#and butcher being mad because hughie stopped him from getting to homelander and he took temp v again

[spacediddly]

The thoughts I am having about Butchie and villain arch Hughie based on The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 32

Life as a human guinea pig is a strange thing. First of all, there's the questions. The same questions over and over, to the point where the machines and medical doodads and the noise that became almost normal for me, but the questions became the irritant of the day.

"How are you feeling today, Dr. Taylor?" As I'd squint into the bright light being forced into my marrow it seemed. A muttered reply from me, and honestly the same answer in varying degrees of annoyance or acceptance depending upon the day and how many times I'd been asked it so far. "Uh huh, and are you feeling warm? Is there tenderness in your abdomen?" While they poked and prodded, testing skin, muscle, bone and eventually blood.

Did you know the average human adult has around 1.2-1.5 gallons of blood which equals roughly 10 units? I know this because I wanted to be certain that I'd have enough after all the blood testing. Research would either be the way I kept sane or what finally pushed me over the ledge into complete madness, mark my words.

Billy visited, as often as he could, and every single time he'd greet the head poker in residence with his own version of the repeated question game. "How is she? What's the bloody progress?" At which I would inevitably check the arm that seemed to be their favorite vessel for bloodletting. "How much longer?" And then he'd meet my gaze and focus his attention on ME, rather than on my medical condition.

Yes, I was calling it a condition. If I let the reality of my situation fully grip me, then I'd scream. And I had moments of it, trust me.

How would you feel if every single time the man you loved walked in and spoke about your person as though you were a petri dish experiment before reminding himself, through sheer force of finally SEEING you, that you were in fact the woman he loved?

Now take that feeling you just got from that scenario and add the annoyingly taunting voice of the caped asshole who caused this whole fucking irritating bullshit situation reminding you that you fell in love with a man for whom hatred of supes is as natural as inhaling. Feeling just a hint of discomfort? Just add the sound of beeping, buzzing, and dripping to remind yourself of the fact that this was all happening while I was being held hostage as a "let's see what happens if we try this mixture to counteract the demon juice flowing through her veins" was tried over and over.

Strained. My nerves, body, and brain felt strained. Even after the feeding tube was gone and Billy could kiss me. Even after I was given the go ahead to work from my hospital bed. Frayed would be a kind way to say how absolutely on edge I felt.

And the worse part? I felt like I was missing something. Something important. Something paramount. Just out of reach and as though, even surrounded by my laptop and notes, something that was keeping me out of an important loop.

The longer that I stayed in the 'undisclosed medical' location, the more that I wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Literally anywhere. I started to yearn for Bolivia and the Black Ops team that had gotten caught up in the web of a rogue agent and 'died' implicated in a massive fuck up of epic proportions.

When a rational woman who knows how the inner workings of other people's brains and behavior follow reliable patterns starts thinking fondly of the heat of a tropical place where she had to wade through more red tape than most people would assume humanly possible to unravel the truth, all while hearing the type of rumors about the men she was trying to clear and resurrect from faked death, then shit has hit epic levels of horrible. It did remind me to contact that team to see how their return to their former lives had worked out, and wonder if their leader had gotten over his own tragic ability to attract murderous women.

I wanted to go further than the small courtyard deemed safe enough for me to explore, and near enough to make them taking me off the dialysis machine after another fun round of 'clean her blood again' reasonable. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and watch television at my discretion without interruptions for another round of the questions and poking I wanted, in short, to be back to normal already.

I might have been empathizing with Billy's urge for the Vought wankers (his word, I swear) to find the magic solution so life could go back to the routine we both wanted a return to. Or I might have been trying to only see the positive outcome, since there was a creeping feeling that maybe, just maybe there wasn't an easy fix or a fix at all.

A month passed, with my cabin fever slowly increasing by the day, and with it my internal and external temperatures. Oh yeah, that's right, I might have forgotten to mention that while the steaming was at bay, now it was just my actual body temperature that would fluctuate and freak every single fucking person all the way out. When Billy said I nearly went "nuclear" he hadn't been joking, apparently I could have fucking exploded like a goddamn human time bomb and I didn't want to consider just how fucking messy that would have been for the janitorial staff.

Finally, maybe because I wanted some type of control about the questioning, I started asking some probing ones of my own. And what I found, when they would meet my eyes and answer me as fully as I wanted, was that that creeping feeling was growing more likely.

The issue wasn't simply that they didn't know which variation of Compound V that Homelander had me infected with, it was that as they broke down the components and addressed each one, my body didn't simply fight their attempts, it attacked itself. The asshole, it would appear, had basically chosen the self destruct version, and it was trickier than any puzzle these 'real doctors' had ever come across. I was truly feeling the confidence of having a toddler performing my brain surgery with this knowledge.

Oh and that wasn't all, even IF they figured out how to 'neutralize' the formula inside of my bloodstrain, then there was a probability that I could pass it on to any future children. Isn't that some kind of amazingly poetic bullshit to hear after you chose to evict a foreign invader from your uterus? That the one stabilizing agent I'd had scraped and dumped was the ONLY one that I would ever get to actually be allowed to experience. Remind me to send Homelander a HUGE fucking thank you card, would you?

Early into my first true consciousness, before I found out just how fucked the pompous dick had made my entire existence, Billy had told me that my parents had visited while I was knocked out. Apparently near death experiences make even the weirdest of families reunite. And mine was no different.

Mom became a regular visitor and I was shocked by how much I started looking forward to her visits. She was strangely comforting, and tried to keep my spirits up, she even made peace with Billy. Dad was less frequent in his contact, but Mom told me it was difficult for him to see me look like a shell of myself.

And I did. I looked like a ghost that's haunting what was left of my body. The feeding tube had kept me nourished, but my muscle mass had suffered from the amount of time I was forced to spend in bed. I was constantly tired, my work hours going from nine to six to an hour here, a few minutes there, and the amount of napping I did would make most house cats jealous. The gowns that I wore hung from my frame, my appetite was scarce and I felt like this was the LONGEST goodbye letter ever to be written.

As the days passed, one merging into the next without me taking stock of how much I missed, how much that puzzle of what I was missing had bothered me early on, the negative ideas started creeping in. Homelander's voice grew louder. His smug question about Billy and me and what my condition would mean for the two of us in the end kept pushing through my attempts to distract myself.

I was sitting in the soft chair they'd brought in for me by the window, staring out and thinking of my options when Billy came in for his visit. I heard him, in the background noise of beeps and whirls, ask his questions. I felt him when he was nearer to me, but my eyes stayed on the 'view'.

He started to greet me, but my mouth opened and the question came out without me thinking about it. "How will you do it?" I watched a leaf, one missed by the obsessive groundskeepers, dance in a breeze I wish I could feel. He was confused, his reflection showed that much. "When you kill me, how will you do it?"

"Veronica," I could hear the pain in his voice, the fear hiding behind it. "I wouldn't-"

"Frenchie then?" I tilted my head considering. "MM? Hughie barely managed to make the choice with-" I stopped and took a breath. "Kimiko?" I sighed and pulled my legs up onto the chair, hugging my knees. "I hear she makes quite a mess of her prey." My voice wasn't loud and it didn't sound anything more than resigned, and I was a little curious. "If you can get Starlight to do it, you could make it seem like self defense? Or," I sighed, and bit my lip, "it would finally give you a reason to take her out too."

"Ronnie, love, that's not gonna-" I turned and he flinched when he saw that I was serious and not the least bit upset. "Ronnie?"

"Billy Butcher, I wrote the book on you." My smile felt wrong to me, but right at the same time. "I know you inside and out, or at least I think I do." I had the research on the flash drive that was hooked into my laptop on the bed. "You are single minded in your focus and your focus has been on eliminating supes from the world for a very long time." I turned back to the window, staring past the view and at the reflection of the room behind me. "It was one of the things I found the most attractive about you, I think. That you could see a goal and pound away until you master it." He sat in the chair close to me, but at a distance far enough that he'd have to work to touch me. "So, how will I die, Billy?"

"You'll die safe and sound, of old age in our bed, Veronica." I smiled sadly at this pipe dream of a fairy tale he wanted so badly to believe. "When you're sick of me, remember?" I could hear how badly he wanted it to be true, how much he wanted to hold me and it to all be a terrible dream.

"Never took you for a nursery rhyme and fairy stories fan," my eyes were still on the window. "This isn't going away, Billy, what he put in me isn't going away. And you will start to look at me like you look at him." My eyes found his, and face to face I wanted to force him to see it. "You will. And then, just like you, Frenchie, and Hughie brainstormed about Translucent and the best way to end him, you'll start to consider my pressure points." I gave a harsh, humorless chuckle. "And the funniest part is that Homelander built mine in for you, all you have to do is take me off the blood cleanse for a day and my own body will do it for you." His eyes tightened at the reminder of how many close calls I'd had. "Oops, I guess I just planned it for you."

"Please don't." He was begging me to let him pretend it wasn't the truth, that he wouldn't lose me too, and because of the same supe as Becca's cause of death. "Don't do this."

I smiled sadly, knowing he knew, even without me telling him, what was going to happen next.

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 54

We picked up a very worn out Terror from a very worn out set of my parents’ house and headed home in a more relaxed mood.  Our puppy was snoring between us, and Billy shot me a look and I couldn’t handle it, I had to laugh.

“I’m guessing that Terror had an all-nighter,” I managed, thinking about how tired my parents had looked, and how happy they seemed to be getting a night off of puppy sitting duties.  “And he must have gotten a bit -”

“Loud as hell,” Billy chuckled, causing Terror to snort indignantly in his sleep.  “Listen to the little bugger, snorin’ away, like it’s his job.”  He shook his head as he drove us home.  “Are we ordering in?”

“I thought I’d make dinner,” I could FEEL his eyebrow arch and I had the urge to reach across the car and give him a tiny little love tap in the back of his head.  I could cook, he knew that, I just rarely had the energy or urge.  “We have everything I need to make what I have in mind -”  He shifted and nodded, a smirk appearing on his smug mouth.

“Hot Pockets,” I could swear I heard him confirm to himself.  Oh, keep it up, I thought, Mr. Butcher and your ass would be asking Terror if you can share his fucking kibble.  

We got home in one piece, mostly because I refrained though my massive levels of personal inner Zen to NOT slap the living shit out of the man I love, and I left Billy to try to get Terror interested in walking inside on his own volition.  Good luck, asshole, I thought as I listened to him cajole the still snoring dog.  

I was in the kitchen, a pot of water boiling with pasta on the stove, a clove of garlic minced and waiting for the butter and olive oil to be ready for the next stage in a pan over a medium heat.  I was dicing some pre-cooked chicken breast, a glass of chilled white wine next to me when Billy found me.  

“This is a sight to behold.”  He offered with a smile that would normally have my knickers dampening from the first sound of his growl, but I was NOT in the mood.  And I was holding a very sharp knife.  “What are you making, Ronnie?”  

“Hot Pockets,” I snarled, picking up my glass and taking a sip, before going back to my work. He flinched and I moved from the cutting board to the refrigerator to grab the grape tomatoes and broccoli.  When I stood up, his body’s warmth was pressed against my back.  “I have a meal to prepare, Billy.”  Damn it, why did I sound breathless when I wanted to kick him very hard in his fucking ballsack?  

“And I’ll help,” his hands slid down my arms, teasing gooseflesh to erupt in his wake.  “Since I put my foot all the way in it,” his mouth met the side of my throat, kissing my pulse, feeling that despite how pissed I’d been with his assumption of my dinner plans, I wanted him.  Always.  “Let me.”  He took the tomatoes and broccoli from me, and put them on the island where I’d been working on the chicken. Then he turned me so we were facing one another.  I looked up at him and his brows were furrowed, worry shadowed his features.  “Me and my big mouth -”  

But I didn’t get much of an apology, because his big mouth kissed me senseless, trying without words to make amends.  His arms wrapping around me, holding me tight and urging me to reciprocate, to reassure him that I wasn’t that mad. That I wasn’t mad enough to cut him dead or off from me.  As if I ever could or would.  My fingers were in his hair, around his neck, anywhere that would hold him closer.  

The hissing sound of water on fire pulled us back to the real world.  My pasta.  And I shook my head.  “If dinner burns, and you’re proven right, I’ll -”  I wasn’t sure what I’d do, but I didn’t have to figure it out, because Billy lowered the temperature on the pot burner, and we got back to work, making dinner together.  

After dinner, which didn’t burn, Billy and I sat together and worked out the details of our meeting with Ryan.  I wanted no surprises, none at least that we could control.  

“I have to warn you,” I said leaning into him, because honestly I wanted the comfort of him.  “While the woman, Davos?” He grunted into his beer bottle so I went on, “She’s annoying, but the man is going to make you want to pound him into a puddle of human gore.”  He’d made me want to, and I wasn’t Billy Butcher. I felt him grow still as he held me.  “I’m not saying you can NEVER beat the high holy hell out of him, just not THIS time.”  See? Negotiation.  

“What about him is gonna make me want to beat the snot outta him?” Good question, nice follow-up.  Communication, with words, we’re on track.  “I wanna know what I’m walkin’ into.”

“He’s rude,” I thought back to the first visit.  “He - there’s something off about him.  I can’t put my finger on it.  He knows the role he’s playing, but it’s an ill fit.”  That was it, he wasn’t an agent, but he knew what he was supposed to say and how to act.  He’d reminded Davos about the ID.  He knew he was supposed to pat down visitors.  He patted down above clothes, he kept his hands to himself.  Yet, there was something that screamed, ACTOR.  “He knows the right shit to ask, BUT he doesn’t push back when he isn’t sure.  I tossed back at him when he tried to offer up staying in the room while I met with Ryan, and he caved.”

Billy grew quiet, considering what I was saying, because while William Butcher sounded uncouth and rough as fuck, he was far more intelligent than most would give him credit for being.  “A plant?  Or do you think he’s something more than that?”  

I shook my head and sighed, snuggling deeper into his warmth, now that I was fed and content, I was in a far better headspace.  “That’s just it, without an ID?  I haven’t a clue.  I can’t put my finger on WHAT he is.”   “I won’t lay a finger on him,” Billy promised, kissing my temple, making me smile.  “This time.”  Which just made me laugh and turn so I could look up into his face.  “You said -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I rose up so we were nose to nose.  “Using my words against me, Mr. Butcher,” I brushed our noses and leaned in, tasting the beer on his lips, listening as he put the bottle down and then his hands were sliding up my back and we got back to far more pleasant business.  Us.  

We worked on planning for the second meeting with Ryan during the rest of the week.  MM was on his own mission, looking for anything that bore any passing resemblance to Sage Grove, and Frenchie and Kimiko were trying to find somewhere that they could use as cover to aid us, should something go south during our visitation.  Annie and Hughie were still doing their regular daily thing, a supe and a dupe, as Billy called them, but I would sigh and shake my head, reminding him that everyone had their role.  

There wasn’t an easy way to tell if the chips in Ryan were inhibitors.  There was the obvious, which made Billy as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs - a saying my grandfather used to say a lot more than I ever did.

“He would not need to use the most dangerous,” Frenchie was saying, but Billy’s eyes flashed so hard that I had a moment of fear that maybe Ryan was HIS biological son and got that power from the Butcher bloodline.  “I’m only saying that he could use another less destructive one.”  It ended lame, but I understood what he was going for, try a “less cut someone in half” power.  

The day arrived, Sunday again, and Billy and I were on the way to the blandest neighborhood in the history of bland neighborhoods.  As he drove, he pointed out what they’d cut from the drone footage, points that weren’t necessary for intel, but still made no sense for Ryan’s placement.  How the houses all had curtains or blinds, but according to public records, only half the houses were occupied.  The mail services that didn’t come.  The lawn services that weren’t visible.  

“Nothing about this place makes sense, Ronnie.”  He shook his head, glancing around as he drove to the house that Ryan was being kept, since saying he was being raised there was far too kind of a description.  “I saw where Becca lived with him. Vought may have created it from their arses, but it LOOKED real.  THIS?  This don’t pass the smallest sniff test.”  

I concurred.  Nothing about this situation sits well with me.  From the community, if you could call it that, to the house, to the guardians.  Nothing made sense.  There were more issues though then just Ryan’s current predicament, and I had to wonder if Billy had considered it, because I had.  

If we proved what I was so very scared was true, and Ryan WAS in trouble, what was Billy willing to do to get him out of it?  What happens to Ryan?  Where does he go?  What part, in the play that is Ryan’s live action stop-motion film, is the man I love willing to play?

We parked in the blinding sun in front of the house I’d gone inside alone the first time.  Billy had his ID ready, like the good scout he was, and I had mine as well.  Front door, knocking, that bright blue eye, it was all very Deja vu.  

Inside the house, with Billy taking up so much space and air that I felt like the man, that actor who I couldn’t quite place, took a few steps back, I waited for the pat down. It didn’t come.  Not this time.  

“BILLY?”  Ryan’s voice was both loud and almost breathless at the same time, he was in front of us and staring up at Billy like I’d seen so many kids do to - I had to bite my lip.  

He was looking at Billy Butcher like other children look up to supes like Homelander.  My God, what a fucking twist.  And Billy?  Billy was staring over his head, as awkward as Hughie Campbell Junior staring at me as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the welcome or the adulation.  Well aren’t we in a pickle?