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plasticfangtastic · 3 months

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Building Blocks ch. 1

A Butchlander fanfic

A/N: on a writing hiatus but i wrote this with the last spurt of orginal though I had in my heart, so dunno when ch. 2 will happen, plz enjoy and read my other a/n in the tags:

Sypnopsis: What if Becca had stayed with Butcher, what if she never left and kept that terrible secret to herself, and now it was Butcher who had to deal with Homelander in the aftermath of his wife's death after he shows up with the heartbreaking information that it was this blond supe who was his son's real father.

tags: fluff, HL unhingeness, slowburn, dadlander,so much angst, complete AU.

Chapter One

Hello

“I want a baby.”

Butcher watches the man’s lips move and he hears him clearly but it still seems fake, he didn’t recognize the man, I mean he knew who he bloody was, he was the Homelander. America’s son, for pete’s sake even his prick did– for he pissed on a cup embossed with his face during long road trips.

But now he wished he hadn’t met him.

7 hours ago he had just finished the worst day of his life.

It was a beautiful day, terribly beautiful, birds sang, flowers bloomed and butterflies tickled his nose– lifted from a teenage girl’s dream. Everything about today was dreamlike, covered in a hazy sparkly glow as he had finished burying his wife.

One day she was driving to go get takeout, for they had the house for themselves for the first time in ages and next thing he knows there’s a police officer at his entryway 3 hours after she went to go get scampi.

It had been a beautiful ceremony, the flowers looked so lively under the gentle spring sun, the breeze just cool enough to not make wearing this now disheveled suit unbearable, he arrived home, his father-in-law took him after he had drank a small liquor store while in his house, prostrated by the steps of the basement surrounded by cans and dried tears.

Somehow he was now in his sofa alone, he panicked trying to find his phone to try to find answers before he spotted the strange figure.

He’d blame it on the booze if he hadn’t now been completely awake– he lets him in as the man requested so politely, he had no idea what he wanted, what was going on, other than it was better than thinking that by morning it would become official… that it would become real… the last couple weeks had felt like a bad acid trip that he can’t wake up from, but once the sun returns he knows she’s never gonna come back, she’s in a pinebox 6 feet under and not on her way home– so why not give in to more nonsense.

Why not let this Supe into his home.

“You’re Saunders’s husband?” He said in a firm tone, the man looked at him like he was a worm, he could’ve sworn, certainly not that friendly man he met at that christmas party all those years ago– heard about the funeral… you have… my condolences, she was a great employee.”

Butcher brows crossed, Becca only worked there a couple more months after that party, quitting suddenly and telling him she had found a better job, it paid less yet the hours were flexible, he didn’t question much even if it made his stomach feel things, Becca had loved her job at Vought, she had just gotten a promotion with this man and then one day whatever had happened in the office had left her wanting to leave… of course he would find out weeks later, when he caught her puking and every single thing smelled rancid, what could’ve been the reason after all her new job offered longer maternity leave compare to Vought, it also didn’t include dealing with spandex wearing freaks and it was less stressful, she would come home without much complain compare to before where she could waste 2 hours of her life shit talking her boss.

Between the chronic pregnancy insomnia, diabetes and swollen ankles Butcher gave her no grief for her decision to quit a stressful job.

Butcher had never wanted kids… he was no good for them he'd said… he dreamt of Lenny on his knees pleading and bleeding but it wasn’t Lenny and it wasn’t his ol’ man… it was him and a little boy with hazel eyes, it was him reflected in them, she had been open to the idea but never decisive yet one day Becca wanted a child suddenly. Even at her worst she loved the child inside her… he understood when he first felt his little stubby fingers wrapping around his finger, when he felt that warmth against his cheek, when he saw him waddled towards him, that he understood what was going on inside her mind during those bizarre couple of months.

He hadn’t been perfect, he had been too rough and impatient, he had yelled and wished he could have his old life back but he loved her… and he loved Ryan and he would regret everything wrong he ever did because he loved them, because he wasn’t going to ruin this.

He liked the future they were building for each other.

So he stared at him.

At the bluest eye he’d ever seen outside of his boy’s sunny skies.

Blue’s he thought were from his mother.

Blue’s seen in a hundred billboards but never in his boy until now.

Homelander took a seat on his armrest without getting comfortable placing a manila envelope on his coffee table pushing cigarette ash around it.

“I’m Ryan’s father.”

He spoke bluntly and without hesitation, he had no modicum of decorum simply irritated with nothing in particular it seemed, maybe it was not finding his boy in this place but only a leftover fragrance, that had him irritated.

“8 years ago we had a short fling… I never knew…” he spoke softly, allowing his shoulders to unwind a little– until recently.”

It was the alcohol and the grief and the sleep deprivation that made him pull the man who could have easily shrugged him an acre or two away from his living room as if they were equals on any level, and the blond seemed bemused by this puny man’s might, letting this play out.

“Shut your trap you cunt.”

“I was nothing to her so am not her to emasculate you. I am here because that boy is mine.”

He punchest him, breaking his knuckles bare.

A twinge of a beast twinkles in those hazel eyes, teasing the darkness that he had tried so desperately to bury, Homelander is unmoved as he clutches his injured hand.

“If he’s not mine then could you explain to me why your woman was getting child support from me?” His eyes dart towards the folder, he stands up yet again walking past him not wanting to look at him further– seven years ago she went to Vought claiming to be pregnant with my child, they performed a DNA test and determine it was mine… then–”

Homelander beegins heading towards the bedroom wings.

“Madelyn and Stan… they didn’t want the scandal to ruin my image, for me to have an affair with a married woman, somebody who worked for me… so she signed an NDA, and without me knowing they had been paying her for her continued silence.”

“Lies!!” The brit shouts– You shut yer trap! I don’t wanna hear it anymore, you cunt! Just get the fuck out of me house!!”

“I could kill you. I should… but William…”

“Don’t say my name” He spits– Kill me? Aren’t you a fucking supe?”

Homelander’s light brightens the dark.

Butcher falls into the couch as glass bursts beside him, shards turn to burning liquid slowly cooling down as they burnt the vinyl floorings.

“I could kill you, and there would be a clean up crew who would make it seem like you killed yourself… Kids need their father’s… Ryan needs a dad and you did the job– so as a show of gratitude I shall let you live, but I can take things from here.”

Butcher watched the smoke trail rising from the ground, before Homelander could move towards opening that door, Butcher had leaped towards his direction, any faster and he would give his blue speedster some competition.

“ I read your file… you were a marine, SAS– now you work for the CIA… taking a year off due to obvious personal reasons. You should reconsider.”

Homelander entered the room, catching the strong aroma by surprise, dirt, grass and dirty shoes, a scoffed football rolled away from the entrance, English football teams plastered the walls, toys littered the floor and the bed was the only thing made.

Homelander wished to see at least one baseball poster, or some cards, something more familiar, that he could easily use as a gateway for bonding with the boy.

“Look you son of a bitch! Why are you doing this!?”

“He is mine.”

“So you are just gonna take him and assume he’s gonna love you? Are you daft?” Butcher had dealt with dangerous men, violent criminals and murderers, sometimes he had been made to talk with words instead of bullets or fist and it was clear the second choice wouldn’t work with him.-- I’m his father, you’re a stranger all you’re gonna do is traumatize him and make him hate you.”

“You don’t kno–

“You have no idea who my son is, you just read a line on a paper and made up a fantasy… he… he just lost his mother… he just saw his ol’ man get carried out covered in his own snot and whiskey… my Becca… I…”

Butcher could feel the contents of his stomach rising, he looked pitifully into the room, looking at all the toys and the clothes she had yet to put away still in the basket by the foot of the bed.

“8 years ago… I had an affair… she was my boss… it… I don’ know why… why I did it… it didn’t matter ‘cuz I fukked it all up, then one day… she told me we was having a baby and that I needed to get my shit together, or leave” Butcher laid against the doorframe– I don’t know why am telling you any of this.”

“Possibly a combination of the percocet, and booze in various percentages in your system.”

Butcher had no energy to even roll his eyes or curse at him, annoyed at the man for being obtuse at this moment, he looked straight at him fighting the urge to yell at him to leave.

“You’re the reason she gave me a second chance… she fucked you to get even then she made me raised your baby”

Butcher can only hold himself for so long, he breaks down, it shocks Homelander for all he knew of this man was that he was a ruthless killer, yet he was breaking down, sobbing and struggling to breath as he watched the image of the woman he loved, of the woman he had given all that he had left in this world, hurt him.

A dozen questions hounded him, did she loved him at all? Did she change her mind half-way? Did she do all of this to hurt him one day? When she saw him teaching Ryan how to goal-keep in his grandparent’s backyard– did she do it with malice in her heart? Or did she realize the mistake she had made? Did it all go out of hand? Did she believed her own lies?

He looked up behind the tears, as the world’s greatest Supe kneel beside him offering a t-shirt he had found on the ground to clean up his tears.

He should’ve hated him, he should’ve despised him yet… It was in the way he had spoken this whole time that he knew that he was just as hurt, using anger to disguise his hurt.

He could’ve stolen Ryan, he must’ve known the kid wasn’t here in the first place, he could’ve crashed the funeral and made a scene, he could’ve taken him while he slept the booze off, he could’ve waited ‘til tomorrow afternoon when the boy would be returned to take him away from him– but he came when it was only the two of them, either with murder on his mind or poorly planned out negotiation tactics.

How it must’ve felt to know you had a kid you never knew and want him… he wondered.

His own father would’ve been a happier bastard had he never had him, no doubt his mother’s biggest mistake wasn’t marrying the man, it was telling him they were having William in the first place… the complete opposite of what he was witnessing, when he saw those trembling lips and twitches that no amount of composure could hide.

As he cleaned his face on his son’s shirt, he couldn’t help but to think of how much he didn’t want the kid at first, swallowing his grievances and worries that this was a mistake, that it would change him for the worse and destroy their already fractured marriage… but he kept quiet for all he wanted was to kept Becca, it wasn’t until that afternoon where it was all over, and the doctor handed him that bundle of screams that he understood that he would never be like his father, for all he felt was love.

True love.

A love he only felt that night when he got stuck in an elevator with a pretty brunette, she had her groceries on both hands and one on the ground, cursing that her ice-cream will melt before somebody comes and gets them out.

An ice cream that would never make it to her apartment as it was left empty and discarded in that elevator with a pair of impromptu spoons made of celery stalks, that no doubt confused a neighbor or two.

He had loved her until the point it made him hate himself, that he had to screw everything up because the longer they stayed together, the more difficult it would’ve been to imagine a life without her, because that’s who he was… he was a man that drove others away, that’s why his father never loved him, that’s why Lenny had left him, that’s why his friends had such a hard time being there to put up with him.

And now without wanting, without trying at all, he was on the brink of driving his son away.

“Why do you want him?”

“He’s my son!”

“I ‘eard ya… but why can’t you make another one and leave us alone.” he cried.

“I can’t” He looks hurt– and is not a thing I would ever do! Abandon my child!”

Homelander turned pale, perhaps it was the strange intimacy between these strangers, perhaps it was the fact that they were technically strangers even if they had meet before, or the fact that he had fucked this man’s wife and would most likely not allow him to see daylight after they were done conversing, that made him blurt his most shameful secret.

He took his cape and wrapped it on his hand as he took a seat next to Butcher.

“When I was young, I was told I couldn’t have them… I tried… I tried a lot but nothing ever happened until… three weeks ago, when I stumbled upon this information– I’ll spare you the details… but it was a miracle.”

Homelander chokes slightly, catching the distaste at the force cheery tone on his mouth as he spouts the words miracle, it was true, Ryan was a secret miracle.

But it wasn’t him in those birthday photos holding his little boy with cream on his nose, and a wide smile, it wasn’t him on a camping trip, it wasn’t him holding that baby while giving him his first bath.

He wouldn’t tell Butcher, he had come earlier to survey the area, dig through his cabinets, scoffing at the disorganized sock drawer, or that he had been on this floor watching his family pictures, painting himself in those images.

“It’s that why you and Queen Maeve broke up?” he asked, clearing the snot– your baby batter no good?”

“It would’ve been easier if that was the case… she’s a dyke.”

Butcher turned around and shrugged, only mildly surprised by the news.

“How is he? Ryan… is he smart? What does he like?”

The man didn’t wish to tell him a thing but he was sure Becca would’ve yelled at him if he had, he was hurt and he could at least make her angry.

“He likes school but hates math class, got in trouble once for cheating on a math exam but I couldn’t get mad because I also hated math class… he goes to the same school as my friend’s M.M’s kid and the two are glued to the hip, keep joking he’s gonna end up being related to me for real one day” he chuckles behind some tears– he loves football.”

“Not soccer?”

“It’s football! Your country just wants to be special and call it something else but it's called football, real football!” He sounds less aggressive than Homelander anticipated, like he was talking to a coworker he didn’t dislike– he’s the goalie in his team ‘cuz he’s the tallest kid in his class, swear that boy is gonna be 6’ 2’’ one day…” He chuckles dryly– and he loves movies… he even started making little short films and posting them online recently… he’s such a good kid”

And it bites him.

Of course Ryan would be such a good kid, because deep down he shared nothing with Butcher.

His father was this great hero, this man of pure noble heart… It made him full with relief that his son would never have this darkness inside him, this darkness that came from his scumbag sperm donor, that came from his veins, it wasn’t just Becca’s goodness that made him a sweet kid.

“I like history books and movies… am actually good at math… not to brag or anything, I’m just good at it, could probably ace a fifth-grade math exam any day.” he chuckles dryly.

“Want a drink? I think I need one…”

“Anymore and your bladder will explode… your liver is okay but–

“Don’t do that. It’s freaky.” he said with visible disgust.

Butcher stands up, listening to nature’s call as he heads back to his living room finding that Homelander is already in their long kitchen taking a can of beer from the french doors, their house was spacious, and old 60’s built if he had to take a guess, far from the city in a more woodsy area, they had remodeled together (…mostly Butcher but she picked the wallpaper) but when he thought about it now, it made sense why she would want to be in such a quiet place, even if it was just 1 hour or 2 from New York, the house was unassuming, a place that Homelander would had never given a second glance.

“I don’t want him to hate me… Ryan… the last thing I want in the whole world is for him to hate me… all I’ve ever wanted was a family, all I’ve been denied my whole life is a baby…”

Butcher stared at him, dragging his feet on the terracotta tile, taking the beer he had placed on the counter, cracking it open as he tried to make sense of this man.

“I want a baby…”

“They’re okay… smelly tho” he took a short sip feeling too uncomfortable for his own good– can’t find a woman who could give you one? Sure your Vought doctors would help you out”

“They won’t let me keep them. Not really… the only reason Ryan is here with you and not… somewhere else is because he doesn’t have this inside him.”

Homelander takes out a small pouch from the inside of his boot, it's a slim and small, Butcher stares at it quizzically as he offers it, trembling fingers take the pouch to reveal a small pair of ampoules holding a blue liquid.

“Compound V.” He opens his own can while considering taking an actual sip– I had a child before… before Ryan… killed their mother in the womb… laser her in half… they think my kids should be born with powers because all other supes are made with that… if Ryan… if Ryan had been born with powers, they would’ve taken him from you both, and for some reason your wife keep taking him to Vought doctors as part of their agreement, I'm trying to figure that out but if he had hit sudden supe-puberty– you’ll be dead.”

“You’re telling me supes are man-made?”

“Ryan could still have powers… ”

Butcher held that vial, slowly realizing what was hiding behind his words, as the man took a sip of Butcher’s beer.

“You… you want to make him into one of you cape freaks?” He almost growled.

“Is the only way I can protect him, because they can’t take him from me… if you leave they will find you and if they find you before I do, they will take him to a place not even I will ever find out, and I would flatten all of Manhattan so badly It'll make Hiroshima seem like a kid’s game and yet I know they won’t tell me where he is… but if he has powers… and me…”

“No!”

“Compound V recipient with supe parents are 70% more likely to inherit the powers from the patrilineal line than the mother’s… my powers are divine and will keep him safe, the odds of him not getting my powers is very unlikely, and trust me you don’t want to be on your own raising a child with my powers– not that I’ll let you.”

Homelander left the can to fizz out.

“I think… I think we can make this work… you let me be there for Ryan, and I’ll protect this happiness… we are both in this place because your wife made a series of decisions and now we’re both fucked in varying degrees but believe me when I tell you that I love him… and if you don’t listen to me, I’ll take him from you.”

He walks past him.

His hand on the door to the yard, he looks back at William.

He knows it won’t be the last he sees of him, as he its waved goodbye by a sonic boom rattling his kitchen windows, he thinks of calling Mallory and disappear, take Ryan and abandon the world, but as he made his way back to his bedroom, as he looked at his phone with sore eyes, he told himself that Homelander wouldn’t be giving him a warning if it wasn’t willing to negotiate, he wouldn’t have given him this V stuff to earn his trust.

His fingers moved before he could regret his decision.

“Mallory…”

“Are you alright?” He was surprised to hear that anxious tone in that woman’s voice, he glanced at his bedside table catching the clock reading past 1 am.

“Can we meet tomorrow before Ryan gets here– he’s with Becca’s folks… is urgent.”

“Why? You’re not doing something stupid are you, William?”

“Is stupid but not killing myself stupid.”

“... Butcher…”

“Please.”

“I’ll be there for lunch.”

He hangs, dropping into his pillows clutching that strange vial, thinking of a supe he'd never care about before.

this is the house where most of the story will take place:

#homelander #billy butcher #billy butcher x homelander #butchlander #my fic tag #the scenes involving becca do not represent the author's opinions or attitudes towards becca #this is simply just a bunch of ppl talkign over a victim who is dead and can't explain what happens not what i think of becca so plz dont #unalive me #personal #dont know if there will be spicy so lets call this M rated at best

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lexihowardhoney · 3 months

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becca is so "in another world i would be your girl / we'd keep our promises and be us against the world" & "all this money can't buy me a time machine / should've told you what you meant to me" coded

#rip becca butcher you would loved teenage dream album by kary perry #becca butcher #billy butcher #the boys #the boys tv #billy x becca #pls she was so happy back then #she liked spice girls🥺

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phoenixtakaramono · 11 months

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The Boys, choose violence 10, 22, 24 if you please. :D

From the 🔥Choose Violence Ask Game🔥

Thank you, @kosmochlor, for the Ask! Ahh, and I see we’re going straight for the jugular!! 🔪(⊙v⊙✿) These are just a few personal honest opinions written at 1:40AM. What I think does not apply to everyone. ♥️

10. worst part of fanon

Keyboard warriors. The morality police clutching their pearls. You know who I’m referring to; we always have them in every fandom. The ones who police who/ what you like and are obnoxiously loud about it and about how the characters or ships you find interesting are problematic and, lookie here, my [insert character they’d fixated on] never did anything wrong compared to your rancid skrunkly blorbo and I wish more fans liked my favorite character than [insert popularly liked character]. On the converse of that, I’m on two fences when it comes to Homelander stans. Thankfully most people are rational and like him because he’s an interesting villain (and, let’s be real, it’s powered by a side of fan thirst for the actor who plays him; it’s the typical parasocial relationship that fans develop with the celebs who play our favs/ or it’s just plain interest in the fictional character itself or the fun thought of that fictional fav being railed or doing the railing)—but I do have to raise an eyebrow when he is being stanned for all the wrong reasons (coughfascistallegorycough coughMAGAallegorycough coughSigmamalecough).

It’s a very interesting outlook to have as someone who isn’t as into Homelander as other people but still goes out of my way to read and write stories of him being shipped with his enemy Billy Butcher (listen, I’m your average law-abiding 28 y/o woman who works M-Sat 9AM-5:30PM and sometimes even Sundays and even overtime; sometimes on my limited free time I just wanna indulge and imagine about what it’d take to save the metaphorical world in this fictional universe—aka by having the two toxic old men f*ck each other and they can be two co-dependent psychos in love terrorizing the world together as a shameless power couple in a perpetual Ouroboros cycle of love and hate and self-punishment; obviously I do not condone this kind of relationship irl but within the safety of my imagination, we writers be playing god. It’s fairly obvious both characters are fated to have a bad ending in the show, especially if they follow in the footsteps of comic canon for a bittersweet ending, so let me have fun on my very limited free time writing my alternative Butchlander takes about these manipulative assh0les obsessing over each other and the fate of the world depending on how successful they are at gaslighting each other into playing a permanent happy couple).

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Homelander is canonically bi in the comics. No, I’m serious.

(Spoiler alert: for those without context, in the comics, Soldier Boy was not Homelander’s father. In the comics, male Stormfront was one of the Supes whose DNA was reused by Vought to create new and stronger versions of the source material, so his DNA resulted in baby!HL’s creation no, comic HL did not f*ck male Stormfront; in a way, HL is kinda a partial clone of comic!SF. Whereas in the show, Soldier Boy was changed to be a super straight (?) alpha male granny f*cker who was later revealed in the season to be the sperm donor for Homelander. And Stormfront, as we know, was genderswapped in the show and changed to be Homelander’s girlfriend in S3. …There’s no confirmed Sweet Home Alabama vibes yet as of 2023 but there is understandably fan speculation for a reason.)

I believe the best way to put it: Homelander is generally attracted to women, but in later issues he reveals that he has a secret liking to men. Because he’s The Homelander; he can do whatever the f*ck he wants.

And let’s not forget this beautiful iconic scene the TV adaptation gifted to us:

Now some personal opinion time: I also like the idea of him being a narcissist so he only truly loves himself. And others can come close (especially if he sees aspects of himself in them) but his One True Love will always be himself. It’s the classic Narcissus looking at his mirror reflection allegory—but now you mix it in with some complicated cocktail of a God complex, inferiority complex, imposter syndrome, self-hatred, and sociopathy or psychopathy and a hidden desire of wanting to fit in with the banal societal human norms of being accepted but always feeling left out on the other side of the glass wall looking in. Now you tie it in with him never finding anyone who’s “genuinely loved him” (by his own criteria) and has not regarded him as a monster to be feared. He’s desperate for that human connection, for that elusive “perfect companion” who will understand him and cater to him and put his needs above their own—and to him, finding that proves he’s not a freak of nature. He’s not a monster. He’s not a failed product. He’s not a pathetic excuse of a man that even Soldier Boy didn’t even want as a son. Vogelbaum—and everyone else just doesn’t understand. People love him, right? Vought and Madelyn have indoctrinated him into believing he’s the people’s hero—and how they adore and worship him and want to be him or want to f*ck him. How can he, The Homelander, a superior being with his perfect genetics who’s better, stronger, smarter and more attractive than anyone else (I hope you can tell I’m being heavily sarcastic here), go out on a limb and fail at finding this one intangible thing that ordinary mudpeople or his inferiors can find but he somehow can’t?

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

It’s almost always political discourse particularly from extremely delusional right-wingers people who have terrible media literacy of what they’re watching versus what might be clear-cut to the rest of us—and discourse of whether or not The Boys (TV) is an objectively good show. All of these tend to go hand-in-hand together. I think what those people fail to realize is: the script is written by Eric Kripke, the showrunner behind the first five seasons of Supernatural—and then you have Stephen Fleet, lead VFX supervisor and show producer, who came out at the age of 43 (🏳️‍🌈). They’re adapting it from an edgy, dark, intentionally offensive-just-for-shock-value comic series written by Garth Ennis, the person behind Preacher and even a bit of the Punisher. The eight-volume comic series, which ran from 2006-2012, is full of racist, sexist, misogynistic, and homophobic elements (to be fair, GE wrote this as an intentionally darker satirical take on the superhero culture—and edgy shock factor is a writer’s strategy to make your work stand out). It was meant as a “dark, satirical commentary about the fictional superheroes—and, to an extent, the real life celebrities—we idolize, and how easily people with such power can abuse their responsibility” (source).

With what the TV showrunners had to work with, with the actual source material being a slog kinda to go through (the comics does have its share of good moments admittedly), as a whole I think it’s pretty impressive they’re able to update things to make modern social commentary which are relevant to us today (now, they can be admittedly a bit on the nose about it; one thing that stuck with me till now is how a writer friend I was watching the show with remarked how they’d thought BnHA did the superhero genre commentary much better) and somehow they were able to make a far superior TV adaptation just by paring down and changing a few things from the comics for the better so far (*knocks on wood 3x*). I will however always side-eye anyone who insist the comics is superior than the TV adaptation and loudly proclaim they won’t watch the show because “look how they massacred [insert comic character]” (now, to be fair, normally I would agree with this take but we’ve established The Boys (TV) is a special case; I would also understand if the comics had been the person’s first exposure and, hence, had become their fixation—but considering its intentionally offensive contents I am quietly side-eyeing them from the sidelines and keeping my mouth shut).

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #butchlander #billy butcher x homelander #ask #kosmochlor #phoenix talks #personally I think it’s a bit of a cop out revealing Black Noir to be HL’s clone who did all the terrible things (incl. SAing Becca)#I understand why GE would do it though (the last minute reveal of BN = HL’s evil clone)#I clearly remember my friend refused to like HL until she found out the comic ending lore and then she was alright stanning HL in the show #I clearly remember it to this day bc the 1 thing she kept saying is ‘I hope they keep that comic reveal otherwise I feel guilty 4 liking HL’#he’s essentially the skrunkly terrible no good bad pathetic man who is your murderous babygirl that you want ‘to see happy’#bc said babygirl just wants to find ‘love’ (I say this both sarcastically and unironically)#the real villain is capitalism and the system that perpetuates the cycle #ty for the ask!

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xieyaohuan · 11 months

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BeccaHL

Basically a fic where HL stays at Becca’s for a while longer than in canon, but she has really had enough, so whenever they disagree, she just tells him to go laser her brains out if that’s what he feels like doing, so he ends up doing what she wants most of the time, though he’d never admit it of course.

Anyway, he wants more and more of the “real” family life, and she tends to deliver in a twisted way. Yes, he can sleep in her bedroom, but he’s going to be sleeping on the floor, etc. You get the picture.

Not 100% sure of the tone of the fic, so who knows if it’ll ever see the light of day, but I enjoy this WIP.

#homelander x Becca butcher #my wips #homelander #Becca butcher #the boys #writing #fic #asks #kosmochlor #thank you for the ask!

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zepskies · 1 year

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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...

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