.
It made Homelander seethe. “Oh no, no, no… I’m the upgrade.”
He pushed Helena away from him and launched full speed at Soldier Boy, tackling him into the next room. And she was shoved against the wall hard enough to knock her clean out.
Helena woke to a pounding in her head and a sharper agony in her ribs.
She uttered a pained groan, soon realizing that she was laying on a dingy bed with a ceiling fan turning slowly overhead. She tried to sit up, but that proved to be too much. She fell back with a gasp.
“Hey, hey, don’t get up,” said Hughie. He came into the bedroom with a glass of water and some pills in his hand. He helped her sit up enough against the pillows to take the meds and drink a bit of water. She thanked him, and moved her frizzy hair away from her face to meet his concerned gaze.
“Where the hell are we?” she asked.
“A motel just a couple hours south of Vermont,” he replied.
She nodded. She was still wearing her now dusty gray shirt, jeans, and boots, but her jacket had been draped on the far corner of the bed.
She looked past Hughie to find Butcher standing in the doorway. Hughie noticed as well, and he laid a comforting hand on her arm before he got up.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said. She nodded, though she could hardly think at the moment.
Butcher shared a brief, but meaningful gaze with the younger man as he left. Then he stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of her bed. He let out a sigh and reached for the side of her head, and she winced as his fingers brushed a tender knot there.
“Got your bell rung, didn’t ya?” he said.
It was her turn to sigh.
His eyes took her in; the pain in her face, the way she shifted to try and fail to get comfortable.
“You all right?” he asked.
All Helena could manage was a jerky nod of her head, even as tears glistened in her eyes. Her hand reached up and shakily touched his chest.
“What about you?”
Butcher quirked a smile. “Had me a little supe cocktail, didn’t I?”
Helena let out a breath of relief. V24 was still untested poison, but it had saved his dumbass. And he’d saved her dumbass in turn…
“Does Homelander know I was the mole at Vought?” she asked.
Butcher’s expression dimmed.
Hours ago…
Butcher got up, shaking off the feeling of a point-blank laser blast with a shrug of his shoulders thanks to the Temp V coursing through his veins. He rubbed the sting out of his chest and shook off the stun of hitting the ground so hard.
Butcher pushed off the ground, and the sounds of the nearby fight between Homelander and Soldier Boy reached him. But he also saw Helena just a few yards away, lying prone on the ground, twisted onto her back.
His eyes widened, and he went to her. He dropped to his knees at her side and brushed her dark hair away from her face with slightly shaking hands. Her eyes were closed, her body unmoving. He cupped her cheek and felt for her pulse at her neck.
The tension in his shoulders eased when he felt her heartbeat thrumming under the pads of his fingers. Fucking hell.
How the fuck had she broken free of those cuffs? And more importantly, why did she insist on putting herself in the line of fucking fire?
Butcher knew the answer, deep down, but he stowed that all away to ease her more comfortably on her back, untwisting her hips and legs. He hated to leave her like this, but he had no choice. He saw that Soldier Boy was having a hard time with Homelander on his own.
So Butcher jumped into the fray, lasering Homelander from behind. The supe’s face betrayed his confusion, and even his anger in that tick in his brow.
“What have you done?” he asked.
“Scorched earth,” Butcher taunted.
But Homelander glanced passed him, at Helena still lying unconscious in the hall. It made Butcher tense and shift his stance, subtly putting himself in between.
Homelander smirked. “Wait, wait…you and Helena Flores? You have a thing, don’t you?”
His steps forward were somehow both lazy and measured. Butcher’s movements were even more calculated, stepping closer, but still blocking Helena.
“How long has this been going on?” Homelander asked. “Couldn’t have been very long. I mean, how did you even meet? She worked for us…”
Something seemed to don on the supe, and a sinking feeling churned in Butcher’s chest.
“Fuck me,” Homelander chuckled as a realization brightened his eyes. “You had an inside woman at Vought, didn’t you? Feeding information to you and your little rats.”
His grin deepened at the way Butcher’s smugness faded, and his expression became sharp and threatening.
Homelander wasn’t intimidated. Only pleased.
“Now everything makes sense,” he said. “Tell me, how long has she been servicing you?”
Butcher glowered, his eyes flickering with golden light. Homelander’s smirk raised higher.
“I’ll have to ask her about her hourly rate—”
That was the last quip the supe got out, before Butcher lasered him directly in the face. Homelander flew forward and met Butcher blow for blow, until Soldier Boy yanked Homelander down by his cape.
The fight began in earnest, with even Hughie joining in.
Unfortunately, Homelander slipped away at the last minute, leaving Butcher with the bitter aftertaste of an opportunity lost. And even worse, he knew, was the target now firmly painted on Helena’s back.
Now, in the relative safety of a crusty motel, Helena tried to wipe the tears from her face as she took in a breath meant to steady herself. It didn’t work.
Homelander knew the truth, and she was deep in this shit now.
For his part, Butcher buried a hand in her hair and sighed deeply.
“For fuck’s sake. This’s why I bloody told you not to come,” he said.
“You didn’t tell me, you restrained me,” she snapped.
“For all the fucking good it did me,” he said, just as angrily.
She stared into his eyes and saw the depths of his concern behind the anger. She knew how to read through the cracks of his rough exterior, and despite the fact that she was still so unbelievably mad at him, for several reasons, part of her felt mollified. She knew he still cared about her.
She was feeling petulant, however.
“You don’t have the right to lecture me,” she said. “Anyway, what the hell happened? When I got there, everything was already on fire.”
Butcher crossed his arms. “Yeah, Soldier Boy fucking snapped.”
Helena frowned. “What do you mean?”
“On account o’ his PTSD.” Butcher rubbed at his mouth and beard. “I think he blacked out. Same as Midtown.”
For a moment, Helena was in shock. “Shit. And this is the guy you want to make a deal with?”
“The deal’s been made, love,” said Butcher. He regarded her with more guarded eyes. “Only thing to do is keep moving forward.”
“Right,” she snapped. “Until you get killed.”
Helena shook her head and tried to sit up straighter. It caused a shift in her ribs that felt like white hot pain, a knife stabbing into her. She gasped and grabbed at her right side.
Frowning deeper, Butcher stayed her hand and lifted up her shirt enough to take a look. What he found was a large, yellowish bruise covering nearly half of her ribcage. It wasn’t dark enough to be internal bleeding, but he knew her tan skin would darken soon enough.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“Is it bad?” she asked in worry.
“Is the pain dull or sharp?” he asked.
“Sharp,” she replied.
“Likely you’ve got a couple of broken ribs,” he said. “You can still breathe though. Nothing feels like it’s pokin’ ya, is it?”
She shook her head, relieving him further.
“You’ll probably be fine,” he said. You should get checked out at the hospital, though I doubt you’ll fucking take my advice. “They’ll heal up eventually.”
She frowned at him.
Maybe he should’ve made the hospital suggestion, because she shoved his hands off her and withdrew from him. He realized then how’d she’d taken his attempt to reassure her—like a lack of concern.
“Thanks, Dr. House,” she griped. “Your bedside manner is impeccable. Just leave me the fuck alone.”
Butcher held in a sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean it like—”
“I don’t care,” she said. Her tongue was sharp, but her eyes said that she was exhausted, in pain, and done with him.
So he reluctantly left her room and shut the door behind him. He eyed Soldier Boy, who sat on the couch, still in his supe suit while channel surfing on the TV. Hughie was trying to figure out on his phone where the closest fast food was.
Already Soldier Boy had given Butcher a list of possible safe houses to find Mindstorm: the second to last cast member of Payback. They were close enough to one of the addresses that it justified stopping for the night, but it also meant leaving Helena injured and alone with this radioactive boomer fuck, complete with PTSD and a taste for anything in a skirt.
Butcher grabbed Hughie’s arm and led him just outside the motel.
“I’m gonna cross off the first safe house on the list,” he said. He jabbed a pointed finger in Hughie’s chest. “Don’t leave her alone with him, whatever you fucking do. And make sure he don’t fucking leave.”
Hughie was wide-eyed, but he nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
Butcher raised his brows. I mean it, the gesture said. Hughie nodded, a silent agreement struck between them.
He soon went back into the motel while Butcher took off in his car.
Hughie found the supe exactly where he’d left him: on the couch, watching reruns of Cheers. Soldier Boy didn’t look all that entertained, but his gaze slid over to Hughie when he came in.
“What’re you doing about food?” Soldier Boy asked.
Hughie blinked, and once again checked his phone. They were so deep in the middle of nowhere, no regular restaurant was going to deliver within an hour. There wasn’t even an Uber Eats or Doordash that delivered out here.
“That ain’t gonna cut it,” said Soldier Boy. His gaze was firm. “30 minutes or less. That’s what I’m’ giving you, before I go look for something myself.”
Fuck, Hughie thought. He couldn’t leave Helena alone, but he couldn’t have Soldier Boy taking off on him either.
“You can go, Hugh,” Helena said. He turned to find her standing in the doorway of her bedroom, looking worse for wear, but standing on her feet. She was leaning against the wall, and he immediately went to help her.
She directed him on where she wanted to sit: at the small, two-seater dining table.
She didn’t care what she ate, as long as it was hot, she told him. Though Hughie promised to bring her a soup of some kind, while Soldier Boy wanted “red meat.”
A burger it is, Hughie thought, internally rolling his eyes. He was still reluctant to leave, but Helena gave him an, I’ll be fine smile, weak though it was.
Hughie shook his head. Butcher was going to kill him, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. He left soon after, aiming to walk to the closest Wendy’s about half a mile down the road.
Meanwhile, Helena let out a breath. Already she knew this shitty plastic seat at the dining wasn’t going to do it for her. She needed support for her back and ribs, but she also didn’t want to lay down in bed anymore.
It made her head swim and her stomach churn, but she slowly got up and moved to sit on the far end of the couch, where Soldier Boy sat. At least she’d be able to watch some TV and try to take her mind off her pain as she waited for the meds to kick in. However, it did mean trying her luck with the supe.
She glanced at him, giving a thin smile. Soldier Boy turned to her with a gaze that slowly took her in.
“This isn’t an invitation,” she said warily. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
His smile was lazy, with the confidence of a man who’d no doubt fucked his way through starlets, cabana girls, and certainly any willing supe.
“Hey, now,” he said with charm. “What kind of man do you fucking take me for?”
A murdering one, Helena thought. But she didn’t sense a predatory attitude from him. At least, not in that sense. It didn’t mean she would let down her guard, but she did breathe a little easier.
“Besides. We both know that at some point,” he said. His voice lowered, like he was sharing a secret. His voice was deep and smooth, “You’re gonna get off your little high horse. When that time comes, I'll be more than happy to fuck you well and good, baby doll.”
Again, this man’s audacity knew no bounds. Helena’s brows raised high in shock. It took her a moment, but she eventually cleared her throat.
“Unlikely,” she deadpanned, despite her blush. “And who hits on someone with broken ribs?”
“They won’t be broken forever. And I can be…gentle,” he said. His eyes once again slid over her form, lingering on the hint of cleavage of her V-neck shirt. “Gentle enough, anyway.”
She couldn’t help but laugh a bit. This guy was too much.
“For the love of God. Enough, please,” she said. She shook her head, despite her incredulous smile. “I thought you said I needed a leash.”
She’d heard that little tidbit from the bug she planted in Butcher’s car.
Soldier Boy smirked. “Maybe. You are a bit fucking mouthy for my taste.”
That dimmed her amusement, into annoyance. There was that old-fashioned machismo that she couldn’t stand.
“Welcome to the 21st fucking century,” Helena snipped. “There’s a lot more where I come from.”
Soldier Boy shot her a look, annoyed yet contemplative. “So what, you and Butcher had a thing?”
“Good use of the past tense,” she grumpily acknowledged. She took the remote that lied between them and started looking through the TV guide for something to watch.
The supe eyed her with a certain smile.
“What’s the fucking deal with him and Homelander?” he asked. “I mean, the guy’s a prick. But why does Butcher hate him so much?”
Helena paused in her channel search. For now, she landed on an old episode of The Mesmerizer.
She let out a deep breath, holding a hand to her side when that pained her ribs. She wasn’t sure that this was her story to tell, but maybe if Soldier Boy knew the truth about Homelander, he’d be even more motivated to kill the bastard, besides ego and jealousy.
“Becca. Butcher’s wife,” she began. “Homelander…”
Helena paused. Even now, it was hard for her to say it out loud. She took in another steadying breath, and she met Soldier Boy’s green-eyed gaze.
“He violated her,” said Helena. “He ruined her damn life…and she died, because of him.”
That fell between them with a stiff, somewhat awkward silence.
“And how do you fit into all this?” Soldier Boy asked, gesturing at her.
Helena inclined her head. “Becca was my best friend.”
She told her part of the story, after Becca disappeared. How she’d worked at Vought, and Butcher had come knocking on her door demanding her help. But once she was on board, she became committed to avenging her friend. Helena did omit any mention of Ryan, for his protection.
She gave Soldier Boy just enough of the story that it still made sense, down to her finally leaving Vought and giving the CIA as much intel as she could, while trying to keep her involvement with Butcher and his team a secret from her ex-employer (and Homelander, most of all).
“So you hooked up with your best friend’s husband?” Soldier Boy mused with a smirk.
Fucking figures. That was what he took from this conversation?
Helena gave him a shrewd frown.
“You’re taking the moral high ground here?” she volleyed back. “We didn’t get together until this year, if you must know.”
The supe shrugged. It led her to look at him with a little more contemplation. She asked a question she probably had no business asking, if she wanted to have some self-preservation. But her pain meds were kicking in, and it was giving her a high dose of fuck it.
“How long were you with Crimson Countess? You know…before,” she asked.
Soldier Boy’s expression dimmed, with a bitter edge.
“Too fucking long,” was all he said, crossing his arms. “She was always a raging bitch.”
Helena wanted to roll her eyes, but she supposed his vitriol was understandable, given that the woman had helped gift wrap him for the Russians, along with the rest of his team. She truly must have hated him.
“Did she participate in Herogasm too?” Helena asked. Or was its founder the only one allowed to fuck other people?
Soldier Boy quirked a brow at her, but she held her ground. She’d heard about that particular tidbit when she still worked at Vought.
“She knew better,” he replied. It made Helena chuckle.
“Right. I just wonder if maybe Countess was a little bitter,” she mused. “I mean, her man is over here having frivolous orgies while she’s expected to be the Virgin Mary.”
Soldier Boy frowned in earnest now, with irritation and a hint of warning behind his eyes. Helena was too buzzed on her meds to heed that warning. Fuck, what the hell did Hughie give me?
“I was dedicated to our relationship,” Soldier Boy argued.
“In the viewing public, sure,” Helena retorted. “Vought’s poster boy committing serial adultery would’ve probably been frowned upon.”
She worked with supes for ten years. She knew how their marketing worked, especially with their “relationships,” fabricated for PR or otherwise.
Now, however, Soldier Boy turned to her with a sharper warning.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he raised his voice.
Helena paused with a small flinch. But she hid her apprehension.
“There’s no need to get loud,” she said.
“There’s no need to be a smart-mouth bitch,” he shot back.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “I take that as a compliment, comrade.”
Soldier Boy didn’t know whether he was more irritated or amused by her audacity.
“You must really wanna end up over my knee, sweetheart,” he said snidely.
His arrogant face was insufferable, Helena thought. But he’d made no move to “put her in her place.” Maybe because she was injured. If she was a supe, or even a man, she didn’t think he’d be so lenient.
She smirked. “Or maybe….maybe I’m just high. Jesus, how many milligrams did Hughie give me?”
She tried to shift into a more comfortable sitting position on the couch, but it only disrupted her ribs, with a sharp flare of pain that made her wince. Her head ached as well, cutting through some of her brain fog.
She needed a shower, food, and sleep. The shower would have to wait, but Hughie had better hurry the fuck up with the food.
She was so preoccupied with her discomfort that she didn’t notice, at first, how Soldier Boy was looking at her. He still seemed irritated as he took the remote from her.
“You should probably shut the fuck up then. Get some sleep. Maybe then I’ll get some peace and quiet,” he said.
Helena raised her brows. “Wow, you are a delight.”
Soldier Boy rolled his eyes.
He was an asshole. In fact, he’d just caused a hell of a scene, had apparently blacked out, and as a result, had even killed a handful of people in the process of getting revenge on the T&T Twins.
And yet…
Get some sleep, he’d said.
He seemed to have a tiny sliver of decency. Helena only detected it because she was fluent in the language of emotionally deficient men.
She considered getting up to take his “advice,” of getting some rest, but he managed to find Lethal Weapon playing on one of the movie channels.
“Oh, that’s a classic,” she told him. “From the late ‘80s…you probably just missed it.”
Soldier Boy frowned at her, but he didn’t turn the channel. They watched the movie from then on in a strangely companionable silence.
But of course, the peace couldn’t last for long.
There was a shootout on the screen; predictable for an action movie. Helena had seen this scene half a dozen times, but she heard a hitch of breath. She turned to her right and saw that her companion’s gaze was glazed over, unfocused.
Soldier Boy sat stiffly, blinking, with a subtle shake of his head, like he was trying to get rid of a ringing in his ears.
“Soldier Boy?” she tried. He didn’t seem to hear her.
Oh fuck. She paused, realizing what was happening.
Though it pained her battered ribs and head, she pulled herself up straighter and scooted closer to him on the couch. When she touched his shoulder, his gaze snapped up to hers. She tried not to flinch.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“…I don’t know,” he gritted out.
Her breath shallowed along with his. Even if she tried to run, she doubted she’d get very far if he freaked out and blasted this motel off the map.
“Okay, it’s okay. Soldier…what’s your name?” she asked.
For just a moment, her question managed to split him out of his disassociation.
“What?”
“What’s your name?” Helena repeated.
He blinked like he had something in his eye, though she knew he was trying to concentrate on her. At the same time, she seemed to be irritating him.
“Soldier Boy,” he said.
“No, not that bullshit. Your real name,” Helena insisted, and she squeezed his shoulder. It was unnaturally warm.
She couldn’t know that her words kicked the man back into his memories—before Russia. Before even Payback.
Behind his mind’s eye, he saw the tall, stoic, imposing figure of his father. The floral print of his mother’s Sunday dress when he was a kid. Her smile when she touched his cheek.
“Ben,” he gritted out. His chest was started to burn and glow from the inside. He was fighting it tooth and nail as his gaze flit over the woman next to him. Run, you fucking idiot.
“Ben,” Helena repeated. Her concern was in her eyes as she chanced lowering her hand, from his shoulder to his arm. “Stay with me, Ben. Can you breathe through it?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, shutting his eyes.
He wanted to tell her to stop touching him like he was some weak piece of shit. But the pressure was building beyond his control.
“Ben?” she prodded weakly. Even through his super suit, his arm became too hot for her to touch. She gasped and was forced to release him. She saw the glow of his chest through his suit and tried to back away, but her shaking body was frozen in fear.
Her wide eyes met his.
Ben had just enough presence of mind to push her away from him, just before a burst of nuclear power escaped him. With a rough yell, he tried to angle it upwards. The beam tore through half of the motel room and escaped through the ceiling.
Afterwards, he was breathing hard and staring into a midnight sky through the large hole his power had created. The distant sounds of screaming and car horns blaring was familiar, though he grimaced.
Fuck, he thought. He looked at the carnage wrecked through the rest of the motel room, though he didn’t remember creating it.
Belatedly, he remembered Helena.
She had been tossed to the floor, onto her back. Ben hesitated, but he slid off the couch and went to her, taking a knee on the ground beside her prone form. He brushed some plaster dust off her face and checked her pulse at her neck.
He nodded at the feel of her pulse thrumming under the pads of his fingers. Then, he surprised himself by sliding and arm under her back and propping her up against him. He tapped her cheek.
“Hey, wake up,” he prodded.
She didn’t oblige him just yet, making his brows furrow. Ben had a moment to take in her dark lashes that matched her long, dark hair of loose curls. (He could imagine wrapping them around his hand.)
Though her face was pale at the moment, her skin was tan and smooth, with full lips he couldn’t help being tempted by. Through the sweat and dust, he could even detect an earthy, floral scent. Maybe it was her shampoo.
“Helena?” Butcher’s voice made Ben raise his head. He frowned, mostly because he hadn’t heard the man coming. His ears were still ringing a bit, though he wouldn’t acknowledge it.
Butcher got down on her other side and took Helena from Ben’s arms, quickly, but still with care. Butcher touched her clammy cheek, then glared at the supe.
“Get your Wonder Girl powers in check before you blast us all to hell!” he snapped.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Ben barked back, as he stood. “Without me, you’ve got fuck all.”
Butcher seethed; both because he was furious, and because he knew Soldier Boy was right. They still needed one another to accomplish their respective agendas, and that was the bitch of it.
Butcher got back onto his feet with Helena in his arms. He ignored the supe for now, and brought her to the bedroom, which had mostly remained unscathed.
He laid her down on the bed and surveyed the damage, even lifting her shirt to make sure she wasn’t visibly bleeding. She really should’ve been checked out at a hospital…
Just as he almost resolved to do just that, she started to wake, with a moan of pain. Butcher softened. He rested a careful, and surprisingly tender hand against her cheek. He held his breath, waiting for the moment that she blinked awake, revealing those honey brown eyes.
Helena bit her lip when she saw him, leaning her cheek against his hand. She was still full of painkillers and brain fog, and all she really wanted right now was some comfort. The thought made her eyes sting with tears. She held his hand against her face.
“You gotta stop doing this to me, love,” Butcher muttered. His thumb caressed her cheek.
She smiled, because this was the man she knew. She missed him so damn much.
“I thought you hated being bored,” she rasped.
Butcher let out a long breath while his thoughts darkened. Might just kill that prick after Homelander.
Her gaze narrowed a bit.
“I know that look. Believe it or not, this was him saving me,” she said, with a sigh, briefly closing her eyes. “The Russians pulled a fucking number on him.”
“Yeah. He’s got a few fucking screws loose, don’t he?” Butcher replied.
Helena tugged him down to her by his collar and touched his cheek.
“Come with me, Billy,” she all but pleaded. “You can still let this go…”
She leaned up enough to nearly press her lips to his, but Butcher held off. His eyes roamed over her face, concentrating on her lips. They both knew he wanted this…
But he wouldn’t let himself. Her tears dripped down the corners of her eyes when he gently pulled her hand away. He leaned back and sat up on the edge of the bed.
“We’re gonna have to move,” he said. “Just rest there a tick, ‘til we get all squared away, figure out where we’re going. And where the fuck is Hughie?”
The latter he asked to himself, but Helena couldn’t be bothered to answer him. She wiped at her face and tried to bury her hurt and dismay, deep under a layer of anger. She forced her body to sit up with a whimper.
“Ey,” Butcher protested. She ignored him.
“I know where we can go,” she said, meeting his gaze. “It’s safe, and neither Vought or Homelander know where it is.”
He was confused at first, but he was too smart not to know where her mind was headed. Her house was close to the city, but still far enough to give them cover. And only Helena, Butcher, and Grace knew its location.
Butcher frowned.
“No,” he started to say. Before he could get going in earnest, Hughie stepped into what was left of the motel. They saw him through the gaping chasm—of what used to be a wall between the bedroom and the front door. He nearly dropped the Wendy’s bags.
“What the shit?!” Hughie exclaimed. “Where’s the roof?”
AN: 😬 Okay, so a lot of Soldier Boy being an ass in this chapter lol. (As usual.) And now these four are headed to Helena's house. What could possibly go wrong? 😂
Next Time:
Maybe I really do have a death wish, Helena thought, as she let the most wanted supe alive into her home.
Butcher and Hughie joined him, with the latter taking in her two-story house for the first time.
“Nice,” Hughie said with a nod. “This place is beautiful.”
Helena gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”
Though she gave Ben a pointed look. “Try not to break it, please.”
He shot her a raised brow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched her turn and show them one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Meanwhile, his gaze lingered on the curve of her ass in those jeans.
Butcher caught the supe’s lazy perusal with a sharp eye. Ben felt his stare and had the gall to shoot him a wink with his smile. His steps had a certain swagger as he followed Helena down the hall.
Keep Reading: Part 18
The Boys Masterlist
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And So It Goes - Part 19
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Word Count: 4,200
Tags/Warnings: Angst, tension, and a plan made…
ASIG Series Masterlist
19: Collateral
The morning after Butcher, Ben, and Hughie returned to the house came yet another bomb of information Helena wasn’t prepared for.
Homelander had been created in a lab…using Ben’s DNA.
Holy fucking shit, Helena thought, as she sat down heavily on her couch. That seemed to be the anthem of her year.
Ben explained how Vogelbaum had framed it to him back in 1980—as a simple genetics experiment (the details for which, Ben may or may not have tuned out at the time). After the weight of that fell between them all, he left the room with a large bottle of bourbon Helena had hidden under the sink.
“We’re all packed up for the road,” Butcher said. He looked over at Helena and Hughie, who sat together on her couch. Frowning, she noticed how Hughie discreetly blotted at some dark-colored substance coming from his ear. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t earwax.
What the fuck? she wondered.
“Where’s Soldier Boy?” Butcher asked, breaking her from her thoughts.
“You mean, ever since he told us he was supposed to kill his own son?” Hughie retorted. “He locked himself in the bathroom, with a bottle of Old Granddad.”
“My alcohol, you mean,” Helena quipped.
“Homelander ain’t really his son, and he knows it,” Butcher pointed out. He seemed tired, to Helena’s eyes. She could hear it in his voice. She also thought he wasn’t giving this news the full weight it deserved. It had clearly shaken Ben, no matter how much Butcher didn’t want to hear of any kind of hang-ups to their mission.
Before she could say anything about it, Ben finally came out from down the hall. He glanced at them all before he ventured into the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge.
At least it’s not my beer, Helena thought.
“All right, let’s be off then, ey?” Butcher said, hauling on his black trench coat. “We’ll swing by the office and grab some more V. Then Hughie’ll bring us to where the cunts are. And we’ll pop off Noir, then Homelander.”
Helena shot him an incredulous look.
“More V,” she said, gesturing at Hughie. “Really. Because the black sludge coming out of his ear isn’t enough of a warning sign?”
Hughie grimaced, but Butcher gave her a tight, resigned look.
“You know the score, love. We’ve got two more on the list. That means heading to the Tower,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed here.”
She crossed her arms and gave him a narrowed look. After last night, she thought he would’ve understood her by now. She didn’t want him to go through with all of this, for his own sake, but if he wouldn’t listen to her, then she would at least try to make sure he and Hughie lived through this.
Because if she let him and Hughie go without her now, knowing she could’ve done something to help…then she’d never forgive herself.
“Well, there’s no sneaky way you’re going to get V24. The R&D lab is below ground at Vought Tower, Level 0. Even when I worked there I didn’t have clearance,” Helena said. Though as an idea grew in her mind, she bit her lip, and finally sighed.
“But there’s a way we can go about this without just bulldozing through the front door…I can get you in there from the control room.”
“Not necessary,” Butcher said. His brows drew together as he looked down at her, drawing closer. She met his gaze with a stubbornness he should’ve expected.
“It is if you want to maintain any kind of element of surprise against Black Noir, let alone Homelander,” she said. Butcher’s lips pressed together, but she made it clear, even in her silence, that he wasn’t leaving without her this time.
Butcher crossed his arms and met her stance, just as bullheaded as ever.
“You’re not coming,” he said.
An hour later, Helena was breezing through radio stations, sitting shotgun in Butcher’s car, while Hughie was forced to sit in the back with Ben. They were cruising at full speed down the highway towards New York City.
“Fucking land on something already,” Ben sniped from the backseat. If he heard one more station change from girly pop to heavy metal, he was going to lose his shit.
Helena rolled her eyes and settled on something they could all agree on: John Lennon, “Give Peace a Chance.” She had to stifle a sardonic smile at the irony.
After a while, Ben started to snooze in the back, while Hughie stared out the window. Helena turned to Butcher and asked something she’d been wondering for days now.
“How’d you even get ahold of V24 to begin with?” she asked.
Butcher expelled a sigh, but he was honest, after swiping a hand over his mouth and beard. “Through Maeve. She gave me the tip on Payback, on a weapon that supposedly killed Soldier Boy, the whole thing. She wants that golden cunt dead as much as we do.”
Helena nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”
She’d been seeing a lot about Maeve on the news; that supposedly she was in rehab, according to Vought. But Starlight fans were teaming up with Maeve fans on social media, demanding proof that she was actually where Vought said she was.
If what Butcher said was true, then maybe Vought had found out about what Maeve was up to. Maybe they’d decided to take her off the playing field.
Helena shook her head in contemplation. This was it. Homelander, Vought—the entire thing needed to crumble. As much as she hated the plan, she could admit that with Ben on board, there was a shot that it wouldn’t all end in even more blood and misery.
Helena woke after a doze to Butcher climbing back into the driver’s seat. They were stopped at a gas station, for which she assumed he’d filled up the tank. Something wasn’t right though, she thought, as the car started moving.
Ben groaned as he woke up from his long nap, and he noticed the same thing she had.
“Oh, there he is,” Butcher said.
“Where’s the cum guzzler?” Ben asked. Helena rolled her eyes; she could only assume he meant Hughie. It was a valid question though. She turned to Butcher with a frown.
“You were spot on about him. There I was, filling up the motor. I turn around, the little git had done a runner,” Butcher said.
Helena’s face turned incredulous, but the knowing shift in Butcher’s gaze implored her to play along. She hesitated, but then she tried to school her features into something more neutral.
“We needed him to get to Noir,” Ben said in annoyance.
“Ah, don’t you worry about that, guv. I got it all worked out,” said Butcher.
Now Helena knew there was something off here. She’d learned to tell when he was lying, but this time his gaze remained on the road. He glanced into the review mirror to watch Ben contemplating.
After a moment, the supe seemed to accept his words.
“Wake me when we get to New York,” he said, and laid across the entire backseat of the car.
Helena shot Butcher a sharper look. It said she’d want answers later; she knew there was no way Hughie would cut and run, not when they were so close.
Butcher nodded in acceptance. He knew he could fool Soldier Boy, but not Helena. He just had to figure out what he was going to do with Helena when they got to his apartment in the city, because he had no intention of bringing her to Vought Tower.
He glanced at her, but she was suspicious now. She crossed her arms and shook her head at him before she faced the road ahead.
It was a long car ride.
A few hours later, they arrived at the apartment Supe Affairs had been funding for Butcher’s team. There, they took some time to regroup. While Ben raided the fridge, Butcher pulled out a locked box from a large safe in the back room. Helena peered into it incredulously.
“Why do you guys have a giant-ass safe?” she asked. “You could fit a whole body in there. More than one, actually.”
She stepped back when Butcher closed it back up. He tossed her a knowing look.
“Having a lead-lined box comes in handy,” he said. He set down the smaller one he carried on the dining table and unlocked it. Inside were a few more green vials of V24. Helena’s brows raised.
“Huh. You really didn’t need my help,” she remarked. Butcher remained quiet, earning her gaze. “Why’d you let me come here with you then?”
“‘Cause I knew you’d raise hell for me, whatever I did,” he said. It was half-exasperated, but she detected the slightly softer edge behind his eyes. He knew why she was here, why she was insistent on helping him. She wanted him to come out of this in one piece, but not just for herself.
With that heavy thought, she watched him walk away from her to check on Ben in the kitchen. She was left with an open box with a handful of vials left.
The thought of V24 disgusted her…but she knew, if she was going back to Vought Tower, if she was taking any chance of coming face-to-face with Homelander again, she needed to protect herself.
She grabbed a vial and hid it in her jacket pocket.
While Helena took her time refreshing herself in the bathroom, she soon caught the muffled sounds of Butcher and Ben talking.
She carefully opened the door a crack, and she listened. She heard Ben talk about The Soldier Boy Story losing out Best Picture to American in Paris. It had been Vought’s best PR story for Soldier Boy’s background—a poor kid from the streets of South Philly, who discovered he had incredible powers to match his heart of gold.
To no one’s surprise, that story was utter bullshit.
Ben had grown up the son of one of the wealthiest steel moguls in Philadelphia, his father. Ben later got kicked out of boarding school…
“Because I was a fuck up,” Helena was surprised to hear him say. She ventured out of the bathroom and lingered in the hall, so she could spy the back of him while he continued with Butcher. Both of them were drinking. Whiskey, if she had to guess.
“But he made sure I knew it,” Ben said, speaking of his father.
“Use the belt, did he?” Butcher asked.
“Never laid a hand on me. He couldn’t be bothered,” Ben replied. “Said I was a disappointment. Not good enough to carry his name.”
Once again, Helena fought the sap within her that wanted to sympathize. She continued to fight against it, even when he admitted that his father hadn’t even been satisfied when Ben underwent Vought’s experiments and became Soldier Boy.
“He said I took a shortcut,” said Ben. “That a real man wouldn’t have cheated.”
Helena took in a subtle breath. She heard the heaviness in his voice. The resentment, and yet, a thread of resignation. She understood then where it all came from—the bravado. The machismo. The asshole behavior. It all stemmed from that wound inside him that craved validation from his father.
Helena could relate. Her own father was, and had always been impossible to please. She knew what it was like to be a disappointment.
In the living room, Ben swirled the liquor in his drink as he shoved down memories of a life he’d thought he left behind a long time ago.
“What about you, got any kids?” Ben asked.
“It’s complicated,” Butcher admitted.
But even when Ben admitted that he’d wanted kids, that he thought he could do it better than his father, Butcher saw through those threads. He reminded that Homelander wasn’t Ben’s son. Not really. He was raised in a lab to take Ben’s place. And more than that…
“Look mate,” Butcher said. “We had a deal.”
Ben drained the rest of his glass and stood. Suddenly this room felt stiff and oppressive.
“I’m gonna get some air,” he said.
Helena watched him head for the apartment’s balcony. She stepped into the living room and shared a look with Butcher.
“On one hand, you probably abandoned Hughie at some random gas station,” she said. “On the other hand, you’re doing your hardest to keep Ben on your side.”
Butcher shook his head instead of answering her, but she stepped into his path and laid a hand on his chest.
“I think you left Hughie because you wanted to save him from all this, like you probably want to leave me here,” she said. “You’re not the same man who started this whole kamikaze mission. The difference now is, you actually have a line you won’t cross.”
Butcher looked down on her, not knowing what she wanted him to say. Just now though, she didn’t need him to say anything.
She grasped the front of his shirt and pulled herself up to him, meeting his lips with hers. It was slow, but with the underlying passion that had always existed between them, right from the start. His hands migrated down the curve of her waist and held her close, his fingers pressing into her lower back.
When she broke from him and met his heavy eyes, hers were filled with quiet determination. Butcher couldn’t understand it. Part of him even hated it, knowing he was still dragging her down with him here.
“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Butcher asked.
Her head tilted as she gave a wry smile. “What do you mean?”
His grip on her waist tightened a little.
“Why’re you staying with me?” he pressed. “Hel, you know where this ends.”
“Billy, I don’t have a death wish,” she told him. She squeezed his arms back. “But I don’t just want you alive for me. Ryan needs you too.”
Butcher shook his head, but she stopped him from withdrawing.
“He don’t need me,” he said. “Fact is, both of you are better off without.”
“Yes, he does. He loves you, Billy. He’ll forgive you if you give it a chance. And like it or not, he’s your responsibility. Because you made a promise,” Helena said firmly, pressing a finger into his chest. Tears welled up in her eyes as she met his furrowed stare. “Be a fucking man. Take care of the people you care about. The people who love you.”
Her voice shook, but her conviction was fierce and steady. Butcher could only look down on her in silence, even though her words rattled him down to his boots.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Both of their heads turned, though their eyes briefly met before Butcher gestured for her to step back while he ventured towards the door. He looked in the peephole first.
His eyes widened. Bloody hell?
He opened the door to find Queen Maeve, looking a bit ragged in an “I <3 New York” t-shirt and some pajama pants that were too big for her.
“Fuck me,” Butcher said in shock. “I thought you was dead.”
M.M. then quickly stepped into view, making Helena gasp when he pointed his gun directly under Butcher’s chin.
“You didn’t think I knew where the blind spots were, motherfucker?” he said.
“M.M.!” Helena exclaimed, half in greeting, half in warning. Her face practically begged him not to pull that trigger. The other man’s lips pursed.
“Hey, Hel,” he said, more casually than he looked. Behind him and Maeve were Hughie and Annie, Kimiko and Frenchie. The whole gang was here.
“Back up,” M.M. ordered at Butcher. He obliged him by stepping back into the room, closer to Helena, but still in front of her.
“Where’s Soldier Boy?” Annie asked. Her tone boded no further bullshit.
“You on that Temp. V shit, Butcher? Huh?” M.M. demanded. “What happens if I pull this trigger?”
“M.M., stop!” Helena tried. She stepped forward, but Butcher stopped her with a hand held against her. Hughie likewise grabbed M.M.’s shoulder and imploringly diffused him, at least for the moment.
“If Soldier Boy goes through with this, thousands will die,” Hughie said. “Help us stop him.”
“This ain’t a bloody kinder care we’re on about, son. It’s Vought-fucking-Tower,” Butcher pointed out.
“Becca worked in the Tower,” said Frenchie. Helena shot him a look for that one, as did Butcher. Helena had worked for Vought as well.
“You shut your fucking cake hole, Frenchie,” Butcher shot back.
“No,” Frenchie said. He seemed to gain some confidence in standing his ground. He dropped his backpack to the floor and planted his feet as he glared back at Butcher. “No! My cakehole will remain open! You will never command me again. I am done with your cruelty—”
Helena’s brows raised. Once again, Hughie played the part of peacekeeper as he talked Frenchie down from his (seemingly well-earned) tirade.
“We, we heard you, okay?” Hughie said. He turned to Butcher and leveled him with an honest truth. “You could’ve let me die from the V, but you saved me… In the shittiest way possible, but still. I don’t think you want to do this. I think you want me to pull you back. Like Lenny used to.”
Helena’s eyes widened. He knows about Lenny?
She looked to Butcher for his reaction…and she missed the way Maeve moved. She grabbed something out of Kimiko’s hand and tossed it out the window, despite Annie’s protests. Then she ripped M.M.’s gun apart.
“Butcher’s right. Homelander needs to die!” Maeve said. “That’s it. Whatever it takes.”
Annie shook her head in disbelief. “I really thought that deep down you were a hero.”
“Well, you were wrong,” Maeve replied. “There’s no such thing.”
“This isn’t going to happen,” Annie refuted. Her eyes glowed, displaying her power as the lights flickered.
Helena’s mouth fell open, even as Butcher subtly stepped in front of her. Was this apartment about to become a battlefield?
“Annie, I don’t want to hurt you,” Maeve said, with caution in her eyes.
“But I will,” said Ben. He finally drew back into the living room. Helena didn’t know how long it had been since he’d stepped back inside, but she could assume he’d been waiting for the right moment. That was apparently right fucking now.
He drew all eyes in the room, including M.M.’s darkened gaze.
“All right, you lot. Into the safe,” said Butcher. Helena shot him an incredulous look.
“Billy,” she tried. He wasn’t able to be so stoic looking down at her, but he was resolute in his decision.
“You too, love,” he said. His hand guided her by the small of her back. When she tried to push back, he grasped her arm with a strong, but not painful hold and shepherded her along with the rest of them into the safe. Except for Ben and Maeve, of course.
Helena met Ben’s gaze, but his unyielding mask was firmly in place. She reached out to Butcher before he closed the door. She knew what he was doing; this was his version of saving her—of keeping her out of this. But she glared at him.
“Billy, don’t do this,” she all but pleaded.
He stared back at her in silent apology. “Goodbye, Helena.”
Then he shut the door, casting them all in darkness.
She was grateful no one could see the way she wiped a tear or two from her cheeks. Butcher had shut off the power, so Annie couldn’t use her abilities to draw from the electricity. What she could do was bulldoze her way through the safe, ramming it over and over with her shoulder until the door burst open, allowing them to escape.
Annie shook off the exertion and took in deep breaths.
“Okay, they got a really big head start, but I know a way in,” she said.
“So do I,” said Helena. The women looked to one another with a tenuous truce.
“Then what?” said M.M., after he turned the power back on. “The way I see it, we’re fucked with no grease. No plan and no knockout gas.”
“Knockout gas? Is that what Maeve threw out the window?” Helena asked.
“Yeah, it’s Novichok,” Hughie explained. “A nerve agent. Literally the only thing the Russians found that can take down Soldier Boy.”
Her eyes widened. “What, it can kill him?”
“No, just put him to sleep, indefinitely,” he replied. She considered that with a frown. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking this, considering all the bullshit he’d pulled on her, but she didn’t know if putting Ben to sleep was something she wanted to see happen to him…
“Well, maybe we can reason with him, assuming he takes down Homelander,” she suggested. “Ben’s a raging asshole, but he’s not totally…”
Her words died on her tongue when she realized how M.M. was looking at her, as if he didn’t know her.
“Ben? Motherfuckin’ Ben?” he said incredulously. “So what were you doing all this time, playing fucking house with America’s oldest killer?”
“M.M., that’s not how it went down,” Hughie tried to jump in on Helena’s behalf, but she crossed her arms and stood firm.
“I was trying to help Butcher and Hughie stay alive,” she said, gesturing pointedly at the younger man. Hughie gave a sheepish look.
“Look, I’m not saying he’s a good man,” she continued, meeting M.M.’s angry gait. “But there’s humanity in Ben. I’ve seen it.”
The man had an ego a mile high and twice and wide, with anger issues and that only barely masked how repressed he was, emotionally. He’d threatened her, and even bruised her…but he hadn’t killed her.
He hadn’t wanted to. He’d walked away before he could actually break her.
It wasn’t a strong vote of confidence for his character, but it was better than Homelander, nonetheless.
“You really think you can change that rat bastard,” M.M. said, breaking her out of her thoughts as he shook his head. “Just like you think you change Butcher!”
“I’m not trying to change anyone!” she raised her voice to meet his. “But I do believe that people can choose to change. To be better.”
Because if there was no hope for that, then there was no hope for herself either.
“Call me an idiot,” she said, and she threw her hands up. “Call me a bitch and a lunatic, I don’t care! I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m going to do what I think is right.”
“Yeah, what’s right for you,” M.M. shot back.
“Maybe,” she snapped. “Maybe it is selfish, and I’m sorry. After Homelander’s dead, I’ll help you with Soldier Boy, whatever I can do. But do you really think Ben is the biggest threat right now? To everyone and anyone?”
M.M. seethed in silence, but he didn’t seem to have an answer for her. Annie, Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie—they all stood by Helena and M.M., in both silent contemplation and wariness.
“Okay, then what’s less selfish?” Helena asked, with gesturing hands at him. “Taking out Soldier Boy for your revenge, or ending the biggest fucking psychopath in the world? Otherwise known as Homelander. Who, if you forgot, was responsible for my best friend’s death.”
That fell between them all, heavier than a stone in a shallow pool. Part of Helena felt guilty for spinning M.M.’s cause as selfish, but she’d made her point. M.M., Butcher, Ben, and even she had a score to settle. It was just a matter of who was willing to sacrifice the most for it.
She wasn’t willing to sacrifice her life for revenge, but she would for the ones she loved.
M.M.’s anger soon lessened, by degrees.
“Okay,” said Hughie. He cut through some of the tension, as he himself let out a breath. “How do we get more Novichok?”
“…We don’t,” M.M. said. “That was the only one.”
After a moment of deliberation, Frenchie chimed in. There was a lab in New York that might just have what he needed. It just happened to be Vought’s R&D lab on Level 0.
It was a crazy plan.
“We’re going to break into Vought Tower, while you go to the lab, crawling with armed guards, and you’re gonna cook up the world’s most dangerous neurotoxin?” M.M. said. Sarcasm and disbelief dripped with every word. “With what, a little moxie and a little Mr. Wizard know-how? While we hold off Homelander and Soldier Boy?”
“Uh…oui?” said Frenchie.
Helena looked over at him with a sharp frown. “Are you fucking high?”
He gave her a smile. “Also oui.”
She sighed and covered her eyes with her hand.
“We’re so screwed,” she muttered. “But we’re also wasting time.”
“It’s good enough for me,” Hughie said, with a smile. Annie met her boyfriend with a smile of her own.
“Me too,” she said.
Kimiko agreed to this ingenious plan more readily than M.M., and even Helena. Even so, they had no other options. They were heading to Vought Tower.
AN: Phew! On to the finale! (And then the Epilogue after that.) I finally finished writing the last chapters of this series, so the next chapter will be out soon: on 2/20.
Next Time:
By the time Helena turned back to the scene before them, Ryan’s eyes were glowing red.
He shot a laser beam right at Soldier Boy, knocking him through the far wall and onto his ass. When he got up, shaking rubble from his shoulders, he clearly wasn’t happy about it.
Fortunately, Helena reached Ryan just as Ben took a few intimidating steps forward.
“Ben, stop!” she shouted. And it actually halted the supe’s steps.
Keep Reading: Part 20
The Boys Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Ko-Fi Me ☕
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And So It Goes - Part 15
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
AN: This story lives!!! Lol I'll try to be more consistent about finishing the last few chapters on this story for those who are still following it.
ASIG Series Masterlist
Word Count: 5,000
Warnings: 18+ for some spiciness, angst.
15: Schemes & Lies
Three months after Butcher and Helena each accepted job offers, they had developed a kind of rhythm. On days like today, when he was home and actually woke beside her in bed, their mornings could afford to be lazy.
She woke to his hand slipping under her shirt as he moved in closer behind her. His bare chest met her back, and she felt his warmth. She had to stifle a smile, though her eyes remained closed while another hand brushed her dark hair away from her neck and pressed a nipping kiss just under her ear. His beard prickled along her skin.
“You can stop pretending you’re asleep,” he rumbled.
A real smile crept across her face as his fingers danced tantalizingly between her breasts. She breathed in deep and hummed with a little stretch, as if she were just waking up.
She gave herself away by purposefully rubbing her ass against his growing length. It earned a grunt from him, followed by a chuckle.
“All right, you fucking asked for it,” said Butcher.
Helena giggled and turned her head to accept a kiss. But before the morning could well and truly kick off, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
They paused. She was the first to sigh and let her hand fall away from where it had begun to sift through his short hair.
“That’s you, babe,” she said.
“I know,” came his surly reply. Her amused smile returned while she watched him twist away to reach for the phone. He answered it without getting out of bed.
Predictably, it was Hughie. Supe Affairs had another case for him, Kimiko, and Frenchie. Some telekinetic supe was robbing stores without even entering the building.
By the time he hung up, Helena was ready for what her boyfriend was about to say when he sat up in bed and turned to her.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said.
She nodded and laid a hand on his chest. “Be safe.”
He briefly covered her hand and nodded. He hesitated for a moment, but he leaned over and pressed a parting kiss to her hairline.
Then, they each got out of bed to start the day. Butcher eventually left after freshening up and getting dressed, with a to-go mug filled with a fresh batch of Cuban coffee. When his car peeled out of the driveway, heading for the city, Helena saw that the coast was clear.
She got dressed for “work,” and she drove in the opposite direction—a couple of hours upstate. She sent a text each to both Grace and Ryan. By the time Helena got to the safe house, Ryan was already hanging out in the front yard waiting for her.
He ran up to her with a solid hug that almost bowled her over, but she accepted it with a laugh.
“Hey, buddy,” she greeted, carding her fingers warmly through his hair. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’ but the rent,” Ryan joked. She’d taught him that one when they were jamming out to ‘90s music while cooking dinner together last week.
“Damn right,” Helena grinned. She walked him inside, where Grace had been watching her charge from the front windows.
“I need to run some errands. Are you all right here with him?” Grace asked. Helena nodded.
“Yeah, for sure,” she replied, before looking over at Ryan. “What’re we doing today? Trivial Pursuit, Sudoku, a movie?”
Ryan thought about it. Then he gave a smile that was all Becca.
“All three?” he suggested, and also implored with those big blue eyes.
Helena chuckled. This time, she ruffled his hair. “Okay, Sudoku and a movie first. Let’s pick one out.”
An hour later, they were nearly done with Jurassic Park: The Lost World when Ryan turned to Helena on the couch. A big bowl of popcorn was nestled between them, and their Sudoku booklets were long ago filled out. She’d have to bring more challenging ones next time.
“Can I ask you something?” said Ryan.
Helena nodded and paused the movie. “Shoot.”
“If you’re…together, why don’t you just come with Billy when he visits?” he asked.
She sighed; she’d thought she went over this already. “It’s not because I don’t want him to know I’m hanging out with you. It’s because this is important to me. The work I do with Grace is also important to me, but he’d rather I do something else… Billy wants me to be safe, but sometimes, I have to take risks in order to make a difference. Just like he’s doing with Supe Affairs.”
This was her conviction, and she couldn’t feel guilty about what she was doing, only that she was lying to him.
“I don’t get it,” Ryan said, his brows furrowing. “Are you doing something wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that I’m keeping it from him. But I don’t regret spending time with you, or working with Grace,” Helena replied. “Ryan, it’s natural to want to protect the people you care about. Like your mom. She made a lot of sacrifices to protect you, and that wasn’t wrong either.”
Ryan seemed to digest that, while Helena’s mind continued to churn. It had taken her a while to understand Becca’s choices, but if Helena could already feel this much of a desire to watch over Ryan and protect him, then she could only imagine what Becca had felt. Every day Helena spent with her best friend’s son was both a blessing and a curse: it reminded her of Becca, in the best and worst of ways.
She could also see him thinking, with that sad frown of his. It broke Helena’s heart, if she was honest. So she scooted over on the couch and tugged him into her side. He went willingly, resting against her when she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rubbed his back.
“But just so you know, I don’t come to see you because I have to,” she said. “I think we’ve got a good thing going here, don’t you?”
Ryan smiled, and he nodded before glancing up at her. “Can you tell me another story about her?”
“Hmm.” Helena searched through the archives of her brain. “Okay, we were in high school—”
A knock at the door interrupted her. Her entire body tensed.
“Ryan, go to your room. Don’t come out unless I tell you to, okay?” she said.
He opened his mouth to protest, but seeing her serious gaze, he nodded and got up to heed her instruction. Helena grabbed the gun Grace had told her was hidden under the coffee table, and cautiously she went to the front door and looked through the peephole.
She relaxed, expelling a breath. Fuck.
“It’s okay, Ryan!” she called back, and she opened the door to one Billy Butcher.
His dark brows rose a fraction, the surprise evident in his eyes. He nearly dropped the new Connect 4 game he held.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he asked.
Helena sighed and pushed the door open. “Nice greeting. Come in.”
Butcher grasped her arm and leaned in. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ryan coming, but he still made a point to say lowly in her ear.
“You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do, Hel.” His tone was cheeky, but it held an undercurrent of serious that she recognized well.
“We’ll hash it out at home. Don’t make a scene in front of Ryan,” she replied. She caught sight of Grace’s car pulling back into the driveway. “I’ll head out first.”
After saying a quick goodbye to Ryan with a hug (all the while ignoring Butcher’s eyes on her), Helena took her leave and started the long drive back home.
Butcher watched her go through the window. And when Grace entered the house, his grouch look let her know that they’d be having words.
He spent the better part of the afternoon catching up with Ryan and playing their new game. But when the kid finally went upstairs for a shower before the dinner Grace was cooking, Butcher cornered her in the kitchen.
“You’ve got some mighty fucking nerve, don’tcha?” he said.
Grace shot him a roll of her eyes. “Come off it, Butcher.”
“You should’ve fucking told me,” he said hotly. “You didn’t just let her back into the game. You pushed her right into the bloody center.”
Grace stopped stirring the spaghetti sauce to level him with a glare.
“Your actions have consequences,” she said coolly. “You could’ve left Helena well enough alone, and let her put Homelander, and all of Vought out of her mind. You are the one who can’t let go.”
Butcher later found Helena back at her house. She had showered and dressed into one of her old college shirts, faded and rung smaller in the wash, and some skimpy shorts. If she was trying to distract him, she’d have to work a bit harder than that. (Though the sight of her, bare legs and braless, did catch his eye.)
He turned off the TV while she was watching the latest episode of The Great British Bake Off and looked down on her with a face of stone. She curbed her inclination to spark off first.
“Look, I’m sorry I lied to you—”
“That’s the least of it,” Butcher snapped. “I don’t need you stepping into my business—”
“Excuse me,” she said tersely, and she pushed off the couch to meet his tense stance. “Ryan isn’t just your business. Becca was like a sister to me. You and I both know that she wanted her son taken care of.”
“Grace and I have it covered,” Butcher argued.
“Ryan would be lucky to see you once a month,” she countered. “And Grace can’t watch him every second of the day. Besides, he needs more than that. He needs as many friends and socialization as we can give him—”
“And what happens if Homelander finds him someday,” he reminded. “What the fuck happened to laying low?”
Helena made a sound of frustration and threw up her hands.
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just can’t do some stupid fucking data entry job,” she said. “I’ve been in this too long. And apparently, so have you.”
Butcher didn’t have an answer for her.
So he left, and slammed the door behind him.
Helena didn’t know this, because Butcher screened his calls for the next two days. But he drove back into the city after seeing a text from Queen Maeve, of all people, on his latest burner phone.
He rented a by-the-hour motel for the express purpose of doing business. She had been giving him intel on rogue supes for months, acting as his undisclosed informant.
Tonight, she met him there with a few samples of Vought’s latest R&D project: V24. Supposedly, it gave someone superpowers for just 24 hours.
Why? Well, maybe it would give Butcher the edge he needed to end Homelander, once and for all.
But the pièce de resistance of that conversation was her latest tip: a weapon that could possibly kill Homelander, like it killed America’s first superhero.
Soldier Boy.
Helena was in a silently simmering rage when she got ahold of Frenchie over the phone. She paced the length of her living room.
“I’m only going to ask this once, and I don’t want any bullshit, Frenchie,” she said. “Where is he?”
The other man gave a nervous chuckle. “Why’re you trying so hard to find Monsieur Charcutier?”
She paused; no one on the team, not even M.M. knew that she and Butcher were together. She made up an excuse on the fly.
“It’s about Ryan,” she said. “I’ve been helping Grace with a few projects, including his safety detail.”
“Truth be told, I haven’t seen him in a few days,” Frenchie admitted. “But, the last time he was here, he mentioned something about finding a supe named Gunpowder.”
Gunpowder? The name rung a bell, but not much of one.
“Why?” she asked. Frenchie heaved a sigh, but he eventually told her about Butcher’s latest plan (obsession)—finding the weapon that might’ve killed Soldier Boy forty years ago.
Helena hung up with Frenchie and made yet another call.
“Yes?” Grace answered.
“What do you know about Soldier Boy’s death?” Helena asked, in a tone that said she had no time and patience for any runaround.
There was a pause on the line.
Soon enough, however, Grace’s shrewd voice returned.
“I know he’s dead,” she said. “Whatever Butcher’s after this time, he’s chasing a ghost story.”
Helena wanted to believe that was true, but she had spent her entire career reading people. Reading a room, hearing the unspoken in what they said. And she had an inkling that her new boss was lying her ass off.
Not even 24 hours after that conversation, Grace called Helena to ask for her help…and to drop a bomb.
“What the fuck? Victoria Neuman’s a supe?” she exclaimed, but soon covered her mouth, as if anyone could hear her in the privacy of her big empty house.
“It’s worse than that,” Grace sighed. She then explained that Hughie had seen her explode a man who knew her before she became Victoria Neuman. She’d been adopted from an orphanage as a child…by Stan Edgar, of all people.
Helena sat down hard on the living room couch and rubbed at her already aching head.
“And I fucking made her head of Supe Affairs,” Grace said. In her tone, Helena knew the woman was kicking herself.
“She knows where Ryan is?” Helena asked.
“Yes. I’ve already organized his relocation. Meet me at the following address, but don’t write it down.”
Helena had a better photographic memory than she did an audible one, but she still remembered the numbers and street to the letter.
As always, Ryan was happy to see her. He came bounding to her when she got out of her car. Grace came out as well.
This house was old and situated on the verge of forest, virtually in the middle of nowhere, and cold and dreary with large gray clouds looming above.
“What’s the plan?” Helena asked Grace, after the three of them headed inside. Ryan showed Helena where the kitchen was so she could start making some tea; she needed something to calm her nerves.
“This is safe, for now, but we’ll need to keep moving,” said Grace. “It’s up to you whether you want to come with us.”
The unspoken second choice was staying at home, where Helena was most likely safer. At this point, if she were to keep visiting Grace and Ryan, she could potentially put his safety in jeopardy.
They had to assume Victoria had told Stan Edgar what she knew about Ryan’s first safe house. The fact that Homelander hadn’t come barging in for a year told them that either Victoria or Stan had kept the information to themselves (a small blessing). But Ryan had been even more exposed than they thought.
Helena watched Ryan carefully pour the hot water from the kettle into each of the mugs. She spoke lowly with Grace, even though they both knew that the child’s superior hearing would likely pick up on whatever they said.
“I don’t want to leave him,” Helena whispered.
“You have to think of what’s best for him,” Grace replied.
“I am,” Helena returned. “He needs us. All of us. Even Billy.”
Especially Billy, she thought.
Helena and Grace continued to go over the pros and cons of her continuing to make her visits to Ryan, but Helena was surprised when Grace answered a text with a frustrated sigh.
“Butcher’s coming,” she said.
“What? Now?” Helena said. Both hope and anger trilled through her. She hadn’t heard from him in a week, and now he was swooping in?
Well, she doubted he knew she would be here, to be fair.
An hour or so later, she was proven right. Butcher drove up with Kimiko, Hughie (who strangely had his right arm in a cast), and even M.M. They were just as surprised to see Helena, though they watched the scene unfolding between her and Butcher as they stared at one another with tension.
It didn’t break, even when Ryan came to all but tackle Butcher with a hug.
“Ooh,” Butcher grunted, hiding a frisson of pain as he hugged the kid back. “Easy does it, lad. Bloody death grip you got there.”
Ryan backed off slightly with concern. He’d noticed the same thing Helena did, apparently.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Butcher said with an easy smile. He patted the kid’s shoulder and began to lead him inside. Though his eyes met Helena’s as he passed her. They both knew they didn’t want to make a scene in front of Ryan.
But pulled him aside into the hall before he could have whatever tete-a-tete he wanted to have with Grace. Helena smacked him on the chest, making him flinch.
“Ey!” he protested, but she leveled a finger at him.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Helena hissed. “You go radio silence on me for a week. I have to find out from Frenchie about your latest batshit crazy fucking scheme to end Homelander.”
Butcher’s teeth clenched in frustration, but he grasped her arm gently.
“Look, we can hash this out all you want later. But we’ve both got some fucking work to do here,” he said.
Helena shrugged his hand off her arm. “That’s no apology. Until you’re ready for that, I guess we have nothing to discuss.”
She turned on her heel and went into the room where Grace and the others were waiting, save for Kimiko, who was keeping an eye on Ryan in the backyard.
Butcher sighed and followed Helena into the large study. Helena stood by Grace with her arms crossed. Hughie stood opposite with M.M., who looked between Butcher and Helena shrewdly.
“Aw, hell nah,” he said.
Hughie’s brows drew together in confusion. “What?”
M.M. sighed and cast a finger between the simmering Helena and the tense shoulders of Butcher.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “How long’ve you two been fucking?”
Helena’s eyes widened, while Butcher’s went heavenward.
“Here we fuckin’ go,” he muttered.
“It’s not,” Helena tried to speak, with stops and false starts that had her blushing. “It’s not exactly like that.”
M.M. tilted his head and crossed his arms. “Yeah? What’s it like?”
“For Christ’s sake,” Butcher said.
“Whoa, what?” Hughie interjected.
“Can we please just,” Grace tried, but Helena finally raised her voice to cut over everyone.
“It’s a thing, okay! We’re together,” she said, though she sent Butcher a glare. “Though at the moment, that remains to be seen.”
A pregnant pause filled the room.
Hughie managed to utter, “Uh...how long’s this been going on?”
Helena sighed. “About a year.”
M.M. blinked in surprise, though it didn’t shock him to see that Grace clearly knew. He shook his head.
“Interesting.”
“Right, can we get back to the matter at hand?” Grace said. “Victoria Neuman. I’d very much like to hear the plan to eliminate her.”
“Well, that depends,” Butcher said. His hands slid into his pockets as he turned to her. “On what you can tell us about your holiday, down in Nicaragua.”
What? Helena thought. She turned to Grace with a frown.
“I’ve never been to Nicaragua,” said the agent.
“Oh really? ‘Cause a little birdy told me you were Payback’s case officer down there, on a classified job that Soldier Boy never came back from.”
The other woman tried to deny she knew anything about what Butcher was talking about…but after he threatened to expose all of her contacts and agents in the CIA, both active and inactive. Helena looked at Butcher incredulously, wondering where his soul had gone to.
He avoided her gaze and remained steady on Grace. This was how he got results.
“It was part of Operation Charly,” Grace eventually admitted, though through her disgust at Butcher.
To Helena’s further surprise, Grace admitted to participating in a secret CIA operation in 1984 for the Cold War efforts against the Russians. In which the CIA trafficked cocaine into the U.S. to fund the government’s efforts.
And Vought American, led by a young Stan Edgar, leveraged enough political power to try partnering their team of supes with American soldiers. Their team was Payback, led by Soldier Boy, Vought’s first superhero.
Helena had been a records keeper, among other things. She knew Soldier Boy’s story all too well. His backstory had been carefully crafted: a “rags to riches” story that framed a poor young kid from hard knocks into taking the world’s first super serum in 1944. He’d led his own unit in World War II, fighting against the Nazis and for the American dream.
His entire career had been tickertape parades, shitty movies, and even a few cheesy music videos that had been chart toppers in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Helena had seen them all. And she’d come to learn, just as well, that they’d been completely fabricated.
Now, she had to listen to Grace tell her story. About how the cast of Payback had fucked up the entire mission.
But Butcher paused her story halfway through, looking pale and almost green as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom. Helena frowned. She held a waiting hand up at Grace and went to follow him.
She heard the flush of a toilet, more than once, after the sounds of his upheaval. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed when Butcher finally emerged. He stopped short, meeting her gaze. In his, she saw that his eyes were red and glossy. His skin was ashen and dewy with sweat. She could faintly smell chemicals on him. Her head tilted.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“‘M fine, Hel.”
“Nope. Try again.” She stepped into his orbit and looked up at his face. This didn’t look like a bad burrito or a stomach bug. This looked worse. Like withdrawal. “Oh my God. Are you on something?”
Butcher looked away from her. She grasped his trench coat and made him look at her.
“What the hell is going on with you? Jesus, Billy. Talk to me,” she pleaded. “When were you going to tell me about this Soldier Boy thing?”
Again, he didn’t want to seem to answer her. Her lips pursed.
“Look, I know you’ve got M.M. and the rest of the guys. But weren’t you and I in this together?” she asked.
Butcher made the mistake of looking into her eyes. There, he couldn’t lie.
“It’s temp. V. Or uh…V24,” he said.
Helena’s eyes went wide as her mouth fell open. “Oh my fucking…Billy.”
V24 was the last R&D project she heard about before she quit her job at Vought. She knew all too well what it was.
“Finally gives me the chance to level the fucking playing field,” he said. She grasped at his shirt.
“How the fuck did you get that? When I left, it was still in preliminary testing,” she said.
“Well, the mockups are a bit hairy, but it gets the fucking job done,” he said.
She let out an incredulous scoff, resting a hand on his pale cheek. “Clearly it isn’t without side effects.”
Butcher’s face was grim. “Small price to pay.”
Helena paused. Her expression dimmed from concern to shock, and then sadness. Her hand slowly fell from his cheek.
“You’re not going to stop,” she said shakily. “This vendetta you have against Homelander. You’re not gonna stop until you’re dead. Which means you’re giving up on us. On everything we have…or would’ve had.”
“Hel,” Butcher sighed. He tried to hold her, but she slipped away from his would-be embrace.
She shook her head, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“You don’t really love me,” Helena realized, her lower lip trembling. “Either that, or you hate Homelander more.”
She didn’t give him a chance to touch her again. She walked away from him, down the hall and back into the room where Grace and the others were waiting. She scrubbed at her tears along the way.
Grace’s story culminated in Swatto giving away the CIA’s position. The cartel they were trying to avoid brought Russian special forces in as their allies.
A mass shootout ensued, in which all of Grace’s unit were massacred, and Soldier Boy had somehow been killed, his body taken far beyond the Iron Wall, along with whatever mystery weapon that could possibly kill an invulnerable supe.
Helena couldn’t help but see Grace in a new, more sour light. Yes, she’d been the sole survivor of a mass grave. But she had led an operation that had ruined the lives of thousands.
When Grace asked to speak to Butcher alone for a moment, Helena easily agreed. She needed a break from both of them. She left the room in disgust and joined M.M. on the porch outside. They watched Hughie join Kimiko in playing Connect 4 with Ryan.
“I’m sorry,” M.M. said. It earned her curious gaze. “I can’t even judge you for hooking up with Butcher, because I’m here now too.”
She smiled faintly. Though a few minutes later, she frowned with a jolt as the front door slammed open. Out came Butcher, roiling mad. Grace was on his heels.
“What happened?” Hughie asked. He and Kimiko walked over with Ryan.
“We’re off,” Butcher snapped. He headed for his car without even looking their way. Ryan ran over to meet him.
“Butcher, wait up! Where-where’re you going?” he asked.
“The city,” Butcher spoke shortly. Helena got up to follow them. Worry churned in her gut, for both of them.
“When will I see you again?” asked Ryan.
“You won’t. Ain’t safe for you.” Butcher’s words were clipped, and none too gentle.
“Billy,” Helena tried to stop him. It took Ryan pushing at the man, showing a fraction of his super strength. It was clearly instinctual, born of desperation. But Helena saw the hint of wariness behind Butcher’s eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asked. Pleaded really, for an explanation, for some compassion. Butcher had seemed to be rung dry.
“I got to go,” he said.
That was when Ryan grabbed the man’s arm, with intentional strength. He huffed and puffed like he was on the verge of losing control.
“Ryan,” Helena warned, with worry in her eyes. She stepped up behind Butcher, who held out a protective hand against her coming closer.
“Ryan, let go,” Butcher said, with authority.
“No! You said you’d always watch out for me,” Ryan cried. “You promised!”
Butcher repeated himself, more firm, but still, the kid didn’t relent.
“I won’t let you!”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to look at ya, after what you done to my Becca. Did you ever think of that?” Butcher snapped.
Helena gaped. Her shock was almost as visceral as Ryan’s dismay. He let go of Butcher with tears already welling up in his eyes.
His eyes that flashed red.
Helena gasped this time. It led Butcher to subtly shift his stance, so he was standing directly in front of her. He already regretted his words, but his anger and his pride wouldn’t allow him to do anything more than watch for what Ryan would do.
With a blink, the red haze was gone, but he reached for the chain of the Christopher’s medal around his neck and yanked it off. He threw it at Butcher’s feet.
“I hate you,” he said, in a trembling voice. He ran back into the house.
Butcher turned around to find that Helena also had tears unshed in her eyes. She trembled with both shock and a thread of wary fear. Before he could ask if she was all right, she looked up at him like she didn’t know him.
“How could you do that?” she asked. “He’s just a kid, Billy!”
He glanced down at the ground. His face told her that he knew she was right, but out of his mouth came more resigned assholery.
“Yeah, well, what else is fucking new,” he said. Helena scoffed angrily.
“You’re more than this,” she said. “I don’t care what the hell Grace told you. You don’t have to be this man.”
He tilted his head at her.
“And what would you have me be? Prince bloody fucking Charming?” Butcher shot back. “You can babysit that kid all you want, but you ain’t his fuckin’ mum! You ain’t Becca.”
A shaking breath fell from Helena’s lips. She flinched as if he’d slapped her.
Butcher saw it all play out across her face: shock, dismay, and deep hurt. Her tears welled up once more and slid down her cheeks. Behind her, he saw M.M., Grace, Hughie, and Kimiko. All of them saw a monster in human clothing.
Rather than torture himself further by staring at her face, he looked away. And like a coward, he began to turn from her to head for his car.
“If you walk away from me, I’m done,” Helena said. She watched him halt in his steps. “I’ll be fucking done with you for real.”
His steps halted for a moment.
She saw that it wasn’t enough to hold him, however. Her tears continued to fall as she watched him walk away from her, and she glared at his back all the while.
She accepted murmured apologies from M.M. and Hughie, and a sad look from Kimiko as they left to continue their mission: their hunt for Soldier Boy.
Helena felt rooted to where she stood, until Grace laid a hand on her shoulder.
Both women eventually turned back to the house. Helena wiped at her tears and went upstairs to find Ryan’s door. She leaned against it and let out a breath.
“You want to talk?” she offered.
“Leave me alone!” came the angry reply. But she knew he was crying, that his heart was shattered.
She knew the feeling.
AN: 😬 Sorry for ending on angst, but we're headed into the meat of S3 now...
Next Time:
Butcher makes a deal, and Helena finally meets Soldier Boy! 😜
Soldier Boy distracted Helena from her thoughts, however, when he reached out to thumb at her chin, raising her face up to his.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked. His head quirked slightly.
“Helena.” She guided his hand away with her own, but in one smooth motion, he’d taken her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
“The face that launched a thousand ships,” he teased. “I like it.”
“That was Helen,” she replied, subtly tugging her hand out of his. “You know, of Troy.”
But the bitch of the bunch was, she was actually blushing.
Keep Reading: PART 16
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And So It Goes - Part 11
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)
ASIG Series Masterlist
Word Count: 4,700
Warnings: Language, angst
11: In Every Heart There is a Room
“You fed the stray,” Mother’s Milk grumbled. He had the surliness of a ninety-year-old man with the body of a Greek god, but Helena would not be fooled. Even through the phone, she recognized the thread of worry underneath his mild bitching.
Rolling her eyes, she sighed and opened a new package of double-stuffed Oreos to go along with the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream she got at the store that morning.
Perhaps she was stress eating, but it was only fair, considering the very restless night she’d had. Knowing Butcher was under her roof had destroyed six months of trying (and mostly succeeding) to put him out of her mind.
“What was I supposed to do?” she said. “He showed up at my door, looking like a sad, scruffy-ass bum who lost his booze money…and he had the most bullshit excuse! Couldn’t even admit how he found out where I was.”
“Mallory’s always had a soft spot for him,” M.M. said, sounding bemused. While that point was interesting, Helena tried not to be too annoyed that Mallory had probably betrayed her confidence, even if it was for Butcher.
She supposed that’s what she got for trusting a government spy. But what Helena would fucking give to know why Butcher went to such lengths to find her…if he was just going to leave without saying goodbye.
“Yeah well, Mr. Soft Spot fled the vicinity early this morning,” she groused. “Little bitch didn’t even have the decency to leave a note.”
Or at least his new phone number…
“Decency.” M.M. let out a short laugh. “Hel, trust me. Just let the man be.”
Helena wandered out of her kitchen with an obscenely large bowl of dessert, phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder, and somehow made it to her couch without incident. She kicked her feet up on the coffee table before she dove in. Balancing the bowl in her lap, she grabbed her phone and put her exasperated friend on speaker.
“You didn’t see him, M.M.,” she finally replied, albeit around a mouthful of ice cream. “I don’t know where his head’s at. Thinking about what he might be getting into now, it makes my fucking skin crawl.”
She heard him sigh heavily on the line, then pause to turn away to answer a muffled question his daughter asked him. Helena felt bad for taking him away from his family, even for a five-minute chat about her own personal hell.
“Listen,” M.M. said, “If you’re smart, you’d see this for the pure gift it is, and let that motherfucker drop the hell out of your life.”
Helena frowned. Her spoon clattered a bit too loudly on the ceramic bowl in her lap.
“That’s a hell of a thing to say,” she said. “He just lost Becca…for the second time. You all got your happy endings, and meanwhile, he’s twisting in the wind again doing God knows what.”
She knew M.M. wasn’t that heartless. There was a lot left unsaid in the brief silence that followed, but despite everything Billy Butcher had put them all through in the past, she had a feeling M.M. had more sympathy for the ill-tempered Brit than he could readily admit.
M.M.’s wife and daughter were forced to go into hiding because of his own choices. She was sure he knew the fear of losing them forever.
“I’m tellin’ you this for your sake,” he said eventually. “Where Butcher goes, shit follows. And he knows it.”
He was edging towards something. She thought she knew what he was implying, but her stomach was already in knots and she was entirely too fucking tired to play these games anymore.
“What are you saying?” she said sharply.
“I’m saying he’s never gunna let Homelander go,” M.M. said. “He’s never gunna let Becca go. So if you want to keep your sanity, and your life, then let him go.”
That was probably good advice. In fact, Helena knew it was, and she made the decision that day to continue protecting herself. After all, wasn’t that the reason she had left the city behind, along with what was left of her old life?
…Unfortunately, she also had a long, sad history of making ill-advised decisions.
That very night, she saw (caught) him in the bowels of her local pub. His third glass of dark liquor was in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth.
To date, she had never seen him smoke, and she was just irritated enough (and bold enough) to grab the cancer stick out of his mouth and diffuse it in the ashtray on the counter.
She knew he had noticed her the moment she came into the bar, and she could feel him watching her now as she slid into the seat next to him.
Her lips were set in a tight frown. Helena sighed, because not even her revered place of day-drinking was safe anymore, and this man was surely raising her blood pressure. She dumped her purse on the counter and ordered her usual beer with a shot of tequila. Lacing her fingers on the counter surface, she finally turned her gaze to Butcher. He offered her his usual smirk.
“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” she said, “considering your aversion to goodbyes, and common courtesy.”
He eventually answered, “Found this crusty lil’ spot last night. Decided to stay one more.”
But why? she wondered. Butcher didn’t do anything without a reason, so why was he sticking around in upstate suburbia? Was he just…bored? Was he keeping an eye on her, or was it Vought-related somehow? And if it was the latter, why the fuck would he come to her? All the valuable information she might have had, she gave to Mallory.
Whatever the reason, she thought as she sipped her beer, there was only one thing she could think to say—even though M.M.’s advice rattled around in the back of her mind like red-hot warning bells.
“Look, I don’t know why you’re really here,” she started, pausing to lick the brine of tequila from her lips. “But if you need a safe place to crash, you’ve got one. You don’t have to sleep in your car or drink here all night, or whatever the fuck you do to pass the time. Got it?”
Butcher didn’t quite look at her now, but his mouth quirked wryly before he finished off his whiskey.
“Not goin’ soft now are ya, love?” he asked. She shook her head and busied herself with the beer in her hand.
“Whatever. Do what you want.” You always do.
It was a terrible fucking idea.
Bad enough to come here the first time around, worse not to roll out of town like he planned to, worst of all to fuck his better judgment and go back home with her that night.
Butcher could blame the booze, but it was hard to complain when she cooked dinner, especially when it was some bonafide Cuban shit he could barely pronounce. Some beef stew and rice, but the name, ropa vieja she said, meant old clothes, and tasted anything but.
He stayed the night and left in the morning, working some odd jobs around town while he bided his time. The truth was, he was waiting on some information to come in. He wasn’t going to Mallory again. Not until he had something concrete, something he could use.
The strange thing was, he hadn’t noticed anyone trailing him since he left the city; hadn’t felt the back of his neck burning or sensed the ever-present target on the back of his head.
It was part of the reason why he was sticking around, out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Whether it was truly safe or not (it probably wasn’t—just because he couldn’t feel prying eyes didn’t mean jack shit), he knew he was gambling, and not just with his own life. As always.
Over the next few weeks, she allowed him to come and go as he pleased. He learned, with a very rude awakening one morning, that she played salsa music loud as shit while she cleaned up the whole house—before birds, the sun, and even God were awake.
A weekly ritual, she told him, and his only entertainment was in teasing her about fitting a certain stereotype, like some Maid in Manhattan type shit.
“And you? Where the fuck is my entire stash of Earl Gray, Billy?” she demanded, hand on her hip. “I pegged you as more of a liquor in your coffee kind of Brit, not pinky raising, crumpets and afternoon tea."
"Why can't I like tea?"
"You drank it all! And my shortbread cookies, you ass."
Granted, the mop in her hand slightly took away from her annoyed stance, but Butcher couldn’t help cracking up a bit. He liked winding her up, because she was fucking funny when she was pissed off. Like a kitten fluffing up its fur to look intimidating.
Still, while sat at the breakfast bar of her kitchen his gaze was drawn to the cupboards between the oven and the pantry, where he knew she kept her booze.
“Yeah well, you locked the liquor cabinet so I got no choice, do I?” he said.
Helena looked at him more shrewdly then, and with some sympathy. He knew what she was doing, or rather what she was trying to do. Trying to stop him from drinking so much. He couldn’t decide if it made him angry, or if it made him respect her that much more.
She surprised him by putting down the mop and taking his hand, getting him up from the bar.
“I’ve got a better way to take the edge off,” she said with a smirk. His lips curved and his brow rose all too lasciviously. But the moment he opened his mouth, she slapped his cheek firmly enough to force a wince and a chuckle out of him.
“Finally inviting me up to the bedroom, are we?”
“Shut up,” she snapped, “just come on.”
Helena’s smoke came out in shallow huffs with her laughter at Butcher nearly coughing up a lung. The difference was, it wasn’t with the black tar of cigarette smoke, but with the…herby aftertaste of a more organic alternative.
They played dominoes on her bedroom floor while she learned, despite his rock and roll exterior, that he was not as experienced as Becca had been in this area.
“My family owns a little café in Miami,” she admitted. “When I was little, I’d sit with my dad and my uncle on slow days while they played cards, dominoes, smoke cigars and alternated between coffee and bourbon. Every now and then, Mom would bring a new round of pastries, sandwiches, a slice of cake…”
She could feel Butcher’s eyes on her again as she flipped a domino between her fingers and considered her next move in the game.
“Sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen,” Butcher said.
“It’s no surprise that half my family’s got a Molotov cocktail of diabetes, heart disease, and hypertension.”
He smirked. “Yeah well, mine’s full of drunks and manic depressives, so you’re in good company.”
Helena’s embarrassing snort turned into a giggle, because she couldn’t exactly help it at the moment, and Butcher’s grin was broader in response.
“When did you and Becca start with this?” he asked, passing back the blunt. Helena took another small hit and thought back. She was surprised to hear him bring her up so casually, but when she looked into his eyes, it wasn’t completely without weight.
“High school junior prom,” she said, still with a bubble of laughter. “We had no idea what the hell we were doing, but both our dates were ass, so…”
Memory seemed to dawn in Butcher’s eyes, and his smirk deepened.
“Aw yeah, Mr. Star Trek briefs,” he recalled, to Helena’s mortification. She nearly dropped the smoking blunt in her lap as her mouth hung open.
“How the fuck—who told you about that?!”
“I have my ways,” he magnanimously replied, waggling his brow. Helena tossed her domino at his head, then another when he blocked the first one with his hand and protested.
“Heard he was a gamer, something about his fancy fingers,” Butcher hedged. His smirk took on a new edge, his body curving towards her while he braced himself with a hand on the floor, by her knee. “Bet I could beat his high score.”
Helena’s mouth suddenly felt as dry as her face felt undeniably warm. Even her brain momentarily short-circuited at the depths in his voice making her insides tremble a bit. She stared at his bearded face while her addled thoughts fought furiously to connect. Was he fucking serious right now?
“Ha. You are high as shit,” she forced herself to laugh and play her move in the game, so she wouldn’t have to stare into his eyes any longer.
But he was still watching her, closely.
Butcher didn’t come back for a few days after that. He knew that she didn’t understand what he was doing, that she was frustrated with him, but when he showed up at her door, soaked through from the pouring spring rain, she only chastised him for the first few minutes while she let him in and all but pushed him into the guest bathroom to shower.
Even with the rain it was brutally chilly out, and she was already making soup. As much as Butcher hated the word, she looked fucking adorable, all bundled up in a purple cable-knit sweater and fuzzy white socks.
Her hair was wet, rolled up in a bun like she’d just come out of the shower. He could smell the cocoa butter and wondered if it was her soap, or her shampoo. The sweet smell of her skin, or her hair? A tantalizing thought.
“Where do you go when you leave this house?” she finally asked while she rummaged the linen closet for a fresh towel. Butcher rolled his eyes.
“Does it matter?”
“Are you getting into trouble?” she pressed, her hands moving like clockwork to rest on her lovely hips. He smirked, but even fake good humor didn’t exactly reach his eyes.
“Why do I fucking bother. It’s not like you give a shit about things like respect or human decency,” she snapped. Shutting the closet door a little too hard, she all but shoved the towel at him. Her hand was briefly warm against his chest, even through his cold wet shirt.
“All right, Mum.”
“Shut up!”
Helena silently fumed in the living room while the shower ran. But she was angrier at herself than anything—that M.M. had warned her and she dug this hole for herself anyway. When the bathroom door finally opened, she wandered over and crossed her arms impatiently.
Her lips pursed, and she hoped the heat rushing at her face would cover up her blush at the sight of his naked torso with the fluffy towel around his waist. A man wrapped in hot fog and almost little else.
He caught her stare and smirked at her. “Enjoying the show, are we?”
“I need my hairdryer,” she lied, knowing she was blushing more fiercely. He probably saw through her, but didn’t call her out on it as much as he baited her.
“Come get it then, love. I’m all done,” he replied. He had one of her small combs in his hand and started nonchalantly pulling it through his hair at the mirror.
Helena eyed him warily, but she ignored the fluttering in her stomach and entered the bathroom.
Butcher pretended to be immersed in his task while she crouched down to rummage in the cabinet below the bathroom sink. It wasn’t often that she had her hair up, and her sweater hung lower on her back. He spotted the outline of an interesting tattoo, just below her neck, heading down the curve of her spine.
“‘Ullo, that a spider on your back?” he teased.
Helena gasped. “What!”
Before Butcher could blink, her head banged up on the edge of the cabinet, hard, and suddenly there was blood.
“Shit!” she hissed, but he stopped her hands from flying to grab her head, and guided her with a hand on her neck, away from the small and now bloody nail protruding from the cabinet.
“A shoddy job they did on this place,” he remarked.
Helena winced as she touched the area around the wound in her scalp. She teared up when her fingers came back bloody.
“Shit,” she repeated, and stared up at him with pathetic doe eyes. “That really fucking hurt. Is it bad?”
“Brilliant,” he muttered. “All right. Just get up here.”
He led her up by the elbows and sat her down on the covered toilet seat. He determined it wasn’t bleeding too badly.
“Was there a spider for real?” she asked tearfully.
Butcher covered up the sting of guilt with a short chuckle.
“Nah, but...you got a tattoo, eh?”
Anger flashing in her eyes, she sat up and slapped his bare shoulder. “You asshole!”
“Oi, oi! You want my help or not?”
She sniffed in response, her gaze reflexively roaming over his bare chest and firm-looking sternum, and the smattering of dark hair covering most of it, and she quickly skipped over the towel-covered portion before returning her gaze to the floor. “Can’t you put some pants on first?”
He smirked deeply, but he decided not to push it. Yet.
“Aye, I can do that.”
He soon returned dressed in jeans and for once a less glaring Hawaiian shirt, to find her dabbing at her scalp with toilet paper.
“Don’t use that one-ply shit, for Christ’s sake.” He pulled her hand away from the wound.
“That’s all that’s in here!” she said defensively.
“Don’t you have any fuckin’ tissue paper, some gauze?”
“Maybe in the first aid kit. Check my bathroom’s medicine cabinet.”
“Oh, shall I, princess?”
She stared at him incredulously.
“Fine, I’ll get it myself!” she said. “Fucking excuse me, I thought you were helping.”
Again, he rolled his eyes. “All right, enough. Sit down if you’re gunna make a fuss about it.”
“No! Don’t bother,” she said. Perhaps she knew she was being irrationally emotional as she scrubbed fresh tears from her eyes. He stopped her from getting up with a slightly gentler hand.
“Hey. Hey. Enough of that,” he snapped. “Sit down there.”
Helena felt like a child when he eventually came back with the first aid kit. She stayed grumpily quiet when he parted her hair and swabbed at the back of her head. He held it there until the slow oozing stopped. For a while, the silence in the bathroom was deafening.
“Am I gunna live, doc?” she quipped.
She knew it worked in breaking the tension when she spotted Butcher’s smirk in the mirror.
“It’s not deep,” he said. “Should be okay.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“Come again?” he hedged. Her lips pursed, even though they still threatened at a smile.
“I said thank you.” Though she did mutter some choice words in Spanish.
For once, he chose to ignore it.
“Clumsier than usual,” he teased. “What’re you gunna do if I do leave?”
“I was doing just fine before you showed up,” she tossed back. Maybe that was a little too close to the truth, because they both felt the mood shift into something more serious, and a little awkward.
“Yeah well, far as I can see you’re doing fuck all out here. What do you even do all day?” he said, more gruffly. More critical.
“At least I know for sure that I’m not hurting anyone! Can you say the same?” she said. When he didn’t answer, just as she expected, she stood up and took the gauze out of his hand before she moved past him out of the bathroom.
“When you take off again, do me a favor and make your fucking bed before you go. This isn’t an Airbnb.”
He lay awake in the guest bedroom that night, itching to leave. He wanted to, and it wasn’t often that he didn’t do what he wanted to, but there were things about the woman sleeping upstairs that he couldn’t ignore.
She woke up in the night almost as often as he did, from what he could hear through the thin walls. Sometimes he saw her walk past the cracked open door of his room, not in the sweatpants and oversized shirts she let him see, but in the little satin nighties that gleamed under the hallway nightlight. By his count, she had at least three of them.
He liked the red one best. It reminded him of the dress she wore the night he went kamikaze over to Stillwell’s house, and tried to trap Homelander.
He’d known that he wouldn’t be walking out of there alive. He would’ve either avenged his wife, or not. But before that, he’d almost kissed Helena in a supply closet—the last idiot whim of a soon-to-be dead man. He hadn’t known then that Becca was alive.
Perhaps if he’d stopped for half a second and let Helena tell him that, things would be a lot different now.
Butcher could hear her at this very moment, puttering around in the kitchen. She must’ve been more restless than usual. She’d probably make tea or grab a snack, then return to her room like a thief in the night with the entire pack of Oreos or a family-size bag of chips. Honestly, for how healthy she cooked, she had a bad snacking habit. Not that he should judge anyone about bad habits.
Even so, he couldn’t help but think there was something they could do to make sure both of them got a good night’s sleep.
He almost shook his head then, inwardly smirking. Now there was a thought to try and fall asleep on…
Until he was startled awake by a sharp crash that sounded a bit like metal breaking. His body jerked into alertness; he sat up and grabbed his gun from under his pillow before tossing on some pants, not bothering with a shirt. He stayed tense for action while creeping towards the kitchen…and eventually let out the breath he was holding.
It was just Helena, setting a couple of pans back on the kitchen counter. She looked back at him apologetically and he stowed his gun in the band of his pants.
“Sorry!” she stage whispered.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
“I’m making snickerdoodles.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Fucking why?”
“It helps me…not think, okay?”
“What’re you ‘not thinking’ about so loud that bloody cookies can���t wait ‘til the morning, huh?”
She sighed and put the pan down. Her hands found purchase on the counter and she stared down between them. He didn’t think she realized what she was doing to him, showing him the curve of her ass in a satin nightgown that barely reached mid-thigh. The black lacy hem, the thin straps clinging to her shoulders, the hint of nipple—
“How long do you think I have left?” she asked him. Admittedly, it took him a moment to hear, and then finally process that she was speaking.
“Eh?” he said coherently. She turned to him with a hand on her waist, gathering her mane of hair at the nape of her neck and nervously letting it pass through her other hand.
“It’s so damn quiet here, I kind of hate it,” she said. “Because it feels like it’s not real. Any minute they’re going to knock on my door, or more likely, bust through the window like last time.”
“Still not following, love.”
“When I gave the CIA that footage of Becca, Vought found out in a matter of days. I’ve been kidding myself, Billy. Sooner or later, they’re going to figure out the rest. That their last Senior VP was a mole for six months, that I was working with you and the guys, and Mallory. Then they’re going to kill me.”
He didn’t know what to tell her. Regardless of whatever he felt about it, her fear was real, and he didn’t see the point in lying to her. He couldn’t promise her that she’d be fine, just like he didn’t know if he’d turn a corner and get a bullet to the back of his brain tomorrow. Or Homelander's lasers between his eyes.
“You’ve got Mallory lookin’ out for ya,” he pointed out.
“Is that enough?” Helena asked. "You tell me."
She looked up at him with those eyes. Again, they were filling up with tears. When she inevitably broke down, he didn’t think he should be the one to catch her if he fell. But if he didn’t, was he okay with the alternative?
“Hey,” he said, just as she looked away from him to hide her face. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, but she refused to stop hiding. He grasped her arms and playfully jostled her a little. “Eh, don’t get all soft on me again. Look at me.”
Helena bit her lip to try and stop her own sobs, her breath coming out in shallow gasps the more that the panic and stress took over. She shook her head stubbornly.
“He’s going to find me,” she said.
Butcher knew she didn’t mean Stan Edgar, or even Black Noir. A dark thought, a tendril of rage rolled beneath his skin. It was a familiar feeling. Vengeful, protective, and dangerous. He tampered it down enough, holding her just a fraction tighter.
“Helena. Look at me,” Butcher demanded. He was firm enough that she finally obliged him with a sniffle. “You wanna cry, or you wanna make these fuckin’ cookies?”
She stared at him for exactly one beat before a giggle bubbled over. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but she was smiling again, even laughing when she let her forehead fall against his bare chest.
“You’ll really help me?” she hedged. Raising her head, she tapped her fist lightly against his chest. “Some hard-ass you are.”
A laugh threatened the integrity of his smirk, but he held it down.
“Will it shut you up?” he snarked. She laughed, despite shoving hard at his shoulder.
“You ass. For that, you get to roll the dough balls in sugar.”
“I ain’t fondling no balls, love. That’s your department.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Grace Mallory muttered. She returned the phone to her ear and took a breath, so that when she spoke, her inept assistant would hear the thinly repressed rage in her voice.
“Natalie, if you don’t get me the indexed files on Soldier Boy in the next five minutes, you’ll be handing my next assistant my order from Starbucks, because you’ll be behind the counter frothing the shit yourself. With a little green apron and everything.”
The mousy voice on the line shook, but she squeaked her understanding and Mallory hung up. She tapped her pen against one many files gathered across her office desk, a single table lamp illuminating her struggle.
In sorting through the rest of Vought's archives that Helena had provided, Mallory found that someone had accessed Soldier Boy's file just a few weeks ago.
The record hadn't been touched in nearly a decade...so why now? An uneasy feeling crept up Mallory's spine, but she took a steadying breath. It might very well be nothing, but she was never a woman to leave anything to chance.
She was almost single-handedly running this surveillance unit that technically didn’t exist, not even on the official documents that legitimized Supe Affairs.
Handing off that project to Victoria Neuman was proving to be a Godsend, as it freed Mallory up for even more important tasks, like keeping Ryan safe. He was due to be moved to the next safe house in three weeks, and she was in the midst of scouting locations.
But her current headache had nothing to do with that, and entirely with her side project: keeping tabs on Homelander. And her side-side project: keepings tabs on Billy Butcher, as well as keeping them from keeping tabs on each other.
The former task was relatively easy. So far it seemed Homelander was too preoccupied with saving face at Vought and to the world to try and find Ryan, or Butcher, and by extension, Helena Flores. And Mallory was on that too.
The girl had been helpful, giving them information that violated her NDA a million times over. Mallory was the only one Helena had trusted with that information, and that was smart of her. Vought had their eyes everywhere, especially on former employees.
But to their frustration, Mallory was sure, they did not yet have eyes on Helena Flores. And because Mallory was good at her job, she knew that not even this CIA classified building could be trusted with the information she held.
How long she could keep it up, God only knew.
Read on: PART 12
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#the boys#the boys tv#the boys amazon#billy butcher#billy butcher x oc#billy butcher x ofc#romance#slow burn#poc!oc#karl urban#latina!oc#mother's milk#becca butcher#hughie campbell#homelander#friends to lovers#In Every Heart There Is a Room#And So It Goes#Part 11#Butcher x Latina!OC#zepskies writes
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Series Masterlist - And So It Goes
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — and helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! This series is rated M for Boys level language, violence and smut. This romance is slow burn, angsty, frenemies/allies to lovers, and starts season 1 through season 3.
Chapters:
Part 1 - Sasquatch & Chili Cheese
Part 2 - Another Nightmare for the Books
Part 3 - Helen Flowers
Part 4 - Level Zero
Part 5 - The Age of Spin
Part 6 - Best Laid Threats (I)
Part 7 - Best Laid Threats (II)
Part 8 - Down the Wrong Rabbit Hole
Part 9 - The Gamble
Part 10 - Amen
Part 11 - In Every Heart There Is a Room
Part 12 - Break It On Down
Part 13 - Apples & Oranges
Part 14 - Calculated Risks
Part 15 - Schemes & Lies
Part 16 - Chiquita Banana
Part 17 - Emotionally Deficient Men
Part 18 - Being Human
Part 19 - Collateral
Part 20 - Father & Son
Epilogue - Another Life
Series Complete!
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#the boys#the boys tv#the boys amazon#billy butcher#butcher x oc#billy butcher x oc#billy butcher x ofc#romance#slow burn#poc!oc#karl urban#poc oc#latina!oc#mother's milk#becca butcher#hughie campbell#homelander#friends to lovers#billy butcher x reader#series masterlist#and so it goes#zepskies writes
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And So It Goes - Part 14
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)
ASIG Series Masterlist
Word Count: 3,500
Warnings: 18+ only! Smuttish, angst, fluff.
14: Calculated Risks
Now that Helena had opened up the wondrous world of FaceTime to her parents, they were taking full advantage of the newfound channel of communication.
“You were finally at the top of your career, and you quit your job,” her father griped. She listened to this from her living room couch, trying to resist rolling her eyes.
Instead, she held her phone in front of her. The only indication of her irritation was in her pursed lips.
“Joe,” her mom reproached him in the background. Celia was a more patient woman.
“Just help me understand that,” he said. “I didn’t complain when you didn’t come home for the holidays. Because I knew you were working towards your career, making something of your life. But now?”
Her father’s disappointment stung, as it always did, as she knew it would. For once, Helena didn’t have anything to say.
“Well, this could be an opportunity for her to find a job closer to home,” Celia said. She turned her imploring eyes on Helena. “You only have one family, mi amor. And what’s more important: money, or family?”
“I understand what you’re saying, Mom, but I need to stay in New York,” Helena replied.
They didn’t understand. Going back to Miami was like going backwards in time, to a life and version of herself that no longer existed.
And yet, she didn’t have any other ideas either. She just knew that staying in New York was the only decision that felt right.
“The way she’s going, she’s gonna waste her life,” Joe muttered. Celia tried to shush him, but that was the final straw for Helena.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said. “Sorry I’m such a fuck-up.”
That landed them all in silence for a few painful moments. After which, her dad got up and left, claiming he needed to check on the restaurant. Celia tried to pacify, explaining that the restaurant your parents owned was now mostly being run by Helena’s uncle, Joe’s younger brother, and his kids.
“With your father’s arthritis, he can’t work the dough like he used to,” Celia explained. “And with my back problems…it just made sense for us to step back. It’s still in the family, so that’s what counts.”
Helena nodded at that. It made sense; her parents were getting older, and running a restaurant was a huge task.
“Mom, for the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do,” she said. Celia sighed, but she gave her daughter a smile.
“You’ve always been smart, resourceful, a planner. You put yourself through college, moved to New York on your own,” she said.
Well, after high school, Helena had moved to New York with Becca at her side. They’d roomed together all through college. They’d only separated when Becca moved in with Billy Butcher.
“But life derails,” Celia continued, interrupting Helena’s thoughts. “All you can do is make a new plan—hopefully one that includes calling your mother. Whenever the Lord decides to take me, I should hope that I get to hear your voice more often until then.”
Helena smiled. There really was nothing like a guilt-trip from her Catholic mother. She was about to end the call when her father wandered back in.
“Are you gonna say goodbye to your daughter?” Celia said pointedly at him. Her husband was certainly not immune to her antics either. He sighed and met Helena’s eyes in the video call.
“Bye, Dad,” she said civilly. He was about to reply, when Helena noticed Butcher entering the living room from the corner of her eye. He passed behind where she was sitting on the lounge chair.
“Hey, babe,” she said, beckoning him over with a hand. Explaining that she was dating Billy Butcher, Becca’s former husband, had been a…trying conversation. Joe had much to say on the subject, but for the past few weeks, Helena had been trying to get them to come around during calls like this.
Butcher, for his part, tolerated it. Though he wouldn’t admit it, she knew talking to her parents made him uncomfortable.
Still, he obliged her and leaned down so her parents could see him in the frame.
“Ey there, Mr. Flores. Celia, lookin’ lovely as always,” he charmed. Helena’s lips curved in a smile as her mother smiled and greeted him back warmly.
Joe, however, remained more or less stoic.
“Billy,” he greeted. Then, with a raised brow, “Haven’t ended up in any more news headlines, have you?”
He hadn’t missed how Butcher’s name and face had been plastered across the media as a criminal last year. But Helena and Butcher had explained, at least, that it had been Vought’s attempts to cover their own sins by vilifying Butcher and his friends.
“Not this year, Gov,” Butcher replied, quirking a smile. “But it’s early.”
Helena swatted him (mostly playful, but also warning him with her eyes).
“I’m sure,” Joe said dryly. “Look. Whatever you’re into, or used to be into, I don’t care. Just…don’t let my daughter get hurt.”
Helena took issue with this. She opened her mouth to offer a hot retort, but with a knowing glance, Butcher beat her to it.
“Your daughter can take care of herself just fine,” he said. She looked over at him, smiling a little.
“Then don’t give her a reason to do so,” Joe said.
Butcher met her father’s eyes, and he nodded. “On that, you have my word.”
Sensing that was a good moment to end on, Helena then said goodbye to her parents and finished the call. Butcher let out a breath and went to sit on the couch beside her lounge chair, so she got up and joined him, taking a comfortable seat in his lap.
“Ello,” he murmured. His arms closed around her comfortably. She raised a hand to his bearded cheek and swiped her thumb across his skin.
“We’re both getting bored here,” she said. Upstate New York was safer than the city, but that was also kind of the problem.
“I want to take Hughie’s offer, consulting for Supe Affairs,” she said.
Butcher made a sound of annoyance, tipping his head back. They’d had this conversation before.
“I want to do something that matters, Billy. Something I can be proud of,” she said. He raised his head with a frown.
“You wanna fuck up everything you’ve got going here?” he asked. “Do what you told your dad. Get a job online somewhere.”
“Like what, stock trading?” Helena shot back. “Am I a middle-aged white guy?”
Despite himself, he smirked. “On behalf of middle-aged white men, that was uncalled for.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, but you’re special.”
“Yet, still feel insulted.”
Butcher then sighed heavily. “There’s a whole world out there full of jobs. You ain’t gotta go back to all that.”
“I know a lot about Vought’s inner workings,” Helena argued. “I can help the S.A.”
“Info I’m sure you gave to Mallory in exchange for this house,” said Butcher.
Helena rose a brow. “I found the house myself, if you must know. But yes, she did point out a couple necessary upgrades.”
Butcher nodded.
“Yeah, like that titanium fucking bunker downstairs,” he said. “Not to mention every single wall in this house is lined with zinc. Do I really need to fucking remind you why that is?”
Helena frowned, but her silence conceded the point.
“What should happen the second some rat from Vought sees you havin’ a little sit down with the enemy?” he said. “You think they’re not gonna go back and check every email, every archive of footage, every trackable move you ever made?”
“Trackable, being the key word,” she pointed out. “I used my burner phone—”
“You think they don’t got screen time of you using that phone on their property?” he asked. “They have that clip of you and Homelander. That’s motive.”
Helena sighed and playfully covered his mouth with her hand. She rested further against him, and he tucked her against his chest, absently stroking her bare thigh. He enjoyed these little shorts she liked parading around in.
“All right, all right. I got it,” she said. “…I’ll just have to update my LinkedIn or something.”
That afternoon, while Helena was busy looking for jobs, Butcher claimed he was going on a drive.
That drive took him a few hours into the city, to his favorite bar. It wasn’t his favorite because of the overpriced beer, or the delightful locale. He frequented this particular bar because it was a trendy hangout for supes, with secret lounge behind the main establishment.
It was where he went to catch up on the latest gossip among supes. He knew what the headlines said (months and months of Homelander giving his apology tour. Some bullshit about falling in love with the “wrong woman.”).
But Butcher wanted to keep his finger on the pulse here. He was tempted to call M.M., even Frenchie. But as far as he knew, M.M. was out for good. And Frenchie and Kimiko were working with Hughie, and by extension, with Victoria Neuman.
Another bureaucrat claiming to try and make a difference in this sorry shithole world.
So Butcher spent way too much on a simple beer while he collected snippets of conversation from nearby patrons—most of them supes. But it was the same drivel (A-Train still on his ass. The Deep writing a new book. Starlight gaining a massive following after Stormfront’s public fall from grace).
Nothing of real consequence.
So a few hours later, he left and went to a real bar. Where the beer was essentially piss water, and the patrons were more pitiful than the cast of Cheers. And certainly, nobody knew his name.
He chose a small table in the back to nurse his whiskey, and he stared at it, hesitating to put it to his lips. Helena ran a tight ship in her home, with a locked liquor cabinet. He’d been clean and sober for the better part of a year…
He was still debating his decision on whether to take a sip when a hush went through the bar. Butcher didn’t look up when Homelander sat across from him.
“William,” he said, eyeing his appearance with amusement. “What fuckhole did you crawl out of?”
Butcher tilted his head. Then he leaned back in his seat to stare calmly back at the golden bastard.
“Should’ve known you couldn’t stay away,” Butcher said, quirking a brow. “What, you obsessed with me, mate?”
Homelander rolled his blue eyes. “Where’s my son?”
Butcher only smirked, making Homelander sigh and tap the greasy table between them in irritation. They both knew he wouldn’t tell him jack shit.
“Like a cockroach, just refusing to die,” he muttered. Then, a vindictive smile curved his lips. “What’ve you been doing for the past year, besides wallowing?”
He didn’t outwardly show it, but Butcher’s temper snapped at that, rolling under his skin. He was tempted to ask—now that his Nazi fuck buddy was on ice—if Homelander was cornering women in broad daylight now, or just in meeting rooms and empty hallways.
“How’s your mutilated, psycho, Nazi bitch doing?” Butcher asked. “You still visiting that charred stump when the cameras don’t follow?”
He noticed Homelander gritting his teeth, jaw locking.
“They’re just doling out pardons to anyone nowadays,” he remarked.
Butcher smirked. He was tempted to pick up his glass, but he left it on the table, casually leaning back in his chair. If Homelander was going to kill him, he probably would’ve done it by now. If he was reading the prick correctly, he didn’t yet want the game to end.
Homelander slowly stood to his full height. Grimacing at the greasiness of the table, he stole a nearby patron’s napkin and wiped his hands.
“Be careful, William,” he said. “Don’t slip up.”
Butcher was late for dinner, but he didn’t tell Helena what happened. He didn’t even tell her that he’d gone to the city.
That night, he was kept awake by tumultuous thoughts. She went to bed ahead of him, and near three in the morning, he found himself sitting at her bedside, contemplating what the hell he was going to do next.
“We’re both getting bored,” she’d said. But the reality was, he was going fucking stir crazy.
And seeing Homelander was like a douse of ice-cold water.
He had a decision to make, but it wouldn’t be an easy one. Mallory had warned him not to come here for a reason…and now he finally understood.
If he went back into the game, pursuing Homelander, he ran the risk of this shit tracking back to Helena; of Homelander finding another opening to exploit—and using it against him.
The next morning over breakfast, Butcher sat across from her at the breakfast nook while she poured them each a cup of coffee.
“I need to go take care of something,” he said. Helena looked up at him, noted his tone and the look in his eyes. She set down the carafe.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Better if you don’t know. But won’t take long.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” She went to his side and angled herself in front of him, so he looked at her in the eyes.
“What’s going on?” she pressed.
He didn’t really know what to tell her. Maybe part of him didn’t exactly know what he was doing himself.
“Trust me?” he asked.
“With most things, yes,” she admitted. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Eventually, she sighed.
“Okay,” she relented. “Just…call me tomorrow. Let me know what’s going on.”
So she let him go.
She didn’t get that call until two days later.
“Billy, what the fuck,” she hissed after picking up the phone. She was at home, had been about to call Hughie when Butcher finally called her back. She’d been blowing up his phone for the past few hours.
“I’m not gonna be back for a while, Hel,” he said with a sigh. She halted in her pacing through what had been, up until now, their shared bedroom.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Just for a couple weeks. I’ll come home between jobs,” he said.
With everything she had within her, Helena tried to keep a clamp down on her temper so she didn’t blow a fuse.
“If you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on, Billy Butcher, God so help me—”
She heard him sigh heavily. Then came the admission.
“I joined Supe Affairs,” he said.
Helena froze in shock. And anger.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” she shouted. “So you can risk your fucking life, but I can’t? That’s a hell of a double-standard.”
“I’m sorry, but this is how it’s gonna have to be,” Butcher said. “You can’t be seen with the likes of me here in the city. But if I stay put any longer, I’m gonna have a fucking aneurysm.”
Helena made a sound of pure aggravation. She knew he was right; Vought still had too many eyes in the city, and if she was seen with Butcher, it would trigger suspicions. They’d go looking into the question: How long had they been in contact? And for what reason?
Then she’d be screwed.
“Fucking hell!” She released a weighty sigh and sat down hard on her bed. “I hate you right now, you know that right?”
Butcher chuckled. Damn him, it still warmed her to hear his voice.
“I’ll be home soon,” he promised.
This isn’t fair, she wanted to say. Supe Affairs was her idea, even if it would get her into more trouble than Butcher…
“Hold on, did you just…” she trailed as she realized something. “You think of my place as your home now.”
For a moment, there was a pause on the other line. But eventually, Butcher replied.
“Think I said something to that effect, didn’t I?” he said cheekily.
But she reads the thread of discomfort in his tone. That told her he was telling the truth.
It quenched her ire (at least for the moment).
“Okay, Billy. We’ll do it your way,” she said in defeat.
“All right, love. I appreciate that,” he said. And she actually felt the sincerity in his tone.
But after they hung up, the longer she thought about it, the more her resentment grew…
Her mom told her to find a new plan.
So she found another number in her contacts and placed a new call.
“Helena. Can’t say I wasn’t expecting this call,” said Grace Mallory.
“Grace,” Helena said. “You’ve done a lot for me already, but I need your help.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I need a job.”
There was only one job Grace was willing to give her. And that was how Helena found herself driving just a couple of hours west, where Grace was personally caring for Becca’s son.
It made sense, if Helena thought about it. Grace was a widower, with seemingly no family left close enough for her to be with. And Helena knew that Grace felt a personal stake in Ryan’s welfare, after Becca’s death.
Helena felt the same way. So it felt right to go to that house and discuss the additional details of what Grace may need her to do.
But it was also nice to see that Ryan was doing well, all things considered. He remembered her from that day in the parking lot, on the edge of the park. The day his mother died.
“I was friends with your mom,” Helena explained to him, while the three of them sat in the kitchen. Helena and Ryan played a game of checkers, since she didn’t know how to play chess. That was Becca’s game.
“When?” Ryan asked.
“Since we were kids,” Helena replied with a smile. “Then we moved up to New York together for college. And we ended up working at Vought together—”
She hadn’t meant to add that last bit, but Ryan looked up at you, sensing your hesitation.
“It’s okay. Grace told me about Vought,” he said with a frown. “That they’re the reason Mom and I were alone, in that house.”
Helena briefly glanced at Grace before she returned her attention to the game, and discreetly, she took inventory of her surroundings.
The house was large, but it wasn’t decorated lavishly. It had floral print curtains in the kitchen, plain tile floors, and a normal coffee maker on the counter. The living room had a comfortable couch and a not overly large TV.
Overall, it was meant to be a home. It just lacked…a soul, really.
But of course, Ryan had his own room. He’d shown Helena his shelves full of books and comics, and a closet full of clothing and toys. Most of it, Grace had told her, had been brought over from the old house he’d shared with Becca. So most of his things were his. But there were some new additions, like the large stuffed dinosaur Grace had bought him, nestled on the couch.
“How often does Butcher come to see you?” Helena asked. She was very curious, even more so when Ryan perked up at the mention of Butcher.
“About once a month,” Grace answered for him. Helena could tell by the look on Ryan’s face that he wished it was more often.
“Well, he lives closer to you now, so hopefully he can make it up here more,” Helena said.
“How do you know?” Ryan asked. He had hope in his eyes.
“Well, he lives with me,” she said. And though she hesitated to reveal this, she felt she should be as honest as possible with Ryan. “He and I are sort of…together.”
Ryan paused in setting down one of his red pieces to “king” himself. He was definitely winning the game.
“Oh…like dating?” he asked. He looked more surprised than upset, and she didn’t know why that relieved her so much.
“Yeah, dating. Let’s call it that,” Helena said with a nod and a smile. It was hard to quantify her relationship with Butcher. Terms like “dating” or “boyfriend and girlfriend” seemed juvenile—both too much and not enough.
“So I’ll be coming around more often to hang out with you, if that’s okay,” she said. “Help you with your homework, that kind of thing. Or if you just want someone to talk to…”
Ryan didn’t know her that well. She wasn’t sure how receptive he would be to her friendship. But she underestimated just how lonely he truly was, even with Grace. His eyes once again lit up with an imploring curiosity as he looked up at her.
“Would you…tell me more about my mom?” he asked tentatively. “When she was young?”
Helena’s heart both grew and broke for him. Her smile was warm as she reached out and rubbed his shoulder.
“Yeah. Of course, hon. We can definitely do that,” she replied. The smile Ryan gave her softened her even more. So much that she didn’t even realize that he’d won the game of checkers.
She chuckled. “Good game, buddy.”
“Want to go play outside while Helena and I talk for a minute?” Grace asked. It wasn’t an order, but a suggestion that Ryan agreed to easily. Helena helped him clean up the game, and afterwards, she and Grace supervised him on the back porch while he threw a baseball in the backyard.
“He’s still playing all by himself. He’s too alone here,” Helena remarked. He should be interacting with other kids his age, going to school, making friends.
“It’s not safe for him to leave. You know that better than anyone,” Grace said.
“So you want me to come and watch him when you can’t. Is that it?” Helena asked.
“More than that. I could use your eyes on some other projects I have going,” she said. “Records keeping, data analytics, reconnaissance. Basically, nothing you didn’t do for Madelyn Stillwell.”
Helena nodded. That sounded like a job she could do well.
“And you’re really not telling Butcher about this?” Grace asked, raising a brow. Helena’s lips pursed.
“Not yet. He seems to think I should lock myself in my room and never come out again.”
Neither woman spoke for a moment as they watched Ryan hurl a baseball across the length of a football field, only to sprint down that distance to go grab the ball again. If nothing else, he’d tire himself out running back and forth.
“You know he came to me in order to find you,” Grace said.
“Yeah, thanks for that breach of security,” Helena replied, unable to curb a bit of snark.
“I advised him not to go see you,” Grace said, “unless he was willing to give up Homelander.”
Helena turned to her with raised brows. “He didn’t promise that.”
“He didn’t,” Grace confirmed. “But he was persistent. I warned him that he would compromise your safety one day.”
Helena took that in with a deep breath. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful that Grace seemed to actually care about her wellbeing, but had also meddled in her life. At the same time, she didn’t know whether to be angry at Butcher for selfishly pursuing her, or love him all the more for wanting to see her that badly.
Helena didn’t know what to feel.
“Why did you bother warning him?” she asked, more petulantly than she meant to. Grace finally turned to look at her.
“If losing Becca didn’t break him, losing someone else to this certainly would,” she said plainly.
Helena stared into the older woman’s eyes and saw the truth of her age. The shit she must’ve seen. And then Helena realized…if there was anyone else in this world that seemed to care about Butcher, it was Grace Mallory. Because she was absolutely goddamn right.
“Just keep that in mind,” she added.
Then she called Ryan back inside.
Helena stayed to cook dinner for them, and even got pulled into watching the first Jurassic Park with Ryan. Something told her he was going through a dinosaur phase.
But whatever reservations she might have had about the kid, he was already starting to get under her skin—in a good way. He was so genuine and bright, and Helena could see Becca’s influence in him. She saw more of Becca than Homelander in his dark blue eyes, in the softness of his chin, and his light brown hair.
And Helena knew she would keep coming back to see Ryan, partly for selfish reasons. Just as Ryan wanted to know what his mother was like in her younger, more carefree days, Helena also wanted to know what Becca was like as a mom; in the years she missed with her best friend.
But before she left for the night, she gave Ryan a hug and asked him for a favor.
“The next time you see Billy, don’t tell him I came by, okay?” she asked. She would have to make sure she didn’t visit on days that he came by too.
Ryan looked confused. “Why? Aren’t you guys together?”
“Well, yes.”
“So…you’re gonna lie to him?”
He clearly didn’t approve of that.
Helena sighed. How the hell do I explain this?
She sat back down with Ryan on the living room couch and pat his knee.
“Billy wants me to be safe, just like he wants you to be safe,” she said. “But I have things to do too. I can’t always be where he wants me to be. I’m going to tell him…in a little while. I just need some time.”
“Are you saying it’s not safe for you to come here?” Ryan asked in concern.
Realizing her mistake, Helena shook her head. “Let’s just say…any time I leave the house is a calculated risk.”
“But why? What happened to you?” he asked. The kid was so heartfelt, it almost had tears welling up in her eyes.
“I helped Butcher and his friends go up against Vought in order to save you and your mom. I quit my job there without them knowing what I did,” she explained. “But if they ever find out, they’re not going to be happy with me.”
That just seemed to confuse Ryan even more. Helena didn’t want to have to explain all the rough details to him. He already seemed to be worried about his new friend, so she laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly.
“Don’t worry about that. Just know that I’m here for you if you need me,” she said. She gave him her cell phone number to plug into his own phone (which only had Grace and Butcher listed in the contacts).
When Helena was finally on her way home, it was close to midnight. A few hours of driving, and bed, here I come, she thought.
But she was almost startled at her cell ringing. She fumbled for her phone in her purse, wondering if Ryan was trying out her number already.
It wasn’t Ryan, however. It was Butcher.
Fuck!
He really had the worst fucking timing.
“Okay, it’s okay,” she told herself. “Be cool.”
With a grimace, she sighed and connected her phone to her car and answered the call.
“Hey, baby,” she said. “Finally I get to hear from you.”
“Where are you? Sounds like you’re in the car…at midnight? Where the hell are you off to?” Butcher asked.
“Hello to you too,” she remarked. “Was feeling peckish. Decided to hit a Dairy Queen.”
“Ahh. Going back to your double fudge ways, are you?” he teased.
Helena huffed. “All right, it’s not that serious. At least I don’t inhale cheesecake like it’s my last meal.”
“Cheesecake is a fuckin’ delicacy in all its forms,” he retorted. “Speakin’ of which, we should hit the Factory when I’m back in town.”
“And when will that be exactly?” she asked dryly.
“Tomorrow,” he replied, surprising her. “We caught us another nefarious supe. Some C-level pyro who’d singed a few too many prostitutes, but we got ‘im.”
Helena smiled at the satisfaction in his voice. Despite her prior resentment, she was glad he was being productive, and working with Kimiko and Frenchie again at the S.A. (even if things still seemed to be strained between him and Hughie). He was getting an outlet for his supe vendetta in…more or less the right way.
“And is the supe still alive?” she asked, only a little bit skeptical. She hoped for the best, but was realistic about Butcher. He wasn’t known for curbing his tactics when it came to bringing down his target.
“A bit banged up,” he admitted. Helena rolled her eyes at what was likely an understatement. “But still breathing.”
He sounded like he was telling the truth. She hummed in approval. “Color me surprised. I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah well, Neuman runs a tight ship. All that bloody government red tape and all that,” he said with a sigh.
Helena knew that part grated on him, but it was necessary, she thought. Catching the bad guy didn’t mean they had to die for their crimes. Supe Affairs had made it possible for supes to be put through due process like everyone else. And it wasn’t for Butcher to be the judge and executioner.
“Red tape is good for you,” she replied knowingly. But then, a more vulnerable part of her rose to the surface at hearing his voice. “I miss you.”
He was quiet on the line for a moment.
“Yeah,” he eventually replied. By the weight in his tone, she knew it wasn’t a dismissal. In the language of emotionally deficient men (of which she’d become fluent), it was actually his way of agreeing with her. Of acknowledging that he felt the same.
“See you soon,” he said.
“Okay,” she said with a smile. “Try not to kill Hughie in the meantime.”
Butcher chuckled at that.
“No fucking promises there.”
The next morning, Helena woke slowly to the familiar feeling of fingers running through her long hair.
That was just a bit disconcerting, considering she’d braided it the night before. But she knew the hands that were caressing down her back, then reaching back up to drag soothingly through her hair.
It was a morning routine she’d sorely missed. But now she smiled as she turned and found the culprit. Butcher was there to greet her with a slight smile, exhaustion in his eyes.
She frowned sleepily. “Did you drive all night? You didn’t have to—”
Butcher interrupted her with a kiss. His beard scratched against her cheek, her chin, but she didn’t care. Helena pulled him down by his hair and divested him of his black jacket, followed closely by the rest of his clothes.
He did the same for her, helping her out of her tank top and flimsy sleep shorts and panties. Until he was hovering above her, finding his place in the cradle of her thighs.
He took a moment to brush her hair away from her face and sooth a thumb across her temple, her cheek, and down her bottom lip. Helena smiled up at him. He quirked a smile back and lowered down to press sensuous kisses where his hand had been.
He all but devoured her once he reached her lips, all while his hand moved down to cup her breast, eliciting a sigh as he rolled a pert nipple under his thumb.
She gripped his shoulders tight as his mouth moved down as well, to the soft mound of her other breast. His tongue circled and teeth gently scraped, making a shiver run down her spine.
“Getting reacquainted?” she couldn’t help teasing. Butcher chuckled against her skin. He released her from his lips and raised his head just enough to look at her.
“Gotta make sure they remember me,” he quipped. Helena laughed as his head lowered back down and pressed open-mouthed kisses between her breasts, down her stomach, and finally between her thighs.
She made room for him there, as she did in all areas of her life.
But even afterwards, they didn’t talk about what they’d each been doing for the past two weeks.
Or at least, neither one told the whole truth about it.
AN: So we're about to dive into season 3 in the next chapter! Get ready, it be a bumpy road to the finish line of this story...
Keep Reading: PART 15
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And So It Goes - Part 13
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)
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Word Count: 3,500
Warnings: 18+ only! Romantic smut, angst, fluff.
13: Apples and Oranges
It was mid-morning when Helena woke to the feeling of careful, soothing fingers running through her hair. Cracking her eyes open, she found Butcher next to her in bed.
He was awake, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. He looked lost in thought, until Helena reached out to rest a hand on his bare, fuzzy chest.
He looked down at her, his lips quirking at the sight of her soft smile. With a sleepy sigh, she raised herself up and moved to rest her head on his chest.
“Morning,” she murmured.
Butcher dropped a kiss onto her hair and hummed in response. He smelled minty fresh already, so she decided to follow suit.
She slowly got up and tried to take a throw blanket with her to the bathroom, but Butcher grabbed it from her. She gasped and shot him an annoyed look as she tried in vain to cover herself.
With a lazy grin of amusement, he watched her scurry away naked to the bathroom. The door shut firmly behind her.
Once she’d brushed her teeth and refreshed herself, Helena returned to the bed. She curled up to Butcher’s side. His hand dipped down her back, tracing the tattoo he’d gotten to uncover last night. It was a lotus flower in the middle of her upper back.
“This’s what you had hiding under all those fancy fuckin’ blouses?” he remarked. His fingers trailed around the various petals and a dotted design halfway down her spine.
She shuddered and hid a smile in his shoulder. “That tickles.”
“When did you get it?” he asked. His head dipped down and started another burning trail with his lips and tongue, moving down her neck and distracting her from answering.
“The year I moved out of my parents’ house,” she said. “So 18. Hence the perhaps cliché lotus. But besides purity, it’s also a symbol of overcoming adversity.”
“Impressive.”
She laughed. “Hardly. I screamed like a bitch.” Becca had to hold her hand for the first two hours.
Helena then felt the shape of Butcher’s smile against her neck as his hand moved to squeeze her ass.
“Think I can make you scream a bit louder,” he said. Her skin prickled at the flirtatious depths in his voice.
“Confident, are you?” she teased. Her hand snaked down between their bodies to caress his already hardening dick. He made a pleased sound at the contact—until she grabbed him more firmly, startling a grunt out of him. He grabbed her wrist.
“Oi, oi.” He gave her a warning look. “You’re a wily one.”
She smirked. “I think you like that.”
But she giggled and released him for now, and let her hand trail more lazily up his body, resting again on his chest. She needed a little more time to wake up before she started something she’d have to finish.
The problem was, that allowed her penchant for overthinking to set in. She considered what they were doing—what they had done. She couldn’t help but think about Becca.
“Is this wrong?” she asked in a smaller voice.
“Does it feel wrong?” he countered, with a challenging cock of his brow.
She sighed. It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. But that was making her feel all-too guilty.
“Like taking a bite of an assorted chocolate and puttin’ it back in the box-wrong?” he asks. “Or—”
She leaned up on her elbows and soothed the back of her hand along his bearded jaw. Her face was contemplative.
“What’re you thinking?” he asked.
After a belated beat, Helena smiled. “Nothing, anymore. Just glad you’re here.”
She never thought this would happen. She had buried that hope so deep, she didn’t recognize it the first time he kissed her.
Butcher’s expression slid into something more serious. “I’m all kinds of fucked up, Helena.”
She raised a brow. “And I’m not?”
“Apples and oranges,” he said dryly.
“I don’t think so,” she argued. “I’m not exactly batting a thousand myself.”
She dropped a kiss to his chest, but then she hesitated above him. “Look, if we’re trying this, we’re not doing it halfway. If you want out, say it now.”
His only answer was to kiss her. She shifted, moving to straddle his waist as his hands found her hips. They fell into the familiar pull of one another. But instead of the frantic rush of hands and teeth and tongue, this time is was a slow heat, one that consumed them both.
His fingers sought her wet heat between her legs, and it didn’t take much of his touch before she was moaning into his mouth. She impatiently took his length in her hand and slid him home inside of her—a relief to them both. And then she moved, setting a slow and steady rhythm that threatened to drive Butcher insane.
His grip on her hips soon became bruising, but he let her control the pace of their pleasure, and even helped her along the way with a persistent thumb circling her clit. She gasped and shuddered, and soon he felt her core clench around him impossibly tight. It triggered his own release, spilling into her hot and fast.
Thank fuck for the pill, he thought.
With a groan, he sat up and held her to him, with his shaking arms around her like a steel band. Helena held onto the back of his head, her fingers threaded in his hair. She dropped a hand soothingly down his back and muttered grateful words in his ear.
Once she’d mostly recovered her breath, she grinned down at him.
“Eggs or pancakes?” she asked.
His eyes widened a fraction, and then his genuine laugh reverberated through her whole body. It made her feel a little smug, and very warm inside.
“Whatever you want, love.”
They wasted the day with a lazy morning and afternoon, until Butcher made a quip that there was nothing to do in an upstate suburban town like this. He didn’t know how Helena had been slowly shriveling up out of boredom on the days he hadn’t come to see her.
But not willing to tell him that, she scoured her town’s local newsletter and persuaded him to go with her to a street fair that was going on at a nearby state park. Butcher didn’t look sold by the idea, but as there really wasn’t anything else left to do, he begrudgingly agreed to go.
He proceeded to make fun of every piece of art they saw there, calling it “tables of dumpster-diving handmade shit.”
“All art is handmade, genius,” Helena retorted.
“Come on, now, Hel. That’s a shambles.” He had the graciousness to whisper to her as he pointed out some metal “postmodern” jewelry. “Shit’s probably radioactive.”
Helena shushed him and corralled him toward the food trucks. That at least should make him happy.
He stuffed a couple of beef kabobs down his gullet and washed it down with a fried ice cream, even though he remarked, “You Americans. Even your Ben & Jerry’s needs to be fried.”
Helena smirked and pointed to the Mexican food truck. “Fried ice cream is Mexican, you idiot.”
She had already polished off her pistachio and mango parfait, but she was eyeing his honey and chocolate drizzled ice cream with envy.
“Can I try some?” she asked. Butcher eyed her in wary suspicion.
She smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on, just a lil’ tiny bite.”
“Yeah, where’ve I heard that before?” he said. “Not satisfied with that science experiment you got there, now you’re tryin’ to pilfer mine. Buyer’s remorse is a petty bitch, ain’t she?”
Her hands snaked up his sides, prodding at areas he wouldn’t admit were a bit sensitive. He choked on a mouthful of flaky pastry. “Oi!”
He tried to get away from her down the street, but she giggled and followed persistently, until the heel of her boot wobbled on the uneven curb. His free arm shot out quickly to snatch her back, pulling her flush against him.
“What a clever girl, you are,” he mocked. She bit her lip to try not to laugh, but her eyes still went to his plate, then back up to his imploringly.
It brought a smirk to his face, which disguised the swell of affection making his insides warm up, despite the spring chill. He settled on lowering his plate between them without removing the hand splayed across her lower back. She brightened and took a bite of the ice cream and its flaky shell.
Her grin widened in pleasure. “That’s hella good, actually.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She giggled, until her cell phone started ringing. Seeing who it was made her smile fall.
Helena extricated herself from Butcher’s hold to answer the call.
“Hi, Dad,” she said. Butcher’s eyebrows rose a fraction. She gave him a resigned look as she listened.
“Wow, you actually answered,” her father said. He sounded wry and genuine in his surprise.
“I know, I’m sorry,” she replied. A familiar lance of guilt tightened her spine. But if there was anyone who could spark the wellspring of her guilt, it was Joe Flores.
“How are you? How’s Mom?” she asked.
“Fine. Your mom misses you,” he said.
“I’ve just been…busy. I moved out of the city,” she said. Butcher raised a brow at her, but she did her best to ignore him. She knew she hadn’t been that busy. “I’ve been working on looking for a new job.”
“What?” came her father’s shocked reply, this time in Spanish. “Vought fired you?”
“No, I quit,” she said, also replying in her native language.
She hadn’t, and wouldn’t, tell her parents the details surrounding what she’d done at Vought, nor the circumstances around her leaving the company. It wasn’t safe for them to know.
“How could you not tell us? And you moved out of the city! Where the hell are you?”
Helena explained that she now lived in upstate New York, that she had moved eight months ago, and she had no intention of going back to the city. Or of moving back home to Miami. Her father was beside himself.
But after a long stretch of uncomfortable silence, Joe finally said, “Can you spare us a visit?”
Helena released an unsteady sigh. It had been a couple of years since she’d seen her parents.
“Your mother…well, she’d like to see you for Christmas, at least.”
Emotion rose in her throat, but she attempted to clear it.
“I’ll let you know when I can visit. Hopefully soon,” she said. And she later hung up with her father feeling spent.
Butcher’s hand came to the small of her back. He looked down at her expectantly.
“My parents want to see me,” she confessed. He waited for her to continue, sensing that there was a reason she hadn’t gone to see them.
“I’m not the same person I was when I left,” she said. She’d become a harder person. A weaker person, able to turn a blind eye and work with people who’d committed atrocities in the name of keeping her job. And yes, later her life…but mostly her job.
“Well,” Butcher drawled, “I’m not one to judge on that. But I happen to think you came out just fine, considering.”
Tears burned in Helena’s eyes, but she still leaned up to press a thankful kiss to his cheek. He held her to him. Inside, he wasn’t sure how to comfort her, but he supposed he’d said the right thing.
“I want to see my parents,” she admitted.
Butcher also wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he remained quiet…until a thought occurred to him, curving his lips. He gestured to the rest of the park behind them. The street was still busy with the fair, but there was a public restroom nearby and a children’s park—complete with swings and slides.
“Up for a quickie?” he posed. “We could find a nice little spot back there.”
Helena’s mouth fell open. She was both aghast and amused.
“Are you crazy? There could be kids!” she whisper-shouted.
He raised a brow. “At 8 o’clock at night?”
She shot him a look of exasperation. “I’m not fucking in a dirty public restroom.”
Butcher hummed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fucked in a dirty public restroom.
But he’d successfully distracted her, enough to tease a smile onto her face on the way back to the car. On the drive home, Helena realized something after thinking about her disjointed family.
She knew nothing about Billy Butcher’s family. His parents, possible siblings, nothing…
Though actually, she thought she remembered Becca telling her something about a brother.
“Billy,” she said. “Where do your parents live? Here, or in England?”
Butcher’s shoulders tightened, though she wouldn’t have noticed it if she didn’t know him so well.
“Back home in jolly old,” he said.
“What are they like?” she asked. “I just realized I don’t know much about your family. I think Becca told me that you have a brother.”
She knew it was a touchy subject by the way Butcher hesitated, and he kept his eyes on the road.
“I’m sorry. If it’s—”
“I had a brother,” he said. Had, she noted. Helena nodded slowly, but he didn’t elaborate.
“I’m sorry,” she said. And she meant it. “And your parents?”
Butcher expelled a sigh through his nose. “Mum’s all right. Married to a cancer-ridden cunt.”
Helena didn’t expect the sharpness with which he referenced his father, but she took it in with another nod.
“I see. I’m sorry for that too then.”
The car ride became quiet, even uncomfortable as Helena processed his words.
Butcher didn’t want her looking at him like that. Like she knew what the fuck was wrong with him now.
“I don’t need that,” he said.
Her brows furrowed. “What?”
“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about me. ‘How fuckin’ pitiful his life must’ve been.’”
“That’s not—”
“Bet you regret asking.”
She just looked at him. Really looked at him. “No, I don’t.”
Butcher met her stare for moment…but he eventually looked away.
It was a sour note to what would’ve been a rare, brilliant day.
That night, Butcher had too much time in Helena’s quiet house to think. Things he’d long ago shoved down now flared to the forefront of his mind.
But he and Helena went through their nightly routines in silence. Both refused to restart their conversation from the car, or in fact, apologize. So they slept in the same bed, still in that no man’s land of unresolved tension.
Butcher could deal with that. What he couldn’t was the unpleasant nature of his dreams that night.
Really, they were nightmares. Warped memories, and a general feeling of dread.
He woke with a start, sweat broken out across his bare skin. Helena felt his sharp jolt and blinked at him with bleary, concerned eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothin’, go back to sleep,” he said. When she didn’t look convinced, he added, “If it happens again, just wake me up. I’ll go back to the guest room.”
She frowned, but Butcher turned away from her and tried to relax on his side of the bed. He felt her stare behind him. He just closed his eyes and somehow drifted off again into an unsteady sleep.
When he next woke, he felt his heart racing again. He was in that in-between state of wakefulness and sleep—the reality of a dark and peaceful bedroom, versus the darkness of his dreams.
He then felt gentle hands on his body, warm on his chest and arms. Not heavy ones, bruising his skin, breaking his bones, or forcing a glass of sloshing liquor into his hand. He eventually calmed.
He next woke to sunlight hitting him directly in the fucking eyes. His head rested in Helena’s lap with his arm curled around her thigh. His hand moved on reflex to splay across her hip.
She was sat up against the headboard, wearing just one of his less glaring shirts over her underwear. She was also still half-asleep while running her fingers through his hair, and across his back.
“Tell me you didn’t fucking sleep like that,” he croaked.
Helena didn’t open her eyes, but she did smile a little.
“Not all night,” she admitted. “But you were having a nightmare.”
“Get down here,” Butcher said. She slipped down and settled into his waiting arms. “Next time, just kick me outta the fuckin’ bed.”
Her grin widened. “I do what I damn well please.”
He snorted at her cheek. “Fuckin’ early to be such a smartass. Go to sleep.”
“Make me,” she said petulantly. But she inhaled deeply and relaxed against him. Soon enough, she was out like a light.
Butcher waited until then to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. He settled in with her for a while.
She’s a mouthy one, all right.
But she was also more than he deserved.
He knew he wasn’t a good man. He would probably end up fucking this up, just like he had with Becca. Just by being who and what he was.
But he ignored that persistent reminder. Instead, he carefully left Helena in bed and started getting dressed.
After he’d freshened up, he went downstairs and tried his hand at making breakfast. Helena was typically the cook in the house (only because his attempts were shit and she actually knew what she was doing in the kitchen), but he decided to make an effort.
By the time Helena came downstairs though, she was plugging her nose and looking for a fire.
“What happened?” she said, looking over his shoulder. His failed attempt at eggs were blackened and stuck to the pan. Butcher gave her a wry, self-deprecating look.
“Was hopin’ this would be done by the time you came down,” he said. A smile twitched at her lips, but she didn’t make fun of him, or berate him for probably ruining one of her pans. Actually, she was touched by his attempt to make her breakfast.
“It’s okay,” she said, rubbing his back. “Your heart was in the right place.”
After a moment, Butcher let out a deep breath. He set the pan aside and tucked a hand beneath her chin, stroking with his thumb. She looked damn-near edible, still wearing a rare black shirt of his. He preferred her in red, but black was almost as good.
“You asked me something last night,” he said, “about my brother.”
She nodded and took his hand in hers. Butcher led her to sit at the breakfast nook, where he told her, with difficulty and sparing detail, about his brother Lenny. He told her why and how he died, with a gun he shouldn’t have had and a shitty older brother who should’ve looked out for him.
It was a story he hadn’t spoken aloud since Becca, about a decade ago. And predictably, Helena cried for him. He could tell she was trying to hold back an attempt to comfort him, but she correctly sensed that he was explaining this for her. So she knew. But he didn’t need or want anything else about it.
When he was done, she wiped her tears away and squeezed his hand.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Even that much made Butcher uncomfortable, but he still nodded. He only didn’t quite know where to go from here.
With a suspect sniff, Helena got up and grabbed a new pan from a kitchen cabinet, and the bowl he’d used to crack the eggs. She also got four more eggs, bacon, and a few other ingredients out of the fridge.
“Come ‘ere,” she beckoned him over. “I’m gonna teach you how to actually scramble an egg.”
Butcher smirked, but he still obliged her. “What’re you, Gordon fuckin’ Ramsay?”
She gave a mocking guffaw. “Excuse me, bitch, I’ve seen every episode of Hell’s Kitchen and Kitchen Nightmares.”
“Why don’t that surprise me?”
Later, while Butcher was distracted feeding her cat, Helena went upstairs to make a call. The longer it rang, the more nervous she became. She toyed with the hem of her nightgown.
But then, a warm and familiar voice greeted her on the line.
“Helena? Is that you, mi vida?”
Helena smiled. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me…how are you?”
“Better, now that I’m hearing your voice.”
“Oh, wait a minute!” She turned on the FaceTime setting on her phone. Once Celia Flores answered, it was the first time mother and daughter had seen one another face-to-face in two years.
Tears burned in Helena’s eyes once she saw her mom’s smile.
“Ah,” said Celia. “Much better. How are you, my love?”
“I’m good,” Helena said with a little laugh. “I’ve got a lot to tell you about.”
To keep reading: PART 14
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BILLY BUTCHER MASTERLIST
(**Notes 18+ only and/or smut)
And So It Goes** - (Butcher x OFC)
As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
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And So It Goes - Part 12
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)
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Word Count: 4,500
Warnings: 18+ only. Smut (finally!), language, angst
12: Break It on Down
In the morning, Helena was shocked to find Butcher in her kitchen, making coffee in his pajamas.
And not just the cheap instant coffee she kept in the cupboard, but the expensive, European grounds she liked to brew in the French press. The smell was heavenly.
But him actually doing something for her was not as surprising as the fact that he was still here, in her home. After she broke down on him last night, she had expected him to be long gone by now. Allergic to emotions, as he was.
“You’re still here?” she said, unable to quell her incredulous tone. He looked up at her with a raised brow, then a smirk.
“What, am I trespassing?” he replied, with his usual snark.
“Do you even know what you’re doing there, Chef Ramsay?” She nodded at the French press. He was stirring newly poured hot water in with the grounds in the carafe. He seemed to be doing it correctly, which was yet another surprise.
“Ya know, I’m not some cave-dwelling creature,” he said defensively. “Just ‘cause I don’t buy into this fancy bullshit doesn’t mean I can’t work it out.”
He then put on the lid and left it to brew. “Instead of belittlin’ me, maybe you could get some eggs going.”
He then pulled out a package of bacon from the fridge, presumably to start frying up a few slices.
“And you might think about restocking sometime soon, before all you’ve got left are mustard packets and a two-year-old packet’a fish sticks,” he added. “How the hell did that survive the move?”
A smile threatened to curve her lips. Helena closed her robe more securely, as she was still just wearing her nightgown underneath. He’d already seen it last night and hadn’t made any flirtatious overtures, despite some looks she’d caught him making when they were baking cookies. He was only a man, after all. But she didn’t think he truly saw her that way.
Not anymore, at least.
Sure, he made his sly remarks every now and then, but that was just Butcher’s default. Any chance they might’ve had of breaking that boundary died the moment they discovered Becca was alive. The fact that she was gone now didn’t change anything, in Helena’s mind.
Whatever was left of Butcher’s heart only had room for Becca. And out of respect for her, Helena wouldn’t cross that line. Not even for one night of easy, no-strings fucking.
Because even that, she knew, wouldn’t be just once. And it probably wouldn’t be easy—not in the long run. When she couldn’t trust her own heart to not get…attached.
So, what are you doing exactly? she thought, as she moved around Butcher to grab the eggs from the fridge. Are you running a bed & breakfast for ex-cons, or are you just playing house with your best friend’s husband?
No, she reminded herself. It was for Becca that she was doing this. She wouldn’t have wanted Butcher to twist in the wind forever, with no safe place to come home to…but could Helena really be that for him? Could she handle it—and the many perils that came with a man like him?
She changed into a comfortable yellow sundress, and they eventually sat down to breakfast at her small dining table, fit for two. Even with this large house, she hadn’t seen the need for a bigger table. It wasn’t like she often had company out here in the sticks.
But first, Butcher poured her a cup of coffee. His long fingers brushed hers when he passed her the mug. Her eyes flicked up to his, and she murmured her thanks. His mouth quirked upwards, then he took the seat across from her. She found herself smiling before she realized it.
“So,” she began. She cleared her throat a little and took a sip of coffee. It was fucking perfection. “Are you finally going to tell me what you’ve been up to?”
He was already digging into his eggs and bacon like the carnivore he was. She followed suit at a more human pace.
“What?” he said, unfortunately with his mouth full. She inhaled, and chanced on touching something sensitive.
“Ryan, for example. Have you looked in on him at all?”
Since it happened, was implicit. Butcher’s gaze finally met hers. It took him a while to reply, but eventually, she sensed he gave the truth.
“Every now and again, for whatever it’s worth,” he replied.
“I’m sure it’s worth a lot to him,” she said. “Becca didn’t just want him to be safe. She wanted him to be taken care of.”
“Mallory’s got that worked out.”
“I’m sure she’s keeping an eye on him too. But who’s taking care of him?”
“What’s it to you, anyway?” Butcher said. There was a bit more bite in his tone, and Helena could see him tensing up the further the conversation went. She wasn’t going to pretend she completely understood Butcher yet, but she was learning.
“I saw you with him, Billy. Much as you’re trying to deny it, you care,” she said. “Ryan may not be your son, but you’re all he has now.”
After a moment, Butcher gave a short, humorless chuckle before he brought his coffee mug to his lips. “Ain’t that a scary thought.”
Helena saw the self-deprecation in his eyes, and was sad. Billy Butcher was by no means a perfect man. Most times, he wasn’t even a good one. But he did have a heart, no matter how much he tried to bury it. Despite his calloused edges, there was a good man in him. She had seen it.
Maybe that was why, as hard as she tried, as much as M.M. and Mallory and Becca’s death warned her otherwise…she couldn’t say no to him.
Butcher was starting to feel that familiar itch: the reminder that he should be moving on. He had dropped in here more than too many times, because it was convenient. Because it was a safe place with free food and a comfortable bed. But clearly, if he could be roped into baking cookies at 2 a.m., it was too fucking comfortable.
Still, when Helena acknowledged that he was eating her out of house and home, and she needed to go out and replenish her kitchen, he found himself agreeing to go with her to the local grocery store.
“Really, you don’t need to take off anywhere?” she asked. She was trying not to show it, but she looked hopeful. He wasn’t expecting that, and wasn’t sure if he felt pleased, or just uncomfortable.
“Nah, I can stay…as long as you’re cooking,” he replied.
Helena rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse and keys from where she left them on the kitchen counter.
“Right. I have a feeling if it hadn’t been for M.M. or Frenchie in your little boy band, you’d have withered up and died of starvation before any supe managed to stomp you out,” she quipped.
“That’s what Shake Shack is for,” he countered. He then followed her out the front door, with his own wallet and keys in his pocket.
Really, he should be checking in on Ryan. She had unknowingly reminded him about it at breakfast. Mallory certainly had the night before, in a text designed to be equal parts guilt-tripping and blackmailing. Butcher should just ignore the old bat on principle.
But then again, he was 99% certain Mallory was the reason he’d been able to move off the radar for the past eight months. Homelander-free. So essentially, she was likely the reason Butcher was still breathing.
Tonight, he decided. He would set out tonight to go see Ryan, like he promised Becca he would. And then he wouldn’t come back to upstate New York for a good long time.
That decision solidified in his mind as he followed Helena around the grocery store. She seemed comfortable in her new house, and in this slow, small town, where she already knew her neighbors and almost every shopper in the store knew her. They greeted her with inane, civilized chitchat.
She didn’t seem to mind it, and had smiles and polite conversations with all of them. First there was a married pair and their two kids tearing around the display of canned corn and green beans. Then there was the old man and his emotional-support ferret (Butcher wasn’t one to judge, but as a New Yorker, he had a disdain for long rats).
Meanwhile, Butcher was the scruffy, somewhat dangerous-looking shadow behind her. And their surreptitious side-eying confirmed what he already knew: he was out of place here, and in her life, and it was time for him to go. Maybe for good this time.
“I was thinking of making fajitas. What do you think?” she asked. He sensed her looking at him, and it shook him out of his thoughts.
“I’m not choosy,” he said. “Just don’t go overboard on the poblano peppers. Last time I couldn’t get off the shitter for six hours.”
Helena choked on a laugh, but shushed him with a reprimand in her eyes for speaking so loudly. She dragged him into the produce aisle to hide him from the now frowning couple and their giggling kids.
He graciously bent down to say, maybe a little too closely, “I’m serious about them fucking peppers.”
She narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulder and smirked.
“Lightweight,” she said, and pointedly nudged him in the arm. “Now behave.”
Helena then spent the next few minutes ignoring him. She inspected various fruit and veg with a scrutiny that reminded him of Mother’s Milk. While she was preoccupied with the merits of organic versus non-organic avocados (they looked exactly the same to him), he snuck over to the bakery.
Really, who decided to put the veg next to the cakes and cookies and shit?
“You know, avocados are technically a fat, but they’re really good for you,” Helena said. She tossed a few into one of those plastic, yet paper-thin, can’t-hold-more-than-a-Brussel-sprout produce bags.
“So I’ve heard,” Butcher said, only half-listening. When he first met up with Helena after all those years, she was a chili-cheeseburger eating, Chinese takeout-every-week kinda girl. Now she was apparently scouring health-nut blogs and doing yoga lessons off of YouTube.
Well, the yoga he didn’t mind. Her ass did look great in spandex.
While she was still contemplating fruit, he came in behind her and dropped a strawberry cheesecake into the cart. He hid it under a broccoli stalk and a bunch of bananas.
“Yeah, they’re made of monosaturated fats, so it’s the good fat. Not me-in-middle-school-fat, before my mom made me join the swim team,” she said. “Like she wasn’t the one who raised me almost exclusively on Cuban pastries and fried chicken.”
“Parents,” Butcher scoffed in sympathy, even as he added a container of cherry Danishes to the cart. “The fucking nerve.”
“Right?” She finally decided on the normal avocados, crossing the item off her shopping list. She even starred it on the notepad, reminding herself that she was only buying three of them instead of four. Yet another thorough, bordering on anal trait he would typically associate with M.M.
But even that simple thing, Butcher was sure, was part of what made Helena successful at Vought. She was meticulous, catching details and patterns that others missed. And like Butcher, she could be relentless about it. Which might’ve been why she found out Becca was alive before he did.
And according to Mallory, she had given them a thorough intel report that they were still sorting through, eight months later. That included access codes and memos Helena recorded herself, from memory.
In Butcher’s experience, the CIA recruited on that kind of talent. He wondered, in fact, if Mallory had offered her the same “in” with Supe Affairs as she has offered him.
“Hey, you okay?” Helena asked. Butcher inwardly shook himself from his thoughts again and met her gaze.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been broody all day,” she said. Her brows crunched with concern, and maybe a little bit of suspicion.
“Do what you want with dinner,” he said. “Looks like I’m gonna have to take off when we get back to the house.”
Her suspicion grew with her crossed arms and pursed lips. “Why, what happened?”
“It’s better you don’t know,” he said…which wasn’t exactly a lie. But she clearly sensed it wasn’t the whole truth. Her expression dimmed, and she turned away from him to push the cart. It felt very much like a cold front was settling in.
Butcher almost sighed in annoyance. He followed her into the checkout line, where she started loading everything onto the conveyor belt.
He tried to hand her the eggs, but she only looked up briefly at him before she said, “I’ve got this. You can wait in the car if you want.”
Before he could answer that he wasn’t going to wait in the car like a little boy, the cashier brightened when he saw Helena.
“Welcome back,” he said with a friendly smile. Though he was too busy staring at her ass, bent over as she was to reach into the depths of the cart for the bananas. Her dress was just long enough to hint at said shapely ass and tanned thighs. But his gaze quickly moved back up to her face when she turned around.
Butcher’s lips thinned.
“Andy,” Helena said flatly. She finally found the cheesecake and Danishes under the bananas and sent Butcher a raised brow. He offered his most charming smirk. It earned him a roll of her eyes, but she still put it on the counter with the rest of the groceries.
“Hmm, I see you changed those nails for me,” Andy said. He raised flirtatious brows at her respectable French tips.
Helena couldn’t muster more than an irritated sigh as she waited for him to bag her groceries. Meanwhile, Butcher hung back to watch the little scene play out. Frankly, he was surprised she hadn’t verbally ripped the guy’s dick off like he knew she could. Like any true New Yorker would.
It was disappointing to know she was going soft out here in the suburbs.
He gave Andy a short glance. It didn’t take much to get the seize of him. He was young, maybe late-twenties, fresh-faced, with blonde hair that screamed of early-2000s frosted tips.
Three strikes, Butcher thought with an inward smirk. He watched the cashier try to flirt with all the game of an ex-football player who peaked in high school. Helena was quickly losing patience, tapping her credit card on the counter and wearing a mix of boredom and irritation.
“Look, much as I love this song and dance we do every time I come in here,” she said at last, “I’ve actually got other things on my to-do list today, so…”
“But you keep coming back here, to my register, so I just thought—”
“You’re the only register open,” Helena snapped. “And considering this is the closest grocery store to my house for another twenty minutes—”
“Ah, live nearby, huh?” he said, jumping on the line she unintentionally threw him. “What neighborhood? I’m over by Westchester.”
Butcher almost burst out laughing. The warning signs of the impending eruption of Mt. Helena couldn’t be more entertaining. But his patience was also wearing thin. He finally stepped in behind Helena and presented her with a container of peaches he grabbed from the closest display table.
“Ya wanna try these peaches, love? They’re on sale.”
She glanced up at him, a little curious at his downright cheerful tone. But she shrugged. “That’s fine.”
Butcher gave Andy a cheeky wink.
“I love me a good peach, don’t you?” he said. His free hand slipped down to the small of Helena’s back. For her, it was barely a brush of his fingers. It still made her spine stiffen and a heated blush flood to her face. She gave him a suspicious look over her shoulder.
But to Andy, it looked like he’d literally made a claim on her ass.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Helena snapped, once they’d left the store with their groceries in tow. She was still blushing though.
Butcher smirked. “Shut him up, didn’t it?”
They loaded her groceries into the car while he watched her silently fume. Until she slammed the trunk shut and glared up at him.
“I don’t need you to save me,” she said. And a little more pointedly, “I don’t need anything from you.”
Butcher’s smirk faded. She got into the car without waiting for him to snark back.
On the ride back to her house, he was pensive. He was usually too drunk or too in the mix of a mission to be pensive. But he’d quit drinking four months ago, so there was no other choice.
When Butcher made decisions, he was efficient. They were quick. They were final.
He’d decided this morning he was going to leave, and so he was going to. But first, he helped Helena get the groceries in the house. He helped put them away, as he now knew that the milk went on the fridge door but the vegetables went on the second shelf so she wouldn’t forget about them in the bottom drawer.
He knew that she now liked setting out honey rather than sugar for her coffee. She had a special jar for rice, like a “true Cuban” (her words, not his), and so never left it in the bag.
Somehow over the past few months of being in and out of this house, his subconscious had filed these things away and now he couldn’t forget them. Like the way he used to leave the tortilla chips on the middle pantry shelf so Becca could reach them. And how he used to put the Doritos on the top shelf because she couldn’t.
“I suppose I have time for a quick bite before I leave,” he said, breaking himself out of his thoughts.
Helena shrugged. It seemed she no longer cared what he did. She might well want to see the back of him…but he had a feeling he knew her better than that.
When he took a poblano pepper from her hand and broke out the chopping board from its cupboard, she stared at him with an annoyed frown.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“What?” he mocked. “I could sit on my ass and catch up on The Voice if you prefer.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be a change of pace.”
But she allowed him to help. It strangely reminded her of the first and only time they had cooked together in her old apartment. They worked pretty much in silence, and it gave Helena time to think. Really to wonder, what the fuck is he doing?
She set a timer on the stovetop to let the fajita meat and veggies smoke in the cast iron pan for a while, then she set to making some rice. It was familiar. It was methodic. It let her brain go on autopilot while she measured and washed and drained and watered again. And she would have finally set the rice on the stove to cook.
She just didn’t expect Butcher to be right behind her when she turned around. It knocked the pot filled with rice and water a little and splashed some on the floor.
She uttered a small gasp and jumped, but Butcher’s hands on her hip and elbow stopped her from slipping on the wet floor.
“Sorry,” he said with a smirk. He reached around her to drop the used cutting board in the sink, but his other hand never left her hip. It slid up to her waist, subtly bringing her close enough for their bodies to align—the way they shouldn’t be, she reminded herself.
Or maybe…the way they were meant to. Maybe she wasn’t crazy to think there was still something here. Maybe he didn’t look at her like a sister after all.
Helena couldn’t help the thought when her eyes met his, always so intense and focused wholly on her. She really couldn’t fucking take it anymore.
Her heart was beating fast. And faster still, when his gaze dropped to her lips after she nervously wet them, then tugged her lower lip into her mouth.
What—
The stovetop alarm beeped loudly.
It startled both of them, but Helena used it to breathe and slip by Butcher. She stopped the alarm and set the rice on the stove, not knowing that he was standing there behind her back, frowning.
Disappointed, with a heavy dose of self-loathing. One moment he was determined to leave, the next he was contemplating fucking Helena in her own kitchen.
They ate in silence. There was a movie playing on the TV, but neither of them were really watching. It was some mind-numbing action movie blessedly free of supes, a rare find that was.
When it was finally over, she shut it off while he started taking dishes to the sink. He cut on the water, but a moment later, she turned it off.
“Stop,” she demanded. “Stop it right now.”
Butcher crossed his arms defensively. “What’s your fucking problem?”
“What are you doing, Billy?” she asked. “You say you’re going to leave, like you’re trying to run from me or something. The next you’re…pretending to be my boyfriend and acting like you’re going to devour me on the kitchen counter. What the fuck is this?”
She gestured wildly between the two of them. Butcher leaned in, until his face was inches away from hers. He similarly waved a finger between them.
“You put a stop to this a long time ago,” he said, with that deep, rough voice of his that made her absolutely insane. She expelled a sigh of frustration.
It would be so easy to fall into this, into him.
But M.M. was right. Butcher carried baggage he would never let go of, and ultimately, it would get him killed. It could get her killed.
As reckless as she had been by letting Butcher stay here, she didn’t want to die. Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could feel Homelander’s hands around her throat. She could hear his whispers from her nightmares. I know what you did for them. I know everything.
“I stopped this,” she said at last, “because I’m not Becca. I can’t be her replacement.”
As if I ever could be, she thought.
Butcher’s brows pinched with a glare. “I fuckin’ know you’re not.”
“Don’t lie to me!” she snapped.
“That’s fuckin’ rich, innit? When you’re the one who lied!”
She took a step back from him, incredulous. “When the hell did I lie?”
“The day Black Noir came for us at your apartment,” Butcher said. “You didn’t tell me you had a run in with that goddamn golden cunt.”
Her shock silenced them both, her heart falling into the pit of her stomach. She swallowed past the lump of anxiety in her throat.
“Who?” she asked. A feeble attempt to deflect.
Butcher’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re lying right now, to my face. You know who the fuck I’m talkin’ about,” he shouted. “Homelander choked the shit out of you. He nearly killed you in the middle of a fuckin’ hallway.”
Her gaze fell, and her hand raised unconsciously to her neck, where the bruises had long since faded. She sighed, more shakily this time.
“How do you know about that?”
“Mallory showed me the bloody footage,” he said. “I heard what he said, saw what he did. You could’ve quit your job, right then and there, and old Stan wouldn’t a’ been the wiser.”
She didn’t have an answer for him. She tried turning away, maybe to hide in her room until he left her alone, but Butcher wasn’t having it. He held fast to her hand and prodded her to turn back around.
“It’s not like you owed me anything,” he said. “Why didn’t you skip town?”
Interesting, she scoffed. That wasn’t what he said when he “recruited” her, all but blaming her for Becca’s disappearance.
“You know exactly why. It wasn’t about you, it was about me,” she said. “I wanted to find Becca. I can never…fix what I did. Or what I didn’t do, I don’t know…I needed to redeem myself.”
She was sure that was something he could understand. And he seemed to, if the fire quelling in his eyes was anything to go by.
“You know, I thought saying goodbye to you both that day was going to be it,” she said. “I never thought she would be gone while I’m still here.”
She leaned a hand against the kitchen counter, fighting for the things she wanted to say. Maybe Butcher sensed that, and was giving her a moment to figure it out.
Eventually, she grabbed onto his shirt, near his collar. As much as she wanted to fight the pull of him…it had been a losing battle from the start. His hands found her waist, her hips, molding to the curve and shape of her.
“It’s been eight months. Almost a year since then,” she said. “This thing…about you, for you. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”
When he kissed her, it was a sweet relief. It was dominating heat and need. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders while his continued to burn her skin over her clothes, kneading her hips, her ass. He pressed her into the counter and she could already feel the length of him against her thigh. Meanwhile, his tongue found hers and she had no qualms with being devoured. Her entire body was on fire.
She wrapped her arm around his neck for better leverage, but he had his own ideas. His grip on her hips became firm enough to heft her up onto the kitchen counter. Maybe it was cliché, but it made perfect sense to Helena. She wrapped her legs around his hips, forcing him to rock into her clothed center. She shivered, and he smirked into her kiss. His hands slid up the soft skin of her thighs, bunching up the skirt of her pretty yellow sundress.
He briefly squeezed her thighs and let his thumbs draw between them, towards the heat pooling between her legs. He brushed against the dampness in her underwear.
“Don’t take much, huh?” he teased.
She reached down and felt his hard erection straining against her hand. He groaned in response to her touch.
“I could say the same,” she retorted with a cheeky smile.
Butcher's lips quirked, then they met hers, tasting her long and slow. To her, he felt solid and confident, and she actually felt safe in his hands.
He began kissing his way down her neck. It just mildly distracted her from what he was doing further down, grabbing the delicate material of her underwear and ripping them down on one side, then the other. Her eyes widened in shock at feeling the lacy material slide out between her legs. She blushed the sensation making her skin tingle deliciously.
She should be mad that he’d just ruined a $30 pair of panties. But the strength she felt in his arms as he did it only quickened her heartbeat and enhanced the flood between her legs.
She sucked in a breath when he finally began teasing her slit with one finger, then sliding between her slippery folds. The muscles in her lower belly tightened in anticipation. They were really doing this.
“Yep,” he said.
Helena snapped her head up at his smirking face and realized she’d actually said that thought out loud.
Butcher smirked, and then two of his fingers sunk into her wet heat. She uttered a short whimper of pleasure as he began to work her with an expert hand. Her breaths deepened in his ear and she all but grinded down rhythmically into his touch, especially when his thumb found the swollen bud of her clit. She carded her fingers through his black hair, and his name fell from her lips. Like a prayer.
His fingers moved deeper within her, curling against that special spot inside. Finally, that dam of heat within her broke in waves as she shuddered against him. But his fingers didn’t stop their relentless onslaught, drawing out her orgasm and pulling a long moan and a couple of of Spanish expletives from her throat. Because fuck, had it been a long time since she’d felt this good.
Helena clung to Butcher’s shoulders while he eventually stopped to let her catch her breath. Her head was resting in the crook of his neck, so she first pressed a kiss below his ear, then raised her head and he met her with a fierce kiss.
“You nearly cut the circulation in my fucking hand, love,” he said with an indecent smirk. “Thought I was gonna lose it in this sweet pussy.”
She was sure her face was red as a cherry by now. Still coming down from her unbelievable high, she had no words. She watched him withdraw his glistening hand and make a show of licking one of his fingers clean.
“Sweet indeed,” he added. “But we ain’t close to done.”
Her hands shook, but she pulled him close again by his belt and began to unbuckle it for him. “You’re goddamn right.”
Then, it became a race for whoever could remove each other’s clothes first. Helena unzipped his pants while he helped wrench up her dress. Her hands glided up under his stupid fucking Hawaiian shirt and forced it over his head.
He all but tore the clasp of her bra and freed her breasts, which fit perfect and full in his hands. He kneaded and caressed and rolled his thumbs over the pert brown buds, and she panted and arched into him. She met him with a deep kiss, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and let her nails drag a little down his back. It earned her a throaty groan and a warm, rough hand between her thighs.
She could feel his wet tip positioning at her entrance—and it snapped her out of autopilot, back into her head where red alarm bells were flaring loud and insistent.
She grabbed one of his hands, stopping him.
“Wait. Billy, wait.”
He was panting and straining with need himself, but to his credit, he stopped. His eyes snapped down to hers, his brows crunching in mostly curiosity.
“I can’t do things halfway here,” she warned him. She’d been alone this long for a reason. “I can’t be what’s convenient for you.”
His eyes studied hers. For what, she couldn’t be sure.
“That ain’t what this is,” he said eventually.
She laid a hand on his chest, over his rapidly beating heart.
“Tell me the truth. Why did you look for me?” she asked.
His iron, demanding grip on her waist gentled. He sighed, and she felt his breath on her forehead.
“You know exactly why,” he said.
Hope and warmth bloomed in her chest, making her smile. She let go of his wrist and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her head tilted to the side as she considered him suspiciously.
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
Butcher’s eyes darkened. His brow rose suggestively. “I can be persuasive.”
He pressed a biting kiss just beneath her ear. Her hold on him tightened as she sucked in a breath. But then she offered him a claiming kiss of her own.
“Prove it then,” she said against his lips.
He took that challenge to heart, pulling her body right to the edge of the kitchen counter until he could align himself at the right angle. The moment his length slid deep into her core, she almost came apart right then and there. He stretched and filled her entirely to capacity—to the point where she worried he might be a little too big for her.
He grunted and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. She moved her hips a little to adjust to his size. He groaned.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Fuckin' hell.”
She gave a breathless laugh.
“You’re welcome,” she replied with a cheeky grin.
Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heels digging into his ass. He pulled out just enough to slam into her again, making them both shudder. He eased out again, and continued into a building rhythm that soon became frantic. Most of the time, she could only hold onto him for the ride.
But feeling his body tense up further, she knew he was close (along with the sounds he was making). She could see the road ahead and almost taste her release, but to help them both, she reached down between them and touched the nearly overstimulated bud over her entrance and whined into the crook of his neck.
“I gotcha, babe. Almost there,” Butcher muttered. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and feeling on the verge of his end, he bit down between her neck and her shoulder. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make her cry out at the peak of her own release. Her nails reflexively bit into his shoulders and he hissed with similar pleasure mixed with pain.
He soothed her afterwards with his hand cupping the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. His hand remained at the back of her neck when he leaned back and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. Her legs detangled from around his hips. Then her hands drifted softly down his bare chest.
“Well,” she said, “that happened.”
He nodded with a mellowed grin. “Still happening, actually.”
Butcher shifted his hips to remind her that he was, in fact, still inside her. He eased out and grabbed a clean hand towel from the counter to wipe up the slick between both of their legs. He was slower with her though, letting the cloth slide tantalizingly across her swollen lips.
He then smirked at her renewed blush. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of those honey brown eyes, red, thoroughly kissed lips, and flushed cheeks. It was about to get him going again.
“Join me in the shower?” she offered, despite her blush.
Butcher helped her down from the kitchen counter and held her naked body against his. He towered over her by quite a few inches, but her body was strong and her abundant curves gave perfectly in his hands.
His voice was deep with suggestive grit.
“If we’re smart, we could christen just about every room, hidden nook, and otherwise flat surface in this great big house,” he said.
She laughed and framed his face with her hands. “Hmm. In that case, better take my vitamins.”
Then she covered up what would’ve been his smart-ass retort with a deep kiss.
Keep Reading: PART 13
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Tag List:
@lauraaan182, @homielander, @calizmor
#the boys#billy butcher#the boys tv#karl urban#billy butcher x oc#billy butcher x ofc#romance#slow burn#mother's milk#becca butcher#hughie campbell#zepkies#latina!oc#poc!oc#friends to lovers#the boys season 2#zepskies writes#Break It On Down#And So It Goes#Part 12#Butcher x Latina!OC
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And So It Goes - Part 10
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)
ASIG Series Masterlist
Word Count: 5,200
Warnings: Language, angst
10: Amen
Helena slowly climbed up the steps to her apartment. She carried the strap of her overnight bag on one shoulder and the handle of Gordo’s carrier in the other hand.
Once she reached the top of the stairs, even the few short feet to her front door felt like a wide canyon. Her body swayed, mostly with lack of sleep, but eventually she was able to unlock her apartment and step inside.
After closing the door behind her, she dropped her bag on the floor and let Gordo out of his carrier. The cat mewled for attention, rubbing himself along her calf, but she felt numb and unable to focus on the dark, familiar quiet of her apartment. She felt…wrong.
Trudging through the living room, she found her favorite “Spice Up Your Life” mug on the coffee table and absently picked it up, aiming to go dump it into the kitchen sink. Until she realized exactly which mug it was, and who had given it to her for her 16th birthday with a homemade batch of her famous double chocolate-chocolate chip cupcakes.
Gripping the mug tightly, until her fingers ached, Helena then hurled the mug across the room. It shattered against the far wall on impact, but she crumpled into tears even before the pieces fell.
Yesterday.
Helena took the proffered business card from Grace Mallory with numb fingers. The older woman was better dressed for the crisp fall weather in a wool coat and scarf, comfortable-looking but expensive.
From the conservative pearl earrings set in gold, Mallory was either from old money, or simply was the kind of rich that was too wealthy to care about showing it too much. Helena had spent enough time in the company of rich assholes to know instinctively that this woman was not one of them.
Even so, Helena didn’t know if she could trust her. After today, she probably would never trust anything again. Not even her God.
“Just say the word, and we’ll get it done,” Mallory said.
Helena pocketed the card, offering a hesitant nod. It was taking her longer than usual to process the words someone had said to her, but she soon got her dry mouth to form a reply. “I’ll let you know.”
Her voice sounded foreign, even to her own ears. She followed Mallory’s gaze beyond the small parking lot to the edge of the forest, where Billy Butcher and Ryan were sitting together under a large oak tree beside a river. Helena unconsciously looked past them, staring into the picturesque vastness of trees and scattered leaves.
She had been driving home when she got the call from M.M. which almost made her rear-end a family of four on the highway. She had broken no less than five traffic laws to turn back, even though she could barely see the road signs through the blur of tears. All the while, she couldn’t stop imagining this. The forest, and what Becca must have looked like at the end.
And the guilt, Helena thought, watching as Butcher and Ryan finally stood to make their way back to the parking lot. Can’t forget that.
Guilt, that she wasn’t there. When Ryan had lasered Stormfront into unrecognizable mutilation, and Becca had been accidentally caught in the crossfire, bleeding to death on the cold forest floor.
Well, Helena had never been there when Becca really needed her, it seemed, so why shouldn’t it be like this in the end?
“All right,” Butcher said, once he and Ryan were nearly to the black SUV that a woman, one of Mallory’s, was holding for him. “Remember what I told ya.”
Ryan looked up at him with a face that was pure Becca.
“Don’t be a cunt,” he replied.
Butcher gave a hint of a smile, and he shared a moment with the kid that mercifully took Helena out of the horror scene in her imagination. At least, Butcher had come to understand what Becca really wanted.
He loved her enough to honor what she asked of him with Ryan. Helena wasn’t sure if Butcher liked him, but according to M.M., Butcher had protected him from Homelander. There was a kind of father in him just now.
When the SUV eventually peeled off with Ryan, reluctant and sad in the backseat, Mallory said what Helena couldn’t.
“William, I’m so sorry,” she said.
Butcher just watched the SUV, until it turned a corner and disappeared. “Vought’s gonna want him back.”
“Let me handle Vought,” Mallory replied. Helena watched a reluctant, but necessary question form on the woman’s face. “You think he’ll turn into his father?”
Butcher turned back to join them, though his gaze fell again on the river.
“Becca didn’t think so,” he said.
Mallory shook her head. “I pray she’s right.”
Helena felt like one of Mallory’s hired hands standing by yet another SUV: an unnecessary third party in the conversation. But she wasn’t here because of Mallory. She just had the least to lose in sticking around, unlike M.M. and the rest of the crew, who had to go back into hiding.
But Mallory’s next revelation nearly brought new tears to Helena’s eyes: Butcher and everyone else had been entirely pardoned, of all crimes—both real and fabricated by Vought.
The White House had finally funded an Office of Supe Affairs, predictably headed by Victoria Neuman. She was the new funding power behind Mallory’s next project: a team that would keep track of supes from here on out. It sounded ideal for Butcher, in theory, and Helena could admit, it was exactly the kind of thing she’d been down for before…well, before.
Butcher never answered Mallory’s offer. Instead, he donned a pair of shades and started down the path to his piece of shit car down at the end of the parking lot. But Helena couldn’t help herself. Her worry overran her common sense of leaving him be.
With a parting nod to Mallory, she followed Butcher on the way to her own rental car. He probably sensed her behind him, or maybe he’d expected her to follow, because he slowed to a stop at the sidewalk separating one half of the parking lot from the other. Helena didn’t know what it was she wanted to say.
I’m sorry was fucking stupid, and would be hollow coming out of her mouth.
“Going back to work?” Butcher asked.
“I’m due back a week from Monday,” she admitted. She shifted on her feet, hands clenching unseen in her pockets. Eventually, she gained the courage to look up at him and say what she really wanted to say.
“Wherever you go, whatever you decide to do…” She paused, knowing just as well this could be the last time she spoke to him like this, truly once in for all. He was a free man. His Homelander vendetta aside, he turned down Mallory’s offer, which meant there was no telling where he was going to fuck off and disappear to. Maybe even get himself killed, like he’d planned to from the beginning of his crusade.
Taking a breath, Helena purged the rest of that from her mind. She needed to focus on right here, right now.
“You took care of Ryan, made sure he was safe,” she said. “It’s time you did that for yourself.”
She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she heard the dryness in his tone when he drawled, “Is that right?”
She frowned. “Your anger is going to kill you. You think Becca would’ve wanted—”
“It’s none of your fuckin’ business what I do,” Butcher cut her off, dismissively, with steely anger underneath. She wasn’t afraid of him, not anymore, but the forcefulness on her frayed nerves and exhausted emotional state still made her flinch.
Helena sighed. She didn’t have the energy to volley with him like she usually would, nor did she want to. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but she could imagine what he was going through, torn to shreds inside, as she was, and likely so much worse. Butcher had walls—concrete walls reinforced with electric barbed wire—around his heart, but Becca had lived inside them for such a long time…
“Fine. That’s fine,” Helena said. Her eyes roamed his face for any sign of his thoughts, but again, she found nothing. She rested a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. Then, she walked away from him without looking back.
Helena flattened out Mallory’s business card, crumpled from the pocket in her jeans, and set it down on her desk. While she waited for her laptop to boot up, she couldn’t help but glance over at the picture frames propped on the left side of her desk, backlit by a small lamp.
One picture was taken at eight years old, the first of many trips to Disney World with her parents. The second was her and Becca at high school graduation, big cheesy smiles and eyes full of stupid dreams. The third was taken four years later at their college graduation. They wore different colors for their caps and gowns, but they had the same smiles on their faces.
Helena took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. With her laptop finally booted up and logged in, she started by crafting her resignation letter from Vought.
Six Months Later.
It didn’t happen often, but Mallory found herself blinking in confusion while glancing up at the security footage. She knew before her frantic assistant called her office to tell her that Billy Butcher was on his way, not bothering with the small decorum of waiting at reception.
Mallory sighed, but this in itself didn’t surprise her; nor the fact that he had found her secluded wing of the building, which was not listed on any public or government directory (for more than one reason). What did surprise her, was that Butcher was at the Office of Supe Affairs at all.
She pressed the buzzer before he even knocked on the door, allowing him to breeze his way in with his usual devil-may-care stride. He offered Mallory a grin, more restrained than usual.
“‘Ullo, boss,” he greeted.
“Not your boss anymore,” she wryly replied. That didn’t stop him from leaning his arms on the guest chair in front of her desk. She didn’t bother asking how he found her. She was more focused on the bruising around his eye, small cuts on his knuckles and cheekbone. His black overcoat looked worn and washed too many times, and had probably been through most of his scrapes over the past six months.
Mallory also didn’t waste her breath asking what he’d been doing all this time—not only because it was obvious, but because she already knew, all too well.
“I know you prefer to do things your own way,” she said, “but at this point, wouldn’t it be easier just to join my fucking team?”
“Didn’t work the first time, don’t see why it should be any different now,” Butcher said. He gestured around the office, to her new bookcases and filing cabinets, to the whole operation. “It’s gonna be a shitshow, and don’t count on me to be there when you realize it.”
Mallory fought not to roll her eyes. “I swear to God, it’s one step forward, three steps back with you,” she said. “Why are you here then?”
“Where’s Helena?” he asked.
Interesting, Mallory noted. Out of everything he could’ve asked of her, that was rather low on her list. Though she supposed she should’ve considered it, after the little scene she witnessed in the parking lot six months ago.
“She’s not at her apartment?” Mallory said. She watched Butcher push off the back of the chair and slip his hands into his coat pockets. A stance of nonchalance that didn’t distract her from the guarded look in his eyes.
“You fuckin’ know she’s not. Her phone’s disconnected too. Both of 'em.”
“Why’re you trying to find her?” Mallory asked.
He didn’t answer her right away, which piqued her interest even more. This was a man who knew how to get the information he wanted without having to reveal his own cards. His motives, which not many could predict, unless they knew him as well as Mallory thought she did. But Butcher also knew her well enough that her stubborn patience could outlast his reluctance to just tell her the truth. He eventually caved.
“Need her to do a little reconnaissance on her slimy boss. Make sure he’s not keeping tabs on me,” he said. “I appreciate bein’ able to hit the local dive bar as much as the next felon-free man, but it’s hard to get properly wasted knowing Black Noir might be lyin’ in wait when I hit the pisser.”
Hmm. Also interesting, Mallory thought, that while his reasons had to do with Vought, it wasn’t an admission that he was looking for a new angle to bring down the juggernaut company. But, she remembered that young woman’s words to Butcher on that day: “Wherever you go, whatever you decide to do…”
No; maybe reconnaissance was worth this trip to Mallory’s office, but she had a suspicion it was a clever excuse, whether Butcher realized it was one or not. Though she also didn’t want to tell him, not yet at least, that Vought was sure as hell trying to keep tabs on him. Her team was thus far successful in keeping them off Butcher’s scent.
As long as he didn’t do anything stupid, Vought shouldn’t have a reason to try and silently snuff him out. Singling out Butcher again would only distract Homelander, now that Vought had him exactly where they wanted him: focused on his public persona and rebuilding their credibility after the PR nightmare that had been Stormfront’s Nazi past revealed. With Starlight’s (undercover) help, they’d mostly been able to shift media focus to memorializing Translucent’s death.
Honestly, it was fucking annoying how easily Vought had managed that. But in a way, it had given Supe Affairs the time and cover they needed to organize, and keep digging—with, Mallory could admit, the help of Helena Flores.
So, it was easier in this case to tell Butcher the truth.
“The less she sees of you, the better her relocation works,” she said. By the look in his eyes, she had just confirmed Butcher’s suspicions.
“She gave you intel.”
“All she could spare. It was safer for her to resign in the aftermath of Becca, while Vought was too busy with damage control to care too much about her leaving. Still, she was able to blame the trauma of the congressional hearing.”
Mallory recognized the cogs in his mind turning, digesting that information, and deciding if he wanted to do anything about it. Mallory felt compelled to offer what she knew to be the best solution.
“She’s done, Butcher,” she said. “Best thing you could do for her is leave her alone.”
Butcher’s gaze flicked up to hers. “Maybe I’m done too.”
Mallory smiled wryly.
“We both know that’s a crock of shit,” she said. When Butcher only continued staring at her, like he was still trying to decide how hard he wanted to push the issue, she sighed. “Let me show you something. If you still want to find her afterwards, I’ll give you the address.”
“What is it?” he asked.
Mallory felt something in her relent, the longer she looked at him. She softened with a more patient look.
“Just sit down.”
Butcher didn’t know what to expect when he drove four hours across upstate New York. The house was too big for one person, he thought, but it was tucked neatly between some of the larger houses in the quaint little suburban community. It reminded him a lot of his Aunt Judy’s neighborhood, but a lot more uptown. He couldn’t picture Helena living in a place like this, so far from the city, so uppity, so…
Not her, he thought. This was a woman who would rather eat leftover Chinese for a week past its expiration instead of “wasting her hard-earned cash” by tossing it out.
Shaking his head, Butcher stored that thought away when he got out of his car and climbed up the few steps to the front door. He noticed, approvingly, of the small security camera in the corner above the door. With a house as nice as this, likely there were side and rear cameras as well. Smart.
She came to the door shortly after he knocked, opening it slowly, blinking at him like she’d never seen him before. Or, more accurately, like she never expected to see him again.
“‘Ullo, love,” he greeted. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
It was one of those rare moments when he really didn’t know what to say next, much less do. His last words to her hadn’t been pretty. Plus, he knew he was intruding on her life.
Well, yes, he’d been intruding on her life from the beginning, but this was the first time it had felt more wrong than right, less justifiable in his mind.
“How did you find me?” Helena said, finally.
“I can fuck off if you like,” he replied. And surprisingly, he meant it. Why the fuck am I here, anyway?
She hesitated, but eventually she said, “No. Come in.”
Helena led him inside, and to his small relief, it was the simple kind of taste he remembered from her apartment. Some things were the same, like her couch and comfy chair in the spacious living room.
Other things were new, like the wood floors and the large kitchen and breakfast bar, complete with four stools. There was a hallway leading to what he assumed was at least one guest room, while the staircase leading up to the second floor likely had the master bedroom. It was big enough though that there were probably more rooms than that.
“Nice digs. Mallory set you up with this place?” he asked.
“She helped me scope it out, but I own it,” Helena replied.
Butcher made an impressed sound, raising his eyebrows as he smirked. “All right, big spender.”
She finally cracked a slight smile at his familiar teasing and went into the kitchen.
“Tea, coffee?” she offered.
“Coffee’s good,” he replied, though with the “warm welcome” he received, he was surprised she was offering him anything. He tensed at the feeling of something brushing up against his leg, but looking down, he found another familiar face.
“Ey, Gord.” The cat mewled in greeting, arching its back as Butcher pet him from head to tail. He was as fat and fluffy as ever. “Still livin’ well I see.”
“Yeah, he acclimated pretty well when he saw how many new places there were to hide my socks,” Helena said dryly. He started the coffee maker and left it to percolate, returning to join him on the living room couch. She looked comfortable in a pair of yoga pants and an old college shirt, and bright yellow fuzzy socks.
In the far corner was a paint-stained tarp covering the floor, where an unfinished painting sat on an easel surrounded by paint tubes scattered around. In front of the large TV was a yoga mat, evidence of what he’d likely interrupted. Again, he knew he shouldn’t be here.
“Takin’ up Pilates?” he couldn’t help but remark. “Really embracing your inner suburban mum, aren’t ya?”
Her mouth twitched again, but her eyes were laced with something heavier, despite how she was trying to seem more upbeat.
“You know, trying to stay busy. It’s a lot quieter here than the city…I came here to get away, get out,” she confessed. “I didn’t really have a plan other than that, so…I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do next.”
Oh, how Butcher could relate.
“I get that,” he said. She looked at him with a measure of surprise, and maybe a hint of suspicion. The coffee maker dinged, giving him some reprieve when she got up to get the coffee. After asking how he liked it (black with sugar, no cream), she returned with two mugs and handed him the darker one. Hers was nearly white with how much cream she’d poured in there. She then sat down, putting some measured distance between them on the sofa.
“Why did you come here?” she asked. The million-dollar question.
He could do what he did best here, and lie. He could ask for names of the big shots she had to schmooze for Stan Edgar, so Butcher could take a crack at them for information. He could make a half-assed attempt at recruiting her for Supe Affairs, even though that was the last fucking thing he came here to do.
If he was going to do what Becca asked of him, from the very beginning, to try to be better (even if he was a lost cause), he would have to be a more honest man. He could start with this.
“Sold the house,” he said. “So, been on the road for a while.”
Helena’s eyes widened. Even she recognized that selling the house he’d shared with Becca was strange for someone who couldn’t let shit go.
“And…her things?” she asked.
“Gave ‘em to her sister,” Butcher said, taking a long sip of coffee. It was strong as hell, but he needed it. His fingers still felt cold from the fall weather outside, and four hours with the non-existent heater in his car.
Now that he thought about it, there was something he could give her. He fished through the inside of his coat pocket and pulled out a simple silver lighter. He offered it to Helena, who curiously took it from him.
“Believe you two got a lot of mileage out of this,” he said. “Ate your weight in Doritos, I reckon.”
A slow smirk spread across Helena’s face, and she pocketed the lighter.
“You came all the way here for that?” she asked. “You must be tired from the drive.”
“I am fuckin’ tired,” he admitted. In more ways than one, and he knew she probably sensed it.
“Need a little lie-down?” she said, imitating his accent a bit. Butcher gave her a weird look, even with a smirk curving his lips. It wasn’t the first time someone had mocked his Britishness, but it was the first time he found it amusing. His good humor faded all too quickly though. Maybe that was why he was here. He needed a rest. For once his path forward wasn’t so clear, and that was fucking with him.
“What’re you thinking?” she asked.
He met her gaze, noting how she was watching him intently. She wanted to figure him out like most people couldn’t. M.M. probably got the closest of anyone, and more recently, Hughie. The difference was, Helena didn’t just want to understand him. She wanted to help him.
“I have to kill him,” Butcher said, setting his mug aside on the coffee table. He knew he didn’t have to spell out who the fuck he was talking about. “I’ve written out every single thing anyone’s ever tried. I’ve read every one of Vogelbaum’s files I can get me hands on. And then I remember why she left.”
Helena shook her head and put down her own coffee. “Billy—”
“She chose to leave because of me. I know she did, ‘cause she didn’t trust me. Because she knew I couldn’t be trusted,” he said. “And that’s on me.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.
“Don’t,” he warned her, fighting the well of anger that lived in his blood, always just under his skin. “Don’t bother sayin' that shit.”
“I knew her pretty damn well too, you know,” Helena snapped at him. “She was scared, and wanted to save her kid from Homelander. But more than anything, she wanted to save you.”
Butcher didn’t have a ready retort for that. Mostly because Becca had told him as much before, at least about protecting him. Ryan was a given.
Helena sighed, and she moved closer to him on the sofa. They were close enough for their knees to almost touch. Reluctantly he looked into her eyes again, an honest brown.
“I know I’m never going to change your mind,” she said. “You’re not going to change mine either.”
Butcher’s begrudging acceptance of that came out in hunched shoulders, and a curmudgeonly scoff. “You’re a moron.”
Her expression withered a little.
“And you’re an asshole.” She sighed. “Come ‘ere.”
Even knowing it was coming, he still stiffened when her slender arms slid around his, her hands resting comfortingly on his back. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t want it, but when she made no move to pull away even seconds later, he could feel the moment she tensed to pull away.
His hands unconsciously found her waist, stopping her. He relaxed a fraction as he held her against him. The familiar curve of her body felt good in his hands. Even though the pain in his chest felt like drowning in shallow water, she was warm and soft and fit right in his arms.
That feeling overruled every warning that screamed in his mind to let her go and put some distance between them, back where it belonged.
Instead, his hands moved up her back, fingers curling into her hair as he pulled her tighter against his chest. He didn’t realize his arms were shaking until he felt one of her gentle hands on the back of his neck. Her fingers carded lightly through his hair. Somehow, that small thing allowed him to let out a long, steadying breath. It felt like the first breath he’d taken in six months.
He didn’t entirely know what he was doing when he pulled away the slightest bit, enough to look down on her face—long lashes and full lips, her stubborn chin. Leaning down, their noses nearly touched by the time he felt her hand splayed firm on his chest.
“No,” she breathed. It stopped him immediately.
“It’s not me you want right now,” she added, a wry, if sad smile quirking her lips.
His disappointment was tinged with anger (at himself). He offered the same kind of empty grin with a small nod of acceptance before letting her go entirely. While she moved away, reinstating the same distance between them, Butcher got up to his feet. He wasn’t one to overstay his welcome when it didn’t suit him, and this was definitely one of those times. His hand twitched at his side, aching for a cigarette to hold.
Left the pack in the car, he realized. Well, now it was a surefire reason to head out now. He crossed the living room to the door, but Helena’s hand grabbing his sleeve stopped him short.
“Wait. I want you to stay,” she said. There was worry in her eyes. “You shouldn’t drive like this.”
He quirked a brow at her. “I’m fine, Helena.”
Her stubborn stance, crossing her arms and frowning up at him, boded no argument.
“Yeah, well, tonight you get the guest room.” Her frown turned into a smile. “Now that I have a house, I can finally say it! Mi casa es tu casa.”
At the sight of her genuine smile, Butcher relented. He really was tired.
The memory of one of her earlier mocking quips got a hedging glint in his eye.
“Right. Make your little request in Brit for me, and maybe I will,” he offered. Helena’s smile became embarrassed as she blushed, down to her ears.
“I don’t think you want that,” she said. She gestured for him to follow her down the hall, where she stopped at a closet to get some fresh linens.
“I think I do.” He nodded. The guest room was bigger than he thought, and clean. It was easily nicer than many of the motels he’d crashed at, even nicer than the apartment he was currently renting in the city.
Helena ignored him while she set up the bed with the new sheets, but he spied the smile she was trying to hide. When she finished settling the beige comforter over the bed and a spare towel for the shower, she then tried to head out the door. Butcher let his broad frame take up the doorway, leaning over her as both hands rested on the frame. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Come on with it then, or I’m outta here,” he said, smirking. “Take your best shot.”
Letting out a huff, Helena finally squared her shoulders and looked up at him.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Bonified Queen’s English.” He nodded, bending his ear towards her slightly. “Go on then, have a go. What was it you wanted me to do?”
"Jesus Christ. Fine!" Hands on her hips, she pointed back to the guest bed. “Sit your fuckin’ arse down ‘fore I do your ‘ead in. Ya fuckin’ slaaag.”
Helena met his blank stare for all of two seconds before she immediately crumbled into fits of laughter. Butcher couldn’t help his own bemused smirk. He knew it would be terrible, but he had a habit of underestimating this woman.
“All right, Dick Van Dyke.”
She tried and failed to smother another wave of giggles. “I said you didn’t want it.”
“Nah, that was special,” he said. “Just sorry I didn’t get that on me phone.”
She gave him the finger as she slid around him to flee the room. He called after her as she began stomping up the stairs.
“You gettin’ the other chimney sweeps, or are they on break back there?”
“Fuck you!” she sang. Her laugh managed to make him smile, without any sarcasm or motive.
So it wasn’t the way nights in a woman’s house usually ended, but he didn’t come here for all that. If only to himself, late at 2 a.m. when his thoughts kept him awake, he could finally admit that he came here to see her.
Just to see her. And maybe, to calm the turbulence in his mind with the certainty that Helena was safe here.
Butcher did stay the night. He also left in the morning, long before she woke up.
Keep Reading: PART 11
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And So It Goes - Part 3
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
ASIG Series Masterlist
Word Count: 3,500
Tags/Warnings: 18+ for drug consumption, sexual tension, fluff.
3: Helen Flowers
Billy Butcher couldn’t be asked to remember all the names of his wife’s friends, but he remembered meeting Helena Flores well enough. She had been at the wedding and all that, but for him, there’d been only one woman worth looking at that day.
It was about a year later, upon their recent move to New York City. She’d invaded his house on a Saturday and, together with his wife, filled the living room with ever-jarring Spice Girls hits while he tried in vain to work in the office with the goddamn dog.
But he’d promised not to meddle in Becca’s girls’ day, so he’d kept himself busy. It hadn’t taken long for the pungent smell of weed to coil up under the door and hit him secondhand.
When the Spice Girls mercifully changed to some girly romcom, he finally tempted fate and crept out the office, feeling a bit peckish. There he found the kitchen pantry was in a right state.
All the crisps in the fuckin’ house, he grumbled. And all the beer, he noticed, upon peering around the corner at the display of empty green bottles on the coffee table. Three each, a whole pack of Presidente’s between them and two whole blunts, evidenced by the roaches in the little glass ashtray.
Jesus.
His girl was a menace.
And so was her friend, talking and laughing louder than the fucking movie they clearly weren’t watching. Billy leaned in the gap between the kitchen into the living room, just to check on things.
They’d pushed the coffee table out to the middle, making room for them to sit on the floor in front of the couch, with their spread of Cool Ranch Doritos (his, goddamn it), tortilla chips and salsa, remnants of a frozen pizza, Oreos, and other junk spread around them. Becca was painting the other woman’s toes, clearly with less precision than she thought she had.
“I know you remember, Hel,” Becca pressed, giggling as she missed a toe completely and painted a long red strip on tanned ankle. “High school, junior prom.”
“Look at what’ch you’re doing! For fuck’s sake,” Helena shouted through a fit of laughter. “I’ll never forgive you. Setting me up with that weird guy from…from…”
“He was my partner in Honors Chem,” Becca supplied. “He really liked you!”
“Psh,” Helena snorted. “He kept calling me Helen Flowers. You didn’t help, by the way.”
Another giggle from Becca, and she started on the second set of toes. “I might’a told Jen over in Yearbook to keep that going.”
“God, what a bitch,” Helena bemoaned. “My parents were very confused by the captions on my yearbook pictures…what was th’ guy’s name? I swear, I can only remember our last year of college. Also your fault, by the way.”
Billy rolled his eyes. These broads are fuckin’ crossfaded.
“Poor guy,” Becca said, smiling impishly. “He was a Scott Pilgrim fan.”
Helena huffed a laugh. “Yeah, a fucking nerd with Star Trek briefs.”
Billy silently maintained that he sort of liked Star Trek. The original though. Not that poncey blonde twat in the newer films.
“Ye be not to cast the first stone, oh Helen Flowers,” Becca said, even though her voice wabbled with laughter and inebriation. “You still let him do you with those Star Trek briefs. In the back of your car.”
“Ya know what? Star Trek got down, I’m not even gunna lie.” Helena laughed through her admission, pressing her forehead into Becca’s shoulder to keep herself upright. She wiggled her newly painted toes in front of their faces. “That boy was a gamer, he had dexterous goddamn fingers.”
Billy couldn’t help his own amusement, scoffing quietly to himself. With a shake of his head, he returned to his office cave with his wife’s favorite secret stash of peanut butter cookies—in retaliation for his Doritos.
“It’s a bad fucking idea,” M.M. said, effectively knocking Butcher out of the memory. He stared back at M.M., raising a brow in silent question.
“She may work for Vought, but she’s basically a civilian, Butcher,” M.M. argued. “If she gets caught with a connection to us, especially to you, she’s gunna get killed. Then they’ll kill us.”
“Wait, you think they’d kill her? She’s one of their…people,” Hughie blanched. He always got nervous at an idea if M.M. was against it, especially if it risked getting someone killed. Butcher understood that, even kind of preferred that quality in the kid. M.M. just stared at him in a tired father sort of way.
“Obviously.”
Even Frenchie gave Hughie a pitying look. “Have you not learned, petit Hughie?”
“Just, ya know what? Stop calling me that.” Hughie raised an annoyed hand at Frenchie and cast his worried Bambi eyes back on Butcher.
“She knows the consequences,” Butcher said, “and she’s on board. I’m not about to look a gift horse in the bloody mouth.”
By the knowing look on M.M.’s face, he didn’t buy the she willingly offered to help bullshit, but he wasn’t going to say it. Frenchie also knew better, and just looked resigned. Soon Hughie would fall in with the plan, like he normally did, and then they could get to business as usual.
Maybe part of him did feel reluctant to put the girl in harm’s way, but she had her own demons to soothe, just like he had his to help him burn until the end of this.
“What you got her doin’ exactly?” M.M. asked.
Helena combed through yet another set of restricted files, finding nothing of value. There were no official records of Compound V. Their many labs scattered throughout the country were invoiced for pharmaceutical research, sure, but for painkillers and other nonsense, not for an unknown drug using human infants as guinea pigs.
Helena forced herself to calm down and breathe evenly, before she vomited her breakfast right here in this dusty, glorified storage room. Any records she might’ve found of Compound V on her own computer had been erased at some point, without her permission.
Which means that someone had rooted through her computer before, and had potentially seen her favorites bar: lately filled with single-serving Pinterest recipes. In her defense, it wasn’t like she cooked for anyone other than herself, and she didn’t like wasting food.
“The fuck are you doing in here?” Ashley barked from the doorway. If that wasn’t startling enough, the woman had angry tears in her eyes and a death grip on her phone, like she was waiting to chuck it like a projectile at any moment.
“Jesus,” Helena muttered, calming a hand over her heart. “What’s the problem? What the fuck happened to you?”
“Like you care,” the other woman spat. “Oh, and Stillwell wants to see you. One more favor before I officially ‘exit the premises.’”
Helena’s mouth opened in shock. “She fired you?”
With a final sound of frustration, Ashley spun on her heel and slammed the door closed behind her. Helena heard the loud clacking of her shoes until she reached the elevator. Closing up the files she’d opened, Helena left the archive and made her way up to Madelyn Stillwell’s office.
She hesitated outside her door, smoothing a hand over her hair, blouse and slacks before she entered. A tendril of unease worked its way through her chest and stiffened her spine, even as she greeted her boss politely and sat in one of the guest chairs in front of the large desk.
“I’m sure you know by now, Ashley has been terminated,” said Madelyn. Her smile became somewhat tight. “I’ve spoken to Starlight as well.”
Ah, Helena nodded. They very well couldn’t terminate Starlight as well, no matter how much Madelyn clearly wanted to. And apparently Annie January was smart enough to understand her position. Blowing the Believe Expo was one thing, but admitting she’d been assaulted (and implying the guy was someone inside Vought), gave her the leverage.
“I want you to take up Ashley’s duties in PR,” Madelyn said, disrupting Helena entirely from her thoughts. She stilled, unable to keep her mask of neutrality in place.
“What?” Helena stammered. “But-but I can’t! My experience, and my skillset, is in administration, not supe PR.”
“Which is why I need you to administrate, Helena. You’ve been here long enough to know what we need from our heroes, and they know you,” Madelyn countered. “I fully trust that you can handle their schedules, just for the next couple of weeks while I search for suitable candidates to replace Ashley. You can help me with that too, if your own schedule allows.”
Sure. Meaning Helena would have to make time for that too. But the sooner they find someone to fill the head PR position, the better for Helena and her mounting daily migraine.
Three days later, she didn’t even have the energy to kick her heels across the room. She turned on the kitchen light first, leaning heavily against the counter so she could strip one four-inch platform shoe at a time from her aching feet.
Her kitchen had a small breakfast bar. It provided a large open space between the fridge and the pantry on the far right, from which she could see her dark living room—and an unknown shape sitting on her couch. Cocking its head, it stood and started heading towards her.
Sucking in a breath, she grabbed a wooden spoon from a decorative pitcher and hurled it as hard as she could.
“Fuck me,” the shape growled, batting the offensive object away from his head. Raising a tremulous hand to her heart, Helena finally recognized the unwelcome intruder.
“Billy!” she shouted, both in outrage and relief. She leaned against the counter again with a sigh, releasing a slew of muttered expletives. “Why the hell did you break in?”
“Couldn’t exactly lurk outside, could I? That would look a tad suspicious.”
A moment later, the man appeared around the corner with her spare key dangling from his fingers, smirking in spite of her glare.
“Get smarter, Helena,” he said, more seriously. “Don’t leave your fuckin’ key under the mat like a bloody amateur.”
“Lesson learned. Gimme,” she said, holding her hand out for the key. He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards him just a little before he dropped the key into her hand. His warm, heavy fingers curled over hers for a moment before he pulled away, and she looked up at him warily.
She didn’t like the coil of nerves his touch sparked, fluttering in her stomach like she was some high school girl again. His dark eyes were dangerous, in a whole new way, and she couldn’t deny that she was getting a bit lost.
Her cat’s hungry mewling gave her an excuse to look away, stepping back from him to grab a can of pate from the pantry. Still, she felt his eyes on her back as she puttered around the kitchen. All the while she wanted to shake herself. What the fuck is wrong with you?
This was her dead best friend’s husband. He was here because she agreed to help him bring down Vought; not for anything else, no matter what his teasing suggested.
Gordo meowed more insistently, his tail swishing by his food bowl. Butcher’s brow arched.
“That’s a fat fucking cat.”
Helena rolled her eyes and sighed. “Not even my apartment’s safe anymore. What do you want, Billy?” She opened the can of cat food and emptied it into the bowl, then nuzzled the back of her hand along the kitty’s purring face. “There you go, Gordo.”
“Gor-do,” Butcher echoed with a snort. His accent didn’t quite compute with the Spanish language, but it sounded endearing coming from his mouth. She smirked.
“Means fat, innit?” he mused. “More of a dog person, me-self.”
“Gold star for you,” she mockingly praised. “I’ll repeat my question: what do you want?”
“Right.” He brightened a bit and reached into his pocket. Another object he deposited into her hand, but this time their fingers barely brushed. She looked down at the old-fashioned flip phone, then back at him, unimpressed.
“A burner phone,” she said wryly. “What am I supposed to be, 007?”
“You know how many ways Vought is tracking your supes,” Butcher said. “Could make your eyes cross. What makes you think they ain’t checkin’ up on you?”
“I leave everything at work,” Helena argued.
“Your cell phone,” he pointed out. “Your personal computer. Fuckin’ hell, woman, they could have this whole place bugged if they wanted done. And how would you know?”
Helena pursed her lips, but he was starting to make enough sense for her to doubt. To worry. She understood why they’d want to bug the supes. They were a product, in Vought’s eyes, and they consented to the tracking devices at least. But she was a low-level Vought employee. Why would they care about her?
Probably for moments like this, came the more logical thought. She looked down at the burner phone and flipped it open. It had Butcher’s number, along with a couple others she didn’t recognize. This was serious, she realized, and she was in this now. For better or worse.
What happened to Becca shouldn’t happen to anyone else, ever again, she resolved. For once in her life, she would do the right thing.
“What’ve you dug up so far?” Butcher asked at last, earning back her attention.
“After three days?” She scoffed. “I was able to wrangle up a few digital files from the archives that may point to something, but I haven’t had a chance to look at it…I won’t bore you with the details, but Stillwell’s got me working more directly with the supes for a while.”
Butcher eyed her in a way she couldn’t figure out; either suspicion, or worry.
“With Homelander?”
She nodded and opened her fridge to grab a few ingredients. Some defrosted chicken, cilantro, and a few other herbs and vegetables. “With all of the Seven, making sure they attend all the bullshit they’re scheduled for, say and do what they need to for the cameras.”
“Fine. Let’s get to those files then,” he said.
“Uh-uh.” She held up a finger. “Unless you want me to pass out, I need to eat.”
Butcher sighed in annoyance. She heard him come closer and stopped him before he could take the bag of white rice out of her hand. “Look, if you’re gunna keel over, call a fuckin’ Dominoes. We ain’t got time to be muckin’ about like Betty fuckin’ Crocker—”
Helena pressed a hand to his chest (a firm wall of a man. Jesus.) and glared up at him.
“I am going to make this chicken. You’re gunna shut the fuck up and chop this bell pepper for me while I peel some garlic, and then we’re going to sit at that dining table like adults and have a proper homecooked meal,” she said. “Then we’ll buckle down and take a look at those files. You got a problem with that?”
Butcher blinked down at her, his lips twitching with amusement. The moment he opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to it.
“Good,” she said, and placed the pepper in his hand. “Chop, chop.”
She could tell he didn’t want to admit it, but her food was delicious.
“Better than cheap pizza?” she prodded. He rolled his eyes. Meanwhile, she watched him pile more rice and black beans onto his plate for a third time. She knew for a fact that Becca had done the cooking in their relationship.
She’d read his CIA file before. He’d been an accomplished man before his fall from grace, and still was, technically. Former SAS, working with the CIA, reading people better than ever, yet giving almost nothing away of himself. Yet Hellena had a feeling the extent of his culinary knowledge didn’t extend past the microwave and boiling pasta.
“Who cooks over there at...whatever basement you guys are living out of?” she asked. He’d told her about his allies, his friends, whatever they were. She couldn’t see any of them handling the domestic shit, except maybe Marvin. He sounded like he had too much to lose to be mixed up with Butcher and the rest of these characters.
“Eh, maybe Frenchie,” Butcher said. Then there was an amused glint in his eye. “M.M. can make a decent fish. Mostly it’s frozen shit and fast food. Cheap and easy.”
Helena hummed in response. She didn’t like the environment he was painting. Living in close quarters, among drug dealers and gun runners, never having security or safety, or even something simple as a decent meal.
“That’s a far cry from the cozy house I remember,” she said, though she regretted it upon impact. Butcher’s face sparked with irritation just under the surface. But eventually it dissipated into sadness, however briefly, until he came back to stoic. He’d let her see it though.
“Yeah,” he acknowledged.
Maybe her own melancholy showed on her face, because Butcher changed the subject soon after while he polished off his sautéed chicken.
They learned nothing more from the files she found. At least, nothing Butcher didn’t already know. She was able to find invoices from the labs where the infants were injected with Compound V, helpful evidence that Butcher could use. He finally told her what he’d found out just today: that Vought had somehow given the V to random terrorist groups.
The Female he and the boys had saved a few weeks ago, well, she had been a recruit from a terrorist group in the Philippines. Her name was Kimiko, and she had been separated from her brother after being stolen from their village in Japan.
“Dear God, what next,” Helena groaned, rubbing that aching spot between her eyes. “Can’t you take this to the CIA? Who’s in charge now, Susan Raynor?”
“Raynor isn’t going to back us,” Butcher said. Her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Why? You have the V sample. You’ve got hard evidence here of what they’re doing in the labs…”
The way he looked at her then, there was a shred of vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. It looked a lot like the truth, perhaps one he hadn’t been willing to admit.
“What?” she pressed. “What could she possibly object to—”
“She won’t prosecute Homelander,” he said.
Helena closed her eyes for a moment, deflated and angry. Then what’s the point of this? she wondered. But the more she thought of Homelander actually being arrested, it finally dawned on her.
“I understand her fear. They have no way to control him if he resists arrest, or just goes berserk,” she admitted. Then she groaned. “Fucking shit. I have a shoot with him tomorrow.”
Not for the first time, Butcher’s soulful eyes stared back at her while he frowned.
“Try not to do anything stupid then,” he said.
She was touched by his concern. Even this was a leap from just days ago, practically pinning her against the wall and accusing her of selling her soul to Vought. She was glad he could see her for what she was, not what she had to pretend to be. Of course, that was her own fault, wasn’t it?
Pushing away that sobering thought, her smile warmed a bit. “Now you care about my wellbeing all of a sudden?”
Butcher smirked, but it soon fell. “I just needa get him, Hel. Ain’t no other fucking way for me.”
She knew. It was half the reason she agreed to help. She was risking her job, and more importantly, her life. But she realized that Billy Butcher didn’t care about what happened to him, as long as Homelander and Vought went down.
“Just don’t get killed,” she told him. My God. She wouldn’t have wanted this for you.
Just like that, the cheshire grin made its reappearance. “Now look who cares, eh?”
Her face felt warm, and she disguised it poorly with a frown. Checking her phone, she saw it was past 2am. She had to get up for work in just a few hours. “Ya know what? Fuck out of my apartment already.”
She tossed a couch pillow at his smirking face and grabbed the rest of the leftovers from the table so he could take it with him.
She then shooed him off, despite his teasing and cajoling to lighten up, you tossin’ me out on the street already? She handed him the container full of leftovers wrapped neatly in a plastic shopping bag. She pointed at him with the dirty spoon that once nearly made a dent in his thick skull. “Remember to share.”
“For how long I had to suffer your smart mouth to get these spoils?” He held the bag protectively to his chest and treated her with a wink. She flushed hotly, despite her deepening frown. “Not a chance.”
From there she all but shoved him out the door, muttering all the while. “Que pendejo.”
“Oi, Helen Flowers.” He met her honey brown eyes over his shoulder, with that maddening smirk of his. “I don’t mind you cursing at me, ‘s long as it comes with subtitles.”
She shut the door in his face, despite her smile. “Asshole.”
LINK TO PART 4
AN: For the record, I don't share Butcher's views. I fucking love the AOS Star Trek movies.
Also, translation:
“Que pendejo.” – “What an asshole.”
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#Helen Flowers#And So It Goes#Part 3#Billy Butcher#billy butcher x oc#billy butcher x ofc#butcher x oc#butcher x Latina!OC#poc!oc#latina!oc#karl urban#Becca Butcher#friends to lovers#zepskies writes
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And So It Goes - Part 9
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)
ASIG Series Masterlist
Word Count: 5,200
Tags/Warnings: Language, some violence, angst
9: The Gamble
It didn’t take too long before the looks and infuriating smiles from Frenchie and the rest of the guys became insufferable. With a roll of his eyes, Butcher led Becca to one of the back rooms in the pawnshop basement that now passed for a bedroom.
When he didn’t have money for a motel (all too fucking often as that was lately), he shared this one with M.M., evidenced by the shitty twin beds lined up against either wall of the otherwise drab and cramped space.
Becca’s gaze flitted over her surroundings, a sad frown pulling at her lips. Butcher didn’t want to upset her with where his shit choices had led him, but he’d never been able to lie to Becca. At least, not well.
“Think this’s shit, wait ‘til you see the bathroom,” he joked (and that really wasn’t a lie).
It didn’t even get a smile from her. Becca turned to him, tentatively reaching for his hand. He squeezed her fingers within his.
“I really am sorry,” she said quietly. “What I said—”
Again, he interrupted her third apology in the past half hour.
“Stop it, all right? Can’t be mad at ya for being honest,” he said. Still...it had fucking hurt though, hadn’t it?
The thought in the back of his mind was stubborn, reminding him of the hell he’d been in after he was forced to leave her at that house.
But, Butcher calmed her anyway, by taking his wife into his arms where she fit just right. Even though holding her again soothed the demon in him, he couldn’t let the fact that she sought him out give him too much hope for their future.
There was a twisted, bitter part of himself that whispered harshly: she had only come here, to him, because she had no other choice. Because he was her best bet at getting Ryan back. That didn’t mean she wanted him to stay in the picture once mother and son were reunited.
“Maybe,” Becca said eventually. She looked up at him, her gray eyes shining. “I’m still sorry I hurt you.”
Ahh, there it is. The thrumming ache in his heart that crumbled most of that bitterness away when he looked at her. Butcher brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, the one she didn’t hold with both of hers.
He was trying so hard not to put her back up on that pedestal. The one she claimed I put her on.
But the more he thought about it, it was true. He’d only decided to be less of a bastard for her. When she swept into his life and somehow slipped into his heart, she’d challenged him to be a better man. Being with someone like Becca, so beautiful and good, made him want to be better too. So how could he not find that special?
How could he not see her as someone special?
Was that so fuckin’ horrible? he thought.
Or...
Until, his anger led back to doubt, and self-loathing. The same thought he’d been avoiding for days circled back and finally gripped him by the throat.
Or…
Or had he just made her feel trapped, like she always had to be the perfect one. The one who didn’t get to fuck up, or have a bad day. Like she couldn’t lean on him when she needed to.
“Anyway,” Becca added, when he was too drowned in his thoughts to say anything. She wiped at her eyes and grinned a little. “I knew you and Helena would get along someday.”
Butcher’s already tumultuous mood soured. It wasn’t like he wanted to keep the two women apart. He just didn’t think it was a good idea for Helena to risk their safety, and hers, if she was being traced. He knew he had swept her car and apartment himself for bugs, but anything could and would happen in this shithole city, and that woman was too fucking stubborn for her own good.
“She’s a pain in the ass,” he said, more gruffly than he meant to.
Becca’s amusement grew with her smile, but the longer she watched her husband try to shake off the mention of her friend, changing the subject with talk of safety precautions and where Homelander might’ve taken Ryan, the more thoughtful she became.
As much as it pained her, Helena was forced to put Gordo in a kennel until she got back. She didn’t know or trust her neighbors well enough to give them a spare key to her apartment, and despite her confidence with Becca on the phone, Helena had no fucking clue what was about to happen next. She only expected to be gone a couple of days, but when Butcher was involved, you really couldn’t (or shouldn’t) predict anything.
So she donned an old college shirt and a pair of jeans, packed a “just in case” bag with a few days’ worth of clothes, got a rental car, and proceeded to find what must have been the seediest pawnshop in all five boroughs of New York City.
Helena felt strangely nervous knocking on the door. She had met most of the group, of course, but she had never officially been to their hideout, nor had she met Frenchie or Kimiko in person.
As it turned out though, she didn’t have to be nervous. Frenchie opened the door, waving off a couple of sketchy, dangerous-looking men to his left.
“She is also with us,” he said to them, but to Helena, he offered a charmingly boyish smile and a welcoming hand on her shoulder. “Come in, chérie. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“In person, at least,” she offered with a smile of her own. Frenchie was a lean man, attractive with the 5 o’clock shadow of stubble paired with that smile of his. He was also shorter than she expected, just a couple more inches taller than her. But his hand was steady and sure as he led her down the flight of stairs, which he admitted could be rickety in places if she wasn’t careful. She thought he was being a little over-chivalrous, but it was hard not to find it endearing.
“We have another guest,” Frenchie announced, once they reached the basement. Hughie was the first one there to greet her with a familiar smile, also boyish and kind. Helena pulled him into a hug.
“Good to see you’re in one peace,” she remarked, and they both laughed.
“You know me,” he agreed. Annie January looked over from where she shared the couch with Kimiko, who offered Helena a silent, but friendly enough smile. Helena returned it.
“Not for lack of trying,” Annie said dryly.
Helena then turned to Hughie, raising a suspicious brow. “Gotten into some more trouble, have you?”
“You gotta ask?” said M.M. from the kitchen. He wiped his hands on a towel and left what appeared to be a large turkey sandwich, halved diagonally into perfect triangles, to greet her. “You’re takin’ a big fuckin’ risk, coming here. Your job, for one, and a hell of a lot more than that.”
“I took that gamble from the beginning, remember?” Helena smiled ruefully. She didn’t regret it. Yet.
M.M. seemed to accept this, nodding. “How was the drive?”
“Better not have come in that prissy sedan. Even if it ain’t got a tracer, that shiny paint’s got Vought written all over it,” Butcher snarked. He entered the main room from somewhere in the back that Helena couldn’t quite see from the kitchen, and her face tightened in annoyance at the sight of him.
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a complete fucking idiot,” she mocked. “Of course, I got a rental car!”
Butcher had that glint in his eye, smirking like he wanted to press his luck (and some more of her buttons), until a wry voice behind him interjected.
“Somehow, this is just about what I expected.”
Butcher wisely stepped aside, and immediately Helena’s eyes filled with tears. Because suddenly her best friend since high school—her sister in every way that mattered—was there. Alive, and only a little worse for wear. Both of them were smiling from the very middle of themselves, until they were hugging and laughing and most definitely crying.
“I know you’ve been trying to help Billy,” Becca said, in a whisper not only Helena could hear. But right now, Helena could care less if she looked like a fool. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry,” Helena choked out. After so long of keeping herself guarded, of calculating every step she made, her Vought Face—it was like the fractured Berlin Wall of her emotions had crumbled down at last. “I…wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“No, Hel. It’s not your fault.” Becca’s voice was as comforting as her hand on Helena’s back.
Butcher watched from where he leaned against the far wall, his hands in his pockets, and a softer smile on his face than usual. After Becca led Helena away for some privacy in one of the bedrooms, Butcher nodded at M.M. and Frenchie. Hughie had already joined Annie and Kimiko on the couch.
“Let’s find the kid, shall we?” Butcher said. “I’ll be back.”
M.M. knew there was no point in asking Butcher where he was going, but he shared a glance with Frenchie, who raised his brows at the two women speaking quietly in the next room over.
M.M. pointedly shook his head, a firm warning in his eyes. Don't rattle that fucking cage.
He had his suspicions, namely of Butcher snipping with Helena as soon as she’d got through the door. But that was none of his goddamn business.
Helena listened as Becca told things from her side of the story. How she’d been shipped off to a safe house during the pregnancy, until the fake neighborhood could be created and secured. It had all happened shockingly fast, and in a span of a short few months, Becca was alone with a baby in a snow globe of a world. She’d learned how to be a mom on her own, and learned to survive on her own.
“But I wasn’t alone, really,” Becca admitted. A smile grew on her face. “I had Ryan and…he became my best friend. He’s so smart, so kind. If he has a mother, he won’t become like him. Like the rest of them.”
Helena didn’t know what to say to that. On one hand, she could understand how Becca had kept her sanity by truly loving her son. She could also understand the responsibility Becca felt to nurture Ryan, and make sure he wasn’t going to become a psychopath like Homelander.
On the other hand, Helena saw a smaller picture. She remembered Billy Butcher, ready to sacrifice himself to Black Noir, for no other reason than Becca had turned him away. When Butcher had talked about being knackered. The way he was ready to flicker out like a candle in the dark, and she’d had to bargain with him to try and save his life. Helena had looked into his eyes and not recognized the man she saw.
Becca shifted on the bed, leaning her head against the wall since there was no headboard. They barely fit on the twin bed, but it kind of felt like their old college dorm, or even Helena’s bed in her childhood home.
“You want to ask me something,” Becca said, eyeing her. “Go ahead.”
Helena sighed, though she didn’t bother to deny it.
“Remember in freshman year of college? We snuck into that upperclassman party, and you warned me not to get too hammered,” Helena said. Becca nodded, her lips pulling into a grimace.
“I didn’t listen, because I was dumb like that back then…and when Paul Jackson’s skeevy fucking ass tried to roofie me, you punched him in the throat and drove me back to the dorm.”
Becca inclined her head at the memory. “You threw up on my moccasins. I had to toss ‘em in the dumpster that night.”
“I did you a favor. Those shoes were fugly.” Helena grinned as Becca snorted, shoving her arm. “But you stayed up with me all night to make sure I didn’t die on the bathroom floor, hugging our toilet.”
Becca laughed in earnest, but the eventual dimming in her eyes told Helena, they both knew why she was bringing this story up now.
“And in the morning. When I couldn’t stop crying, you told me getting drugged, getting taken advantage of by a sick asshole wasn’t my fault,” Helena said. Her throat suddenly felt dry, and raw as her voice cracked. “I’ve known you practically my whole life, Becks. Did you think I wasn’t going to have your back?”
Becca let out a long, faltering sigh.
“I wanted to tell you. Jesus, I wanted to tell Billy,” she said. Her gaze drifted far away, for a moment, farther than Helena could reach. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to get hurt, trying to help me. And Billy…look, you’ve probably gotten to know him well enough by now. He would’ve gotten himself in so much fucking trouble because of me.”
Helena’s brows shot up. “More trouble than he’s in right now?”
Becca didn’t answer, and the longer her silence dragged on, the harder it became for Helena to keep her mouth in check.
“Do you regret it?” she asked. “Leaving, I mean.”
Becca let out a humorless laugh, gesturing to the shabby room around them. To their overall situation. “Considering where we are now? Ryan with that…fucking asshole. Yeah, a bit.”
Helena stared at her friend, steeling herself before she asked, “Did you regret it before Ryan was taken?”
Becca leaned away from her so she could stare Helena directly in the eyes, even as her jaw worked in disbelief, and anger.
“Wow,” she said. “You…you think I’m selfish.”
Helena immediately shook her head as hot irritation washed over her. “No. Damn it, you’re putting words in my mouth.”
“But there’s something,” Becca insisted. “You’re saying I shouldn’t blame myself for what happened to me, but you’re blaming me for something.”
“I’m not blaming you for anything, Becca,” Helena shot back testily. And the words flew from her mouth before she could trap them back in. “I just think you don’t trust the people who love you.”
She inwardly winced at the stricken look that crossed Becca’s face. On the outside, Helena looked calm. But it was just a mask for the wave of guilt and self-reproach that churned her gut.
“You have no fucking right to say that to me,” Becca said. Tears welled up in her eyes, making Helena fight a tight lump of emotion in her throat.
“Maybe not,” she conceded, “but I’ve never lied to you a day in my life, and I’m not about to start now.”
Becca’s expression changed, to something Helena hadn’t seen directed at her before. Guarded, and almost pained. “You’re honest when it suits you.”
Fucking well, then…
That one hurt.
Okay, maybe the past eight years of her working at Vought had been a lie of sorts; certainly, the past few months. At least she was trying to be different, and make better choices with her life. And Helena couldn’t help but tense up, her frustration and anger mounting.
“I’m only still at Vought to bring them down. You know that.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Becca said. It had Helena blinking in confusion.
“Then what the hell are you talking about?”
Becca crossed her arms, her stare unwavering. “I think you know.”
Helena honestly didn’t have a clue what she meant, nor did she like the feeling of being appraised by Becca. But then, she realized how absolutely insane this all was, that they were even here, meeting again like this. Maybe for the last time.
Did she really want to spend it fighting?
“The only thing I know is that I’m happy you’re alive,” Helena said. Despite it all, she was able to smile. “I never thought I’d be this damn grateful to fight with you again.”
“Don’t know why.” Becca’s mouth curved with a small smirk. “You always lose.”
“Only because arguing with you is like yelling at Bambi.” Helena sighed. “Jesus.”
Becca rolled her eyes.
“Bambi Jesus?” Frenchie chimed in, appearing in the doorway with a set of lab goggles over his face. Helena jumped in fright.
“The fuck?” she gasped. Frenchie grinned and soon disappeared. Hughie popped his head in afterwards, apologetically.
“Sorry. He’s a bit…uh, high,” he said with a laugh. “It’s how he works. He’s making tweaks on some weapon to take out Stormfront’s balls. Err, energy balls.”
Helena shared an amused look with Becca.
“High on what?” Becca asked. Hughie smirked.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
When Hughie and Starlight left the pawnshop to run down a lead that might help them against Stormfront, Helena began to get antsy. Butcher was taking his sweet time doing whatever he was doing.
She could’ve tried to get Homelander’s and Stormfront’s locations through their trackers, but that would require her going back into the Vought tower, and she was supposed to be on a two-week vacation. Becca looked similarly worried as she smoked her second cigarette, courtesy of Frenchie. They stood near the stairwell, so the smoke wouldn’t bother anyone.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Helena said. Becca offered her a flimsy smile.
“I just hate feeling like I’m sitting on my hands,” she said. “As long as Ryan is with them, he won’t be safe.”
“And what happens afterwards?” Helena asked her. “Have you thought about what you’ll do? Where you’ll go?”
Becca hesitated with the cigarette at her lips. The question seemed to catch her off guard. “I don’t care where, but Billy…”
Her voice, her eyes were so damn tired and sad. Helena could only ache for her.
“He loves you,” Helena said. She could admit that freely, and mostly without resentment, even though she felt a painful twinge in her chest. “Be patient with him, and he might warm up to Ryan eventually.”
“I want to believe that, more than anything,” Becca said. Her gaze was downcast to the floor. “But I know my husband.”
“He’s spent the last eight years without you, thinking you were dead,” Helena said. “You think he’s going to fuck up the chance for a future with you?”
Becca finally looked up at her then, staring so long that Helena began to grow confused. But Hughie and Annie returning broke them out of it.
“What did you find?” Helena asked them. Hughie’s eyes were wide.
“You’re not gunna believe it. Stormfront’s a fucking Nazi.”
Well, as it turned out, Helena actually could believe it.
Butcher turned up within the hour with Homelander’s location. The team was more than on board with helping him save Ryan. Now, all that was left was devising a plan.
First was organizing the files Hughie and Starlight had gathered on Stormfront, exposing her as the old-ass racist bitch she was; more specifically, she was Klara Risinger, Frederick Vought’s wife, and the first successful supe experiment of Compound V during World War II.
Helena helped Hughie and Starlight post them on various social media channels, a-la-Vought style, and sent them to a few key journalists, whose contact information she knew by heart at this point.
Meanwhile, Butcher and M.M. worked out the tactics of the mission, while Kimiko helped Frenchie prep the major weapons and anti-supe technology he’d developed.
When the plan was decided, Helena watched Butcher and the rest of them configure an assortment of rather large weapons. Even Becca was over there in the far corner, practicing unloading and reloading a handgun.
Guns made Helena nervous. Having one held up against her head, even under a ruse, had been a terrifying experience she had no desire to repeat any time soon. But at the moment, she was more curious about where Butcher had been the last few hours.
No one seemed to question him, not even M.M, and it was a strange thing to finally see their dynamic play out. She had to wonder if they’d just given up trying to find out exactly how Butcher got things done. Or, more likely, they already knew him well enough to guess.
“How did you get Homelander’s location?” Helena asked him. She spoke quietly, so M.M. and Frenchie wouldn’t pay them any mind while Butcher continued loading an impressive looking gun. She had no idea what model or caliber it was, only that he looked entirely comfortable assembling it. He was in the S.A.S., for God’s sake, she reminded herself.
“I asked around,” he said, rather evasively in her opinion. He wasn’t even looking at her.
“No shit,” she said. “Who did you speak to, Billy?”
Butcher finally glanced up at her. She knew then that she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say.
“Your boss.”
She covered her mouth with her hand, crossing her arms to keep herself from slapping him in the shoulder. For Becca’s sake (she didn’t want to raise any alarms by letting out a string of Spanish expletives), she kept her anger down to a low simmer.
“Are you fucking insane?” she whispered.
Butcher shot her a flat look. “For the record, this’s why I told ya not to come.”
“He could end you with a single word,” she hissed. “You know that, right?”
Butcher met her glare with one of his own. “You’re the one who seems to keep forgetting that little fact, not me. Oh, and speakin’ of. You’re definitely not fuckin’ coming.”
“I gathered that, from the plan I had no part in,” she said dryly. “Despite the way you’ve been talking to me since the minute I got here, I’m not stupid. I know I’m a liability, and I’m not trying to blow my cover.”
Helena looked away from him. Becca was still distracted with her gun.
“This may be my last chance to see her,” Helena said, offering him a small smile, “before you whisk her off with Ryan and disappear into the sunset.”
He snorted in response. “Yeah. A knight in shining fuckin’ armor, am I?”
Helena frowned at him then. She didn’t like what she saw in his hunched shoulders and the somewhat guarded expression on his face. Like he was hiding something.
“She wants to trust you, you know,” she said. “Give yourself a chance to be the man I know you are.”
Butcher’s head tilted as he met her stare, studied her right back. He then cracked a familiar grin. “What’s this supposed to be, a bloody Hallmark film?”
Helena’s lips curved into a smile, despite her sigh. “You’re such an ass.”
I’m going to miss this, she realized. The ache in her heart was back, full force, of which she deftly ignored.
Soon, outside of the pawnshop in the parking lot, she said her goodbyes to Kimiko, Annie and the boys, and then Becca, holding her tight in a hug with over twenty years of friendship in the making.
“I love you, Hel,” Becca said. Both of them were failing to hold back their tears. Kind of pitiful, really, but again, Helena didn’t care. She would give up Becca if it meant knowing she was living a happy life. According to M.M., Mallory would ensure that Becca, Ryan, and Butcher could disappear safely.
“I know,” Helena replied with a smirk. Becca laughed.
“Love you too,” Helena added. She made a point to say it, so Becca really would know.
“Be careful,” Becca warned her. “Get out of all this, as soon as you can.”
Helena wasn’t sure she could do that. She fulfilled her own goal of finding Becca and helped bring her back, in whatever small way. But Helena had been giving a lot of thought to all she could still do if she worked with M.M. and the rest of the team. Maybe this could be her way of doing something good; something that mattered.
She eventually watched Becca climb into the car. After which, she finally looked up at Butcher. Though she wasn’t sure what to say, or if there was anything to say. He had been a fucking nightmare of a man, in the most maddening, dangerous, yet charming, and strangely meaningful way. And she didn’t know how to reconcile all of what that meant in her heart.
“See ya 'round, Hel,” Butcher said eventually.
She smiled. Inside though, she was breaking. If this works, I won’t. We won’t.
She noticed the St. Christopher’s medallion hanging from his neck, not for the first time. For all the shit he’d talked about not being a believer, he seemed to have a little bit of faith after all.
“Vaya con Dios,” she replied, blinking past the next round of tears in her eyes.
He smirked. “I told you ‘bout the bloody subtitles.”
Butcher slid into the car’s driver seat. Not long after, Helena was the only one left standing in the parking lot next to her rental car.
And that really was the last time she saw Rebecca Butcher.
Translation:
“Vaya con Dios.”
“Go with God.”
Keep Reading: PART 10
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And So It Goes - Part 2
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)
ASIG Series Masterlist
Word Count: 1,600
Tags/Warnings: Language, tension
2: Another Nightmare for the Books
“Tell me about Compound V.”
Helena’s chest filled with ice as every one of her muscles froze. Of everything she thought he would ask, that was not it.
“What’re you—”
“Don’t fuck with me,” he demanded. “Give us the truth, now.”
His voice was low and dangerous, and she thought deceptively calm. She had sort of known him once, William Butcher, but clearly not anymore. He was a thinly caged animal, and she knew if she wasn’t smart, here and now, she would become prey.
“Look,” she tried. “I’m just a paper pusher. I organize Stillwell’s day. I observe and make reports. All I know is the compound makes them stronger.”
Stronger, putting it mildly. She knew it was heroin for supes, but beyond its existence, she wasn’t allowed to know much. Butcher watched her like he was putting together the puzzle her admission left him with. Like he was about to take a gamble.
“Know where I just came from?” He gestured vaguely behind him with a thumb. “I found me a little lab, where babies are being doped up with Vitamin Supe. Know anything about that?”
His expression turned grim as Helena’s slackened, her tanned face paling as she tried to compute what the fuck he was saying. Her arms uncrossed and she gripped her knees to keep her hands from shaking.
“You didn’t fuckin’ know?” It was his turn to sound incredulous. She glowered fiercely at him while fighting the urge to vomit.
“No, I didn’t fucking know!” she hissed. Unable to sit in place anymore, she stood, covering her face with both hands. What. The. Shit.
Hearing him follow her didn’t stop her from gasping when Butcher grabbed her shoulder to turn her around and face him.
“You find out they created a goddamn super drug, and didn’t bother askin’ what the fuck they’re usin’ it for?” His voice raised to match hers, and admittedly, it scared her.
“Those are the kind of questions that’ll get me in a world of trouble.” She stared hard at the floor. Then, the paranoia set in, with the realization that Billy Butcher had just fucked her with knowledge she shouldn’t have.
“Supes aren’t born,” she stated. She felt weak, like her legs were about to give way.
He looked down at her wryly. “Nope.”
“They’re doping babies,” she repeated.
“Now you get it.” Butcher nodded. He took her trembling wrists to move her hands away from her face, with just a little more gentleness than she expected from him. “I need your help, Helena.”
She blinked up at him. Oh God.
“No. You need to leave,” she said, in a voice much more stable than she actually was. “I don’t know why you’re doing this or what exactly you’re trying to do, but I can’t help you.”
He wasn’t deterred, but his face did tighten up.
“You know exactly why I’m doing this, why I’m here,” he said. His eyes, hazel now that she got a better look at them, were boring down on her. Just like this afternoon, she was pinned where she stood by him, without a touch or a threat.
“Eight years ago,” he began, “The CIA showed me a clip of Homelander, takin’ my wife into a meeting room.”
It broke Helena’s heart all over again, to watch Butcher have to even allude to what happened. What they both knew to be true.
“Now, how do I come to find that the person who gave ‘em the clip, was you?” he asked.
Her heart hammered away in her chest. “Who told you?”
“Same person you sent it to. Fuckin’ Susan Raynor,” he said, and she could see his anger building. “And the bitch of the fuckin’ bunch: you told ‘em to make sure I saw it.”
Helena swallowed, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserved to know.”
“How did you?” he asked harshly. His hands clenched into fists, and she could see his body was coiled tight with the effort of restraining himself. She still couldn’t look away. Her guilt wouldn’t let her.
“I didn’t know, until after…” she faltered. “After Becca disappeared, I dug into our records. Didn’t find a trace of her. Not even in Human Resources. So…I broke into the camera archives, found that footage.”
“And after that, what’d you decide to do with that information? That America’s golden boy is a giant fuckin’ cunt,” he advanced, making her stumble back a step, then another, until her back met the wall beside the TV. “Didn’t go back to help the CIA, didn’t go to the police. Didn’t go anywhere at all.”
“Billy,” she tried, but he slapped a hand above her head. She flinched badly.
“You sold your soul, didn’t ya?” he accused. “You still work for them, knowing what you know and what he did to her. To me, that’s almost worse than a fuckin’ supe.”
Helena’s fear elicited a shiver down her spine, but she knew he didn’t understand, because she’d never bothered to tell him, or anyone. She couldn’t.
“That place,” she said, trembling, “is a fucking nightmare I live every day, and it doesn’t stop. But I can’t quit. I tried.”
He glowered down at her, but at least he was giving her a chance. One chance, she knew, to explain herself.
“They found out what I did…yeah, pretty fucking quick,” she explained. “They knew Becca and I were friends.”
She remembered Stillwell’s threats all too vividly, disguised in that corporate, velvet way of hers. Helena would never forget the cold serene smile on Stillwell’s face as she ran down just how they’d make her “un-hirable” outside of Vought, if she spoke out.
It didn’t matter that Helena Flores had a Master’s degree from Columbia in business management. That Becca Butcher had been a person, and they let their prized supe get away with violating her, and had likely killed her to cover it up.
And if Helena spoke out, they’d bury her in so many legal suits she’d never be able to crawl her way back to a normal life again. Not to mention, the subtle threat of jail time for disclosing information she had no right to give away.
And what fallout might her parents experience in the press, considering they owned a popular restaurant down in Miami? This could threaten their livelihood.
No, really think about this, Stillwell had smiled. The safest place for Helena to be was right where she was.
But more than all of that, every time she had to stomach looking at that blonde, smirking dickface, she was afraid. She was still afraid.
When she was done explaining, she closed her eyes against the well of hot tears brimming, resting her head against the wall to hide from Butcher. She didn’t want to see that gradual look of begrudging understanding on his face. She didn’t want to be let off the hook—not for being one more person who’d left him, and Becca’s family, twisting in the wind.
Eventually, Butcher pushed off the wall and grabbed her shoulder, firm but not painful. She opened her eyes.
“Then help me take ‘im down,” he said.
Helena barely kept herself from scoffing. She shook her head. “You’re just a man. What the hell are you gunna do to him?”
“Whatever I can to bring him, and Vought, and all those cunts to the ground in a bloody heap of bones and dirt. If you cared about Becca at all—”
“Don’t you fucking do that,” she warned. She pushed him out of her way and returned to the couch. His presence burned behind her all the while, and at this point, she really wished he would just leave her alone. She was exhausted, in every sense of the word, and the sooner she could crawl into her bed with a bottle of something strong, the better.
“If you had a shred of fuckin’ humanity left, you’d do something about it,” he said.
She paused where she stood. Where did he get the fucking nerve?
Her temper finally managed to snap her out of the haze of exhaustion. Turning on her heel, she found him right where she left him. In the middle of her apartment, taking up space and pushing all of her buttons. From the look of his burgeoning smirk, he knew it too.
“I loved her too. Like a sister, really,” Helena confessed. She hated how her voice cracked. “And you know what’s really fucked up?”
Butcher watched her closely, like he was trying to decide if he believed her. Or maybe he did, deep down, but was just still at war with the rage that had clearly lived inside him all these years.
Helena let out a shaky breath. “I recommended her for that goddamn marketing job.”
Tears finally brimmed over and slid down her cheeks, but at this point, it was a relief to tell the truth she’d shoved down under layers of self-loathing and threats from Stillwell and legal. Still, the wound that had never really healed in her heart was tearing and bleeding all over the place.
“I’ve had to live with that for eight years,” she said. “But I can’t. I can’t do this, not even for you.”
And yet, she knew. She just knew what he would say, just by looking at him. It hit her in the gut all the same.
“Yeah, maybe,” Butcher said. “But would you do it for her? Or was all that shit leakin’ out your mouth just some fairytale to help you sleep at night.”
Helena was tired again. She sat on the arm of her couch and shot him a weak glare. “You’re gunna be another nightmare, aren’t you?”
He grinned a cheshire grin. Cheeky bastard.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. That headache was now a full-blown fucking migraine, and Butcher was already making himself comfortable in her favorite chair.
She leveled him with an exasperated look.
“What do you want me to do?”
LINK TO PART 3
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