Kena ᯓ⁍ @hitmeupppp - Tumblr Blog

Sep 6, 2025

think of me often!

(victoria neuman x supe!reader, ~21k words)

nadia is a few months old when her parents give her compound v. with one foolish decision, her parents have unknowingly ruined their lives and hers before they truly had time to begin. with one vial of an inorganically blue drug, her parents have doomed themselves to be the shadows that haunt her at night, the monsters under her bed she tries to ignore. she doesn’t remember being injected with the stuff, but she remembers with clear, agonizing detail how her powers manifested for the first time.

nadia is barely a toddler when she is handed over to the red river group home. she can barely walk, barely talk, and yet her parents are dead by her hand all the same.

nadia is four years old when she meets you for the first time. you’re older than she is, she’d heard the adults whisper about it, but not by more than a year. she’d never really had any friends, the caretakers at red river made sure every child within the group home was terrified of joining the headless ranks of the foster parents and the doctors and her own dead parents who all got too close to her. but you smile at her, your grin is missing a few baby teeth, and nadia thinks she has at least one friend.

nadia is five years old when she learns how to listen to your heartbeat. the two of you chase each other around the playground with carefree abandon, ignoring how the other children flinch around her. she hears your heartbeat in her ears like her heart is beating in tandem with yours whenever she looks at you. within a week of focusing on it, she can hear your heartbeat regardless of if she’s even looking at you.

it quickly becomes her favorite sound, the one comfort she can afford to give herself at red river.

nadia is eight years old when she realizes just how powerful the friend she’s made is. the two of you have snuck out of the bunk rooms and into the bathroom to play with the older girls’ makeup. you sit on the countertop while nadia shakily puts mascara onto your lashes, the two of you grinning like idiots and trying not to laugh. you bat your eyelashes at nadia and oh she is lost.

“wait, do you wanna try to straighten our hair?” she asks instead, backing up so her nose isn’t practically touching your face.

“uh, duh.” you joke, sliding off of the counter and searching for the curling iron you’d both seen the older girls fight over in the morning. you find it easily, the older girls were not good at hiding things, and hold it up triumphantly to show nadia like it’s a gold medal you’d won for her at the olympics. the two of you carefully plug the curling iron in and nadia watches in the dim light of the bathroom as you carefully imitate the way the older girls do their hair. she stays as still as possible, not wanting to fidget and ruin the atmosphere of whatever it is she’s feeling. she looks at herself in the mirror, the longer she looks at you the more likely it is you’ll see her for what she is. not a child, not a girl, but a monster. the wolf in sheep’s clothing that countless failed fosters and adoptions have identified her as.

the curling iron fizzles out and dies in your hands and instead of freaking out about breaking something that isn’t yours, nadia watches in the mirror as lasers shoot out of your eyes to heat the curling iron back up. nadia wonders if that’s why you’re like a heater whenever she climbs into bed with you. if your laser eyes are a manifestation of some sort of heat-based powers.

she never works up the courage to ask.

nadia is ten years old when it all comes crashing down on her. yet another adoption has fallen through, and another shot at being normal has been ripped right out from her hands. the frightened couple look at her like she’s the fox and they’re the rabbit squirming in its jaw. they hurry away from her as if she’s a bomb about to go off, and she tries to ignore how the caretakers only words of comfort to her are that’s just the way things are sometimes, nadia. your powers are too much for some families. the too ugly, too gross, too unpredictable is left unsaid, but they’ve told her as much enough times for it to sting all the same.

she’s coping the best way she really can, hovering near you while you play house with the younger kids. she feels raw and vulnerable and small. but she gives you a small smile and reluctantly joins your game of pretend when you invite her to play.

it’s easy to tune everything else out around you. she barely notices the men who come in wearing suits and lab coats.

it’s impossible to miss how the men rip you from her, putting some kind of mask pumping out chemicals over your mouth as they drag you away, kicking and screaming.

nadia is twelve years old when she gets her chance. she trades in her name for a new one, and her old life for new, better one with a father. you only exist in her memories, and she tries not to dwell on the space in her mind that you stubbornly occupy. she stops trying to listen for your heartbeat at night when the fancy new apartment she lives in is quiet.

victoria is nineteen years old and home for the summer from college. she sits on the couch reading when stan comes home early, and even odder, in a good mood.

“you look happy.” she tells him, setting her book down on her lap. stan presses a kiss to her cheek, “you make it sound like that’s out of the ordinary.” he jokes with her, “now, tell me all about your year at college.”

stan edgar is nothing if not a methodical man. he is never early, never late - always precisely on time. victoria smiles and recounts her past year at college and tries to ignore why her adoptive father feels off. his heart rate is as consistent as ever, patient and precise.

victoria is twenty years old when she meets sameer, and the pieces begin to fall into place. she’s entirely too young for him, she knows that on some level, at least. he’s the head of vought r&d, a man with an already established career while hers still has yet to take off. he has a PhD, a lab all to himself, and a generous salary to boot while she’s just two years into a BA of political science and history.

the one thing she doesn’t like about sameer is his philosophy when it comes to homelander.

“he’s running on borrowed time, vicky. once stan’s found a viable replacement for him, he’s gonna get kicked to the curb.” sameer shrugs and traces patterns on victoria’s arm, “we can control him for now, but that might not always be the case. stan knows that, vogelbaum knows that, stilwell knows that, hell, it’s practically a flashing neon sign on the exec floor.”

“but the solution is just to create someone more powerful than him who’s just easier to control?” victoria asks him skeptically. she doesn’t like the idea of anyone being reduced down to how easy they are to control. it reminds her of red river, it reminds her of you.

“yeah, pretty much. homelander craves validation, but he hates himself for it. if that hatred ever overpowers his need to be loved, then we’re fucked.” sameer shrugs like they’re talking about something mundane like when to mow the grass, not the rise of a megalomaniac who could very easily kill every living thing on the planet.

“and what happens if his replacement becomes harder to control?” victoria dares to ask.

“rinse and repeat.” sameer shrugs.

victoria is twenty one years old and studying in the library alone. she hates her roommate, she hates her professors, she hates having to ignore her childhood and stuff all of her emotions surrounding it into a box and then banish that box deep within her so she never has to truly process it.

stupidly, she misses parts of red river. she misses tony, who became her friend after you disappeared, who could never truly replace you, she misses you, but she cannot admit it to herself how much she misses you or why.

she sees you in the curling iron her roommate refuses to put back in its proper place, she sees you in the faces of bright-eyed high schoolers touring the university, she sees you in the face of every girl she passes at in the hall. you haunt her every waking moment and still that is not enough. eventually she starts to dream of you.

victoria is twenty six years old and she’s half convinced you’re haunting her, somehow. logically, there’s only two likely scenarios as to where you are: an institution, or dead somewhere. both upset her to her very core.

she hopes you’re dead. as tragic as it is to imagine little orphan you dead in a ditch somewhere, with no one to identify her or mourn her, the thought that you are alive and in vought institution somewhere after being deemed too dangerous to be walking free among the public is infinitely worse.

she has a daughter now, much to her father’s dismay. she has someone to care for, someone to love. stan fires sameer from vought in retaliation, and instead of staying, sameer fucks right off to cambridge to do more research.

zoe giggles like you did, her first word is ball, her second is mama, and her third is play. victoria dreams of living a quiet life in some sunny part of new york, just her, zoe, and you. other times victoria dreams of her parents whose faces she can’t remember, whose heads painted the walls of her first home a sickening red.

victoria is thirty years old when she gets her start in politics. her rhetoric is perfect, she’s perfected her tone to seem more down to earth and relatable to her constituents, but she’s still surprised when she wins the election for her district. she doesn’t really know where to go from here, long term. she doesn’t want to be a career politician, she doesn’t want to miss precious moments with zoe, or have to constantly carry two phones. but she’d argued with stan over being able to pick her own life, and this had been the compromise. give the illusion of change, keep the public complacent.

she wonders what you would think of her. what you would think of her politics, what you would think of her carefully crafted aesthetic. the expensive outfits that don’t fit her right to give the illusion of a fish out of water, the blunt yet not completely tactless tone, would you think her a fraud?

she fixes her hair in the bathroom mirror at her campaign party and wonders if you’d think she looks good.

victoria is thirty two years old when a girl at red river pops up on her radar. marie moreau. a girl with powers like victoria’s. she’s 10, as old as victoria was when you were ripped away from her. she makes a promise to herself and you to not let marie end up in an adult facility. she will get out like victoria did.

victoria is thirty four years old when the house judiciary holds its hearing on vought and compound v. she half expects you to be there, sitting among ranks of the seven or the b - lister groups. you’re not there, obviously. you’re probably dead somewhere in new york. she’s surprised by vogelbaum’s cooperation with the boys and the cia, and she’s half tempted to spare him to get an answer as to where the hell he put you, but she’s not in the business of mercy.

victoria is thirty five years old and reasonably sure she’s hallucinating. there’s no way she’s not. because if she wasn’t hallucinating, that would mean you’re alive, and in the seven.

you’re alive.

plucked from whatever obscure part of the country vought had hidden you away at, and brought to the seven to replace stormfront. victoria sits glued to her tv, watching you smile and answer questions from the news outlets at a press conference. your hair is shorter than the mess it had been at red river, it looks healthier, too. twenty five years is more enough time to figure out the best hair routine, victoria muses to herself.

the woman on the tv has your face, your hair, your skin, your smile, the echoes of the same mannerisms, and victoria can logically follow how your voice has changed. you’re tall now, you had been taller than her at red river but now you’re definitely taller than her, standing more than a bit taller than queen maeve who stands to your left. you’ve put on a substantial amount of muscle, that, or the suit vought’s designed for you is contoured to give the illusion that you could save civilian lives without the compound v in your system. you look good.

you’re alive.

“what the fuck.” victoria’s voice is harsh and strained and she’s really trying to survive this conversation without a voice crack.

“victoria. i take it you’ve seen the news?” stan’s voice is calm as usual, victoria can practically picture him sitting at his desk at vought tower.

“where is she.” she grits out.

“she is on a mission with black noir, she’s not expected to be back until late tonight.” stan says simply, “and in any case, she’s not the same girl you knew at red river. i am doing you a favor by keeping her from you.”

“and how do you figure that?”

“a lot can change in the, what, twenty five years you two spent apart? she is not your friend, she is an asset of the company. she is a weapon.” stan explains it to her in the same tone he used to read to her at night with.

“and what am i then? just an asset to you and the company?” she shoots back.

“of course not, you are like a daughter to me.”

as much as victoria wants to believe him, she forces herself to stay skeptical.

victoria is thirty six years old when she sees you in person for the first time in twenty six years. at the fucking dawn of the seven movie premiere. stan gives her a warning glance as she peers down the carpet to where you stand beside homelander and queen maeve.

you’re a vought asset now.

she feels your eyes on her as she’s ushered off the red carpet by an aide, and she hears a voice that sounds like tony’s calling nadia! hey, nadia!

fuck.

victoria is thirty six years old and tony is dead. she had thought you were dead, with no one to mourn you or identify you, and she went and did the exact same thing to tony.

she is covered in his blood and guts and her voice trembles as she calls stan to help her fix this mess.

she listens to your heartbeat from her bedroom that night as she sobs.

victoria is thirty six years old when she becomes the monster under her daughter’s bed. she deals in favor for favor, tit for tat. stan is ousted from vought and put into prison, and in return homelander secures an original formula dose of compound v for her.

stan would’ve used her - did use her - as if she was another asset for vought, another weapon in his arsenal. a means to his ends and not her own. was she supposed to just put her life on line, be the one to keep homelander in line, just because he promised to keep her safe? she doesn’t remember her parents, but victoria would never ask zoe to risk her life for her own gain, so why should she risk her life and zoe’s by association for a man who wouldn’t even formally adopt her?

she has to keep zoe safe.

she wonders if by giving zoe compound v, she has resigned herself to the same fate her parents had doomed themselves to when they injected her, all those years ago.

victoria is thirty six years old when a supe blows up a building in midtown, leaving 19 dead and several dozen injured in his wake. she’s 99% sure that the vought statement of we have everything under control, it’s safe to go out! is complete bullshit. she sits for a news interview with homelander and starlight, and her suspicions are pretty much confirmed. homelander is anything but media trained, and any softball question that doesn’t have an answer spoon-fed to him is enough to make him sweat.

she pulls annie aside - annie is good, annie is genuine, annie polls at 96%. a boost from annie could do get her education reform bill passed, it could create a more positive culture for the next generation of women, zoe’s generation.

“hey so uh, where’s hughie?” she asks annie.

“oh, he’s just camping with his dad,” annie nods, “for a couple of days.”

victoria can’t help but laugh, annie’s lying, “ohh, okay. okay good, oh great, i thought he was avoiding me or something, you know,” annie shakes her head as if to reassure victoria like she’s not lying right to her face, “‘cause he was scared i was gonna pop his head.”

annie has the decency to look surprised, victoria tilts her head, “come on, annie.” annie’s eyes start to glow and victoria does not want to duke it out with starlight at fucking vought tower.

“put ‘em away. i’m not gonna hurt you. or hughie, or your families. besides, you’d lose.” victoria’s words work, and annie’s eyes go back to normal.

“then why are you here?” annie asks her.

“because i wanna help you.”

“huh. help. from the psycho who blew up congress.”

“look, most of those guys passed around deepfakes of me on the house floor blowing bin laden so i’m not exactly overwhelmed with sympathy. annie you need me. you’re all alone. i mean, come on, that hashtag homelight shit? that looks like you’re in a hostage video. blink twice if i’m wrong. and what, you gotta play nice with the guy that throat-fucked you in your first day of work? and maeve, they say maeve is in rehab. but you and i know she’s probably dead. i’m all you got. come on, annie, you and i were friends. none of that has changed for me.” she lays it out pretty simply.

“are you ever gonna get to the point?” annie snaps at her, victoria can hear her heartbeat getting quicker. she hears yours faintly, getting louder slowly but steadily.

fuck.

“you have 193 million instagram followers. lend me your influence, and i’ll lend you mine. i can protect you from homelander, you’ll finally be team captain for real. and in return you goose my numbers. i can finally get my education reform bill passed. we can make things better, annie. for my daughter, for a lot of daughters. come on, what do you say?” victoria needs to wrap this up.

“you’re right.” annie admits, “this whole place - i’m so fucking tired,” she’s taking it, “of listening to people tell me i need to be shitty in order to win.”

victoria can hear you getting closer. fuck.

“fuck you.” annie spits out, “and fuck homelander and fuck vought and this whatever it takes crap. you’re just gonna end up sitting on top of the steaming pile of shit that you built. i’m done. i’m fucking done, i’m not doing it anymore.”

“you’re not gonna be doing anything if homelander kills you.” victoria dryly points out the obvious.

“yeah, maybe, but then i’ll know im not working with a fucking nutjob. so, either pop my head, or get the hell out.” annie’s face is calm, but victoria can hear just how quickly her heart is beating.

there’s a knock on the doorway, when did the door open? the rhythm in tandem with your heartbeat.

“you poaching my teammates from me, nads?” you ask her, leaning on the doorframe with a mildly amused look on your face. it’s the first time you two are properly face to face, acknowledging each other. what did vought do to you?

“i go by victoria, now.” she corrects, warily looking you up and down. stan called you a weapon, she isn’t willing to bet on him lying.

“oh of fucking course you two know each other.” annie grumbles, “leave me out of it.” annie moves to leave but you stop her.

“where are you going?”

“to stop soldi- you know what? it’s none of your business.” annie crosses her arms and you look between victoria and her.

“and do what, exactly? get killed? he’ll wreck your shit.” you say unamused, victoria feels like a voyeur.

“i can take a punch.” annie says defensively.

“not from soldier boy you can’t,” annie scoffs and victoria’s suspicions of homelander being unable to handle the situation is practically confirmed,

“victoria could probably survive a fight with soldier boy. you? have you ever been in a fight where someone is actually trying to kill you? you’re strong, sure, but soldier boy got dosed with the original strength v back before tv had color and your parents gave you the watered down shit to make you into a show pony. he’s a trained killer, a soldier, a weapon. you’re a media darling.” you speak like you’ve thought it through fifty times already.

“fuck you. i’m going. someone needs to stop him.”

you roll your eyes, “let him take out whoever he’s taking out. he’s working with butcher. if you wait long enough, he’ll set his sights on homelander.”

“and, what, let more people die while we wait? fuck that.”

“your conviction is very admirable, but you’re not going to be able to help people if you’re dead.”

“fuck you.” annie goes to push past you, but you move out of her way. she slams the door behind her and it is suddenly you and victoria alone for the first time in twenty six years.

“victoria neuman.” you say, and it’s like you’re feeling out the sounds of her name for the first time. every inch of you seems so familiar but so foreign. you look at her like you’re seeing her again for the first time, “neuman. newman. new. man. a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“where the hell have you been.” victoria isn’t sure whether she’s relieved to be talking to you again, or sad at how long it’s been, or angry at how long it’s been.

you shrug. victoria knows you’re trying to deflect but it still pisses her off how blassé you are about this, “around. popped up on vogelbaum’s radar, and all of a sudden i’m being plucked from red river and hidden away to be developed into the next big thing.”

you were supposed to replace homelander.

fuck.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” victoria accuses.

“oh like you haven’t been avoiding me, too. you’re an adult, you have free will.” you shoot back, “it’s better this way. you might be really hard to destroy, but your life isn’t. you have too much to loose to be playing it the way you’re playing it.”

“the fuck is that supposed to mean? you struggled with popcorn reading, why are you speaking in riddles?”

you roll your eyes at her, “playing both sides? throwing stan to the wolves for homelander and then turning around and trying to make friends with starlight? you’re just gonna make a shit ton of enemies.”

“i have to keep zoe safe.” victoria defends.

“yeah, everyone and their fucking mother knows that. you practically scream it from the rooftops. you’ve given everyone an exact playbook of how to fuck you over most effectively.”

there’s something you left unsaid in that. victoria takes the risk, “is that why you’ve been avoiding me? you think people will use me to get to you? that’s bullshit. i’m not your concern.”

“you are the only person who has ever fucking mattered to me.” you spit it out like it’s a curse. a burden. “you have a kid, you have a house, you have a job - the worst fucking job for someone in your position, by the way - you have a life. the only fucking thing i have is the fact that a bunch of vought execs thought it would be a good idea to make a back up plan in case homelander got out of control, and made me in a fucking lab.” you snap, “so yeah, forgive me if i’m keeping you at arms length, i don’t want your life to fucking explode because i fucked up.”

fuck.

victoria is thirty seven years old when she decides you’re full of shit, actually. it’s her career, her life, and she’s not gonna let you fundamentally change it just because she spends practically every waking moment thinking about you.

she needs a win, needs to advance within the political sphere. what’s the point of getting out from edgar’s influence if she’s not going to use her newfound freedom to its fullest? so naturally, she finds herself at a rally for robert singer. it’s still early days in the election cycle, but he’s worked with victoria before, and his experience as secretary of defense differentiates him from the field of other presidential-hopefuls who talk out of their ass about vought and its role in us politics.

the rally is quaint by modern standards. singer seems to be leaning into the cowboy status he stumbled into, hosting the rally in a barnyard instead of a stadium.

homelander was unfortunately given an invitation and a mic, and he rants aimlessly about starlight for twenty agonizing minutes instead of hyping up singer like he should be. even worse, you’re there, standing next to the new vought ceo, ashley, lamar bishop, and singer himself. while singer exchanges annoyed glances with bishop and ashley, you’re looking directly at victoria in the crowd, to the point where her own security is cautiously murmuring into their ear pieces.

homelander finally wraps his rant up and all but disappears further into the barnyard. there’s her in.

she finds him drinking milk out of a pail, “skipped breakfast, did we?”

he sighs like she’s in the wrong for interrupting. if he wasn’t homelander and easily capable of destroying her and her entire life, she’d think he’s just some asshole with a godcomplex. but he could kill her, or at least victoria’s reasonably sure he could. she’s not trying to test that hypothesis out.

“no. she’s in pain so i-“

“look i’m gonna tell you the truth here because no one else will. pull your shit together, admit it’s soldier boy, and take control of the situation.”

he laughs and puts the pail down, “you think uh i’m not in control?” he starts walking towards victoria with that clearly forced smile on his face.

two can play the intimidation game of simply walking towards someone, victoria walks towards homelander, “no. i think you just spent the last 20 minutes ranting about starlight instead of talking up the next president of the united states. you’re homelander. button your shit up. you’re flailing. this whole fucking scene right here? jesus christ-“

homelander grabs her throat with one hand, seeming to relish in how she scrambles with both of her hands to get out of his grip. he is exactly what all those failed foster parents thought she was, what edgar thought she was. a monster. a predator. so far devoid of humanity yet desperately seeking its acceptance. “oh, i’m sorry, please, go on.” he says almost sarcastically.

she tries to breathe, tries to wedge her fingers in between her neck and his hands, “you need someone you can trust.”

would this play even work? he has you in the seven, surely there’s some kinship there that would render whatever deal she’s trying to strike up with completely useless.

“someone like you?” he asks skeptically.

“i got rid of edgar for you. that cost me a lot. i’m proposing a strictly transactional relationship. you help me out with one small favor, and i help you.” she rocks forwards on her toes to stand taller, to attempt to loosen his grip on her throat.

there’s a soft boom and out of the corner of her eye she sees you. fuck. you must’ve picked up on her heart rate jumping up. are you listening to her heartbeat?

she hands homelander a folded up piece of paper, looking between you and her, but he doesn’t let victoria go. fuck. this is how she dies. he’s not even looking at what’s on the paper.

you make your way over to homelander and her, taking the paper homelander’s so disinterested in. you actually open the paper read its contents - it’s ryan’s location. she spent how long finagling her way into putting this together and you’re gonna ruin the moment?

you put a hand on homelander’s arm - the one actively choking victoria - and direct his attention to the paper, “where did you get this?” you and him ask her in unison. homelander murmurs ryan and finally lets go of victoria’s throat, flying off without another word, leaving the two of you alone.

you move towards her as she’s clutching her throat, feeling for broken blood vessels or swollen tissue, and she takes a step back. you roll your eyes and sigh, “are you okay?” you’re looking at her throat intently, as if you’re looking at the bone itself.

“‘m fine.” her voice is hoarse from the pressure, but besides that she is fine. she’s practically unscathed.

“don’t pull shit like that again.” you’re still looking over her like you’re checking for injuries. victoria scoffs and rolls her eyes, “you don’t get to play tough guy. i’m doing what i have to for me. i have goals, and if dealing with homelander is what it’s gonna take to make them happen, i’m gonna fucking do it.”

“okay icarus, enlighten me about what’s so important that you have to give up ryan’s location? you can’t seriously think anything is worth giving a young, vulnerable mind with the powers of a nuke to homelander.”

“the vp spot on singer’s ticket.”

“you gave up ryan’s location to get lamar bishop killed? seriously? that doesn’t even guarantee you’ll get the call. he could pick buttigieg, he should pick buttigieg, he could pick tim kaine, he could pick a million other moderates. you’re pretty far left by dnc standards.”

“we’ve worked together. we met after the house trial for vought? and our interests align politically, he wants to legislate and regulate vought, i run the fbsa.”

“and if he finds out you’re a supe and you head-popped congress?”

victoria shrugs.

“fuck.” you mutter like you have any skin in the game, “look. your plan’s shit, that’s neither here nor there. what’s important is that soldier boy is out of control, he’s killing his old teammates from payback and eventually, probably soon, he’ll be on his way to vought tower. i’m reasonably sure between me and homelander we can kill him, but i don’t know what kind of casualties that could cause. he’s fucking radioactive. you should take zoe and get out of the city.”

“i already told you, you don’t need to worry about me, i’m not your concern.” victoria snaps at you.

“well i’m gonna worry about you anyway, victoria. you’re playing a very dangerous game. you can handle yourself, i get that, but someone needs to genuinely have your back.” you take a step closer, and suddenly victoria can make out every individual eyelash and notice how your eyes never stray from hers.

“i thought you said caring about me could make my life collateral.” victoria’s voice is suddenly a lot hoarser, and she has to keep her heart from beating too fast.

“well you’re making some really bad decisions, so it’s probably better to at least have a deterrent. someone has to look out for you.” you’re too earnest, too genuine. it’s like she’s back at red river with you and she has to hold herself back from reaching out to touch you.

“and what, you’re just gonna go fight soldier boy with homelander?” victoria tries to muster up snark or something to make the situation feel less vulnerable than it is.

“yeah.” you shrug, “i have to. people are going to die if i don’t.”

there’s that stupid good conviction. under all the layers of age and vought bullshit still lies the girl who played doll house with victoria when no one else would. who curled up in bed with her when the group home refused to turn the heat up during the winter. under all that cynicism, you will still to the right thing simply because it is the right thing to do.

“stay safe.” victoria swallows, “come back to me safe.”

victoria neuman is thirty six years old when vought tower fucking explodes. the news outlets are reporting vastly different stories as the smoke clears and the fbsa vans arrive. there’s rubble everywhere and there’s not a fucking vought employee in sight. the power grid’s completely out, and the only light around is coming from the flashlights the fbsa agents are shining around the rubble.

the boys are gone, the seven are gone, soldier boy is purportedly dead and you are nowhere to be seen.

fuck fuck fuck is being chanted through victoria’s mind like a mantra. you cannot be dead. you have to be alive. she mourned you once before she cannot grieve you again.

there’s movement underneath a pile of rubble, a metal frame wiggling back and forth slowly but surely. then you’re up, dusting yourself off and breathing heavily, but otherwise unscathed. cameron coleman gets you for an interview before victoria can get to you.

“what all has happened here and how many are dead?” he asks, it’s a softball question by all accounts, but he’s a vnn reporter so he’s basically a vought mouthpiece for a living.

“well cameron, soldier boy attacked vought tower, i can’t speak on who all he was working with at the moment, im still trying to get my bearings, and i also have no idea how many are injured and how many casualties we’re dealing with. we probably won’t have an official answer until the police, the fbsa, and the other necessary groups conduct their own investigations.” your vought media training is certainly shining through, “the building was thankfully giving an internal evacuation notice, and from what i could tell on the ground there weren’t very many civilians still on the scene when the incident occurred.” you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with victoria, then look back to cameron coleman, “i think i speak for everyone here at vought when i say we’re very thankful to have the fbsa so close by and ready to respond to crises of this level, i think director neuman’s response will prove to be one for the history books.”

“and what do you make of the building damage? will the city be expected to pay for the repairs?”

you laugh and victoria is itching to steal you away from cameron, “i doubt there’s any expectation for the city, county, state, or federal government to pitch in funds to repair the building. we have government funding and contracts, yes, but those generally pay salaries, not construction expenses. you’d have to ask the city for further comment there.”

you and victoria make eye contact again and she watches you worm your way out of the vnn interview and make your way over to her.

you double check to make sure you’re not on camera before talking to victoria, “hi.”

“hi.” she says back, glancing you up and down.

“you see something you like?” you tease, victoria shakes her head and fake winces, “you look like shit.”

“seriously? you should see the other guy.”

victoria rolls her eyes, “you are gonna have to tell me what actually happened, and not the bullshit you just gave cameron coleman.”

you mock pout, "i’ll tell you about it at your place?”

“are you inviting yourself over?” victoria raises an eyebrow.

“not if you invite me over first.” you shrug and point to the top of the tower that’s currently a rough concept of a tower, “my apartment’s toast, with the whole explosion thing.”

victoria rolls her eyes, “fine.”

she’s delighted at the idea of having you around, not that she’d tell you that.

victoria neuman is thirty seven years old when her daughter discovers you in her kitchen. you’re wearing a tank top and sweats and basically no makeup, but zoe recognizes you anyway from tv.

“mom! there’s a supe in the kitchen!” she calls. you give victoria a sheepish look as she walks down the stairs.

“my bad.” you say with your hands up like zoe’s a

cop, “in my defense your mom said i could be here.”

zoe shakes her head, “i don’t believe that.” she looks over to her mother. victoria isn’t sure if she should be amused or terrified at the idea of you around zoe. to your credit, you seem more intimidated by zoe than she is of you. you can shoot lasers out of your eyes and fucking fly, but her eleven year old daughter is enough to stop you in your tracks.

“it’s fine, zo.” victoria assures zoe, pressing a kiss to her hair. she looks at you over zoe’s head, you smile at the two of them fondly.

“she’s a friend.” victoria pats zoe’s back, “okay?”

zoe’s clearly still skeptical but she doesn’t say anything else.

“so tell me what all happened.” zoe’s gone up to bed, it’s just you and victoria leaning on the kitchen island with a bottle of wine between you.

you shrug, “a lot, and also not a lot. butcher and his team were there, with soldier boy and maeve, and homelander and ryan were there with me.”

“right. and maeve’s probably dead.” victoria idly traces the label of the wine bottle.

“she took a direct blast from soldier boy, she’s either dead or powerless. vought’s gonna say she’s dead either way.” you shrug and gently take the wine bottle from victoria, uncorking it and taking a swig.

“that’s rude, you know.” victoria says dryly before snatching the bottle back and taking a sip from it herself.

“whatever. does alcohol even do anything for you?” you ask.

victoria shrugs and wipes the wine from her lips, “eventually, if i drink enough. what about you?”

“my metabolism’s too fast. nothing’s ever really impaired me. they had to give me a neurotoxin to take me from red river, and it affected me like a sleeping gas.” you take a sip of wine, “that’s how they got rid of soldier boy.”

victoria nods, not exactly following your train of thought. she watches you take another sip, she’s 99% you don’t understand the depth or the palate of the wine, just drinking for drinking’s sake.

“you know the worst part about fighting soldier boy? it’s not that he’s the hero of heroes or the figurehead of vought, it’s-“ you take another sip, “vought has a formula, right? you have your main guy, they do their little show and tell, and then you replace them. it’s showbiz. soldier boy was vought’s top guy, but he was awful to work with. everyone on his team hated him. and then in like 1980, vogelbaum wanted to study soldier boy’s genetics, so a baby boy was made. homelander.”

“homelander is soldier boy’s son?”

you nod, tracing the rim of the wine bottle, “it’s kinda fucked up that he got replaced by his son, you know? but homelander was a risk, and you always wanna hedge your bets, so when he started exhibiting violent behavior and tendencies that could make him a threat to vought later down the line, vogelbaum went back to the lab and made another embryo with what was left of soldier boy’s sperm.”

you glance up from the rim of the bottle and over to victoria, “i think the worst part about fighting soldier boy was seeing the familial resemblance. he told me i had his eyes.”

“oh shit.” victoria never got to know her parents, part of her is jealous you at least got to talk to your father, however distraught the conversation was. all she has is stan. had was, she supposes.

“yeah. it gets worse, though.” you take another sip, victoria wipes the excess from your lip out of habit. you make eye contact and the two of you crack a smile, despite it all. you swallow and look away, “homelander’s contract was up at the end of the year. if you had waited to oust edgar from vought, i would’ve replaced homelander. stan didn’t want to renew his contract so he signed me.”

“fuck. and then what would’ve happened? homelander slinks off into the night?”

“i would’ve had to kill him.” you say it with an amount of emotional detachment that makes it seem like you’ve thought about it before.

“and how would that have gone?” victoria doesn’t want to have to defend getting rid of edgar. it hurts that she had to throw the closest thing she had to a parent down the river to protect herself from being a part of his agenda.

“i think i could have killed him if it came to it.” you shrug, “i was trained for this, you know. created for it. i was born to kill him if it came to it.”

“could you kill him now?”

“do you want me to? it could turn him into a martyr.”

victoria shakes her head.

“then i won’t.” you say it so simply. as if it’s a no brainer that you’d do what she wants.

victoria neuman is thirty seven years old when she receives the vice presidential nomination. lamar bishop’s drowning was ruled accidental, and her work with the fbsa made her a more viable vp candidate than the other options.

she is giddy after the rally in sioux falls, she can’t help but smile at you. you’d flown in secretly to surprise her and oh it had been so worth it. being out on the campaign trail means being away from you and zoe, which is easier in theory than it is in practice.

you’d think after being away from you for most of her life, she’d be accustomed to being apart. but since you all but officially moved in, she’s grown used to having you around all the time. two plates at dinner became three, and alone on the campaign trail she misses you more than she can bear to admit.

you’d brought zoe along, and as skeptical as victoria is about the safety of you flying over state lines with her child, she’s overjoyed to have both you and zoe with her during this phase of the campaign.

she’s curled into your side on her hotel bed, an arm wrapped around your waist and your hands are in her hair. it’s comes naturally to the two of you, holding each other like this. you’re warm in the overly-airconditioned room and victoria wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with you and do this forever.

“how long are you staying?” she whispers to you. zoe’s asleep on the other bed.

you shrug, “as long as you need.”

“good.”

victoria is thirty seven years old when she holds her townhall at godolkin university. you fuss over her blazer as the car waits outside idling.

“it’s so stupid. what does polarity know about the intersection of the law and supes? he’s a b-lister, he’s not even active anymore.” you scoff and try to fix the way her silk shirt is sitting.

“he’s on the university board or something, he probably just wants a feature on tv. and i think it would look a little suspect if you were interviewing me.” victoria’s eyes flicker from your face to your hands.

“oh please. godolkin is a scam school. besides, it’s not like i’d give you softball questions.”

“uh, you so would.” victoria defends.

“nuh uh. i care about journalism and shit.”

“journalism and shit?”

“he’s not even cool. like he had one movie. you know how many movies i’ve been in?”

“no. how many movies have you been in.” victoria’s tone is dry and rolls her eyes but she smiles and plays into your rant anyway.

“seven. he’s a b lister at best. and he’s not gonna ask actually good questions because he has no experience. as a member of the seven-“

“you officially endorsed me and the singer campaign. and we’re sleeping together. you’re biased.”

“you clotheslined me last night, actually, so i’d question you within an inch of your life. and as an actually relevant vought employee, i think i could add valuable perspective to the conversation on supe regulation.” you’re fixing her hair now, victoria’s reasonably sure you’re touching just to touch, not because she needs her makeup fixed.

“you’re hovering at this point.” she says dryly, you fix her a flat look and adjust the necklace she’s wearing.

“you‘ll call me if you need anything, right?”

“it’s godolkin, it’s not like i’m going to an active war zone.”

“it’s godolkin. it’s a fake university built on marketing. it’s a bunch of rich kids who think they’re gonna be the next big thing because their parents gave them an unregulated drug when they were a baby.”

victoria gives you a flat look, “real nice.”

you shrug, “it sucks but it’s true. there’s only like five city contracts every year. the chances of someone actually making it are slim.”

victoria rolls her eyes, watching you continue to fuss over her outfit like you both don’t have places to be.

you sigh, “look, you’re gonna kill it. i know you will. give ‘em hell. don’t let a bunch of rich losers derail you just because you want a bit of accountability for vought.” you smile at her and take a step back, checking her out, “you look good.”

victoria checks her watch, “fuck, i gotta get going.”

she presses a kiss to your cheek, “bye.”

“bye!” you call to her as she walks out the front door.

victoria is thirty seven years old when the townhall goes fucking awful. the crowd was full of college aged supes with god complexes. is this the world zoe will inherit? is this who zoe will become?

her secret service ushers her off the stage when she sees marie. or rather, marie sees her. she’s all grown up, a top ranked supe, the highest ranked freshman in godolkin history.

victoria makes a cup of shitty coffee in the green room she commandeered to talk to marie.

“my daughter’s gonna be so jealous that i met the guardian of godolkin today. we’re huge fans.”

“thanks.” marie stands off awkwardly to the side, she has so much of the same mannerisms victoria had coming out of red river. it had taken years of therapy and being out of the group home for her to feel comfortable in her own skin.

“i was hoping you’d come to my town hall today, maybe ask a question. your dean didn’t show up either, i think a personal emergency?” it’s supposed to be a conversation starter, maybe evoke some deeper connection.

“y-yeah, i don’t know.” marie’s so earnest yet closed off and awkward on top of it all. she reminds victoria of you.

“it’s okay, it was a shit show anyway. you know what?” victoria checks her watch, “we’ll hide out in the green room til it all blows over out there. otherwise i think they might,” she jokingly swipes a finger across her neck, “take off my head.”

marie inhales deeply, “look there’s something i wanna-“

“your powers are badass. coolest i’ve ever seen.” victoria interrupts. she wants to assure marie like stan assured her.

“thanks.” marie looks at her awkwardly like it’s the only compliment about her abilities she’s ever gotten.

“those lassos and blood swords must be fucking exhausting, though. what else can you do?”

“oh, that’s about it.”

“oh come on, tell me something about myself.”

“i i don’t understand.”

“you can sense things, in blood. use that, and tell me about me.”

victoria watched marie as she reluctantly complies. she’s not limited by sight like victoria is. her pupils don’t become white, the only reason victoria knows marie is investigating her bloodstream is because of her own attunement to her body. she can feel marie’s hesitant manipulation of her blood. marie gasps.

“oh my god you’re - your blood, there’s compound v in it. you’re a supe.”

“i knew you could do it, good job.”

“how, why-“

victoria plops herself down on a chair, “here, gimme a knife.”

marie hands her a knife and victoria cuts open her hand, summoning the blood up underneath into a column.

“holy shit.” marie stares at her in disbelief.

“thought i was the only one. til you popped up at red river. i couldn’t let them ship you off to their adult facility so i got you into godolkin. i mean don’t get me wrong, you’re awesome and everything and you got in on your own merits i just uhh, gave you a little boost.” by a little boost victoria means a full ride scholarship but whatever. same difference.

“hold on hold on hold on, why are you telling me this?”

“because we understand each other.”

marie lightly scoffs, “you don’t know anything about me.”

“oh yes i do. i know you fought for every fucking thing you’re ever got in your life. i know that you’re constantly lonely, and that you’re afraid you’re gonna hurt people, like you did with your parents. and you feel like everybody is afraid of you. because you grew up hearing that your powers are too dangerous, too disgusting for anyone to ever want to adopt you. i also know that every friday for the past eight years you’ve had fishsticks with pink sauce as a treat. because i did too.”

“you grew up at red river?”

victoria nods, “yeah. til i was twelve. i still can’t have fish, it’s residual trauma just like the smell alone is- is,” marie laughs and victoria can’t help but crack up too, “horrifying. they were wrong about you and your powers, marie. you are a very rare and exceptional girl.”

“thank you.”

“okay enough nostalgia for one day. you had something important you wanted to tell me, right?”

“there’s a secret lab, under this school, called the woods. where they experiment on kids. they’re infecting them with a virus that kills supes.”

“a virus, are you sure?”

“there’s a doctor cardosa, he- he works in the woods he knows all about it. look you have to tell everyone what vought is doing.”

“i’ll handle it.”

“handle it?”

“yeah.”

“what- what does that mean?”

“that means i got it from here, marie, okay? you can go back to being a student.”

“what? no, no. i can’t just go back to being a student when this whole fucking school is a lie.”

“listen to me. godu is your shot at finally having some control over your life. once vought stashes people like you and me into red river, it’s fucking impossible to break out of that orphanage to institution pipeline without help, trust me.”

“look, i have a platform now, where i can help people. i mean isn’t that the entire point of being a superhero?”

“you don’t have shit. marie moreau, guardian of godolkin, is marketing, okay? and you better believe that vought will ship her off to the adult facility if she keeps fucking up her situation. but the first black woman in the seven? she has real power. she’s friends with the vice president. that woman? she can make a real difference politically, culturally? maybe she can even find annabeth. two paths marie, you have to choose. you can’t have both. let’s keep in touch.”

victoria turns her phone back on to see twenty texts and eight missed calls from you, “fuck.”

she knows that between the townhall going nuclear and how much you worry about her anyway, you’re probably somewhere on godu campus. she listens for you heartbeat right as the door to the green room opens, you unsurprisingly got past her secret service.

“oh thank god.” in a flash, you’re inspecting her for burn marks, “i told you this was a shit idea. and they got cameron coleman to replace polarity? i mean come on, that guy barely knows how to tie his shoes, let alone how to interview someone. he spent the entire time antagonizing you like vought isn’t paying for you to be at godolkin.”

“i’m fine, really.” victoria rolls her eyes and takes a second to glance you over in return.

“i know there’s not a lot they could do to hurt you, but i wouldn’t want you getting outed because you didn’t die to a college kid lasering you in the head.” you defend, “plus your security are all human, what are they gonna do?”

marie is awkwardly looking between the two of you. she takes a breath like she’s going to say something, and victoria watches as you go into pr mode and the years of vought media training comes to the surface, “marie moreau, right? i’m so sorry, where are my manners?”

“you know who i am?”

“hell yeah i do. you’re polling pretty well, kid.” you smile at her and shake her hand, “highest ranked freshman in godolkin history, how’s that feel?”

marie nods, it seems your smile is contagious. victoria prays marie doesn’t mention the supe-killing virus, “it feels great, it’s like a dream come true to be here.”

“that’s always great to hear. the draft’s coming up, you hoping to get your name called or are you thinking bigger?”

“uhm, it would be an honor to be drafted, for sure.” marie nods, “but i want to get further into my degree, i think. and new york’s not on the list this year, so-“

“new york, huh? you’re shooting for the seven?” your tone isn’t discouraging, it seems more curious than anything else. is this how superheroes network? victoria’s never seen this before.

“uh, yeah. i know i’m not polling well demographically with middle america, but-“

“focus on what you can control, right? the industry’s a lot different for you now than how it was when i was up and coming, but if you spend all your time obsessing over stuff that you ultimately can’t change, you’re gonna go insane. you have a great work ethic, you obviously have some good connections,” you motion to victoria with your head, “you’re gonna be okay.”

it’s strange seeing you reassure marie. sure, networking and actual connections are two very different things, but the ease of which you shifted gears and spoke to marie makes victoria think of what coparenting with you could look like.

marie nods, “yeah?”

you nod back, “oh yeah. i got faith in you.” you grab a napkin, “here, you got a pen?”

marie shakes her head but victoria grabs one from her purse and hands it to you.

“thanks.” you write your number down on a piece of paper, “normally i’d say my people will contact your people, but you don’t have an agent or a lawyer or really any representation outside of the dean or victoria, so i’ll just give you my cell.” you hand over the paper, “call me if you need anything. advice, backup, a lawyer, dinner. i got you, alright?”

marie nods. you pat the side of her shoulder, “i’ll put in a good word for you. see ya around.”

you look back to victoria, “you wanna fly back with me?”

“i need to wrap up a couple of things before i head back to the city, but i’ll be back before dinner.” victoria gives you a small smile.

you nod, “yeah, alright.”

victoria watches you leave the green room. she walks out the other way.

she needs to get her hands on that virus and you’d freak out if you caught wind of it.

victoria is thirty seven years old when she gets her hands on a bio weapon. her solution to homelander. she’s sure you’d fight homelander for her if she asked, but you’re her only support. it is her and you and zoe and she is not letting you risk your life for her.

“victoria?” sameer’s voice sounds half asleep over the phone. what time is it in england, anyway? victoria doesn’t care.

“i have a project for you.” she says instead, “and a lab.”

“and a stipend?” he asks.

“you owe me.”

victoria is thirty seven years old when riots erupt across godolkin university campus. zoe’s watching the news on the couch in the living room and you’re.. somewhere. working.

“hey mom?” zoe calls out over her shoulder, “come look at this.”

“shit.” victoria wants to throw her mug across the room. godolkin four massacre university students. “shit.” marie’s class photo stares back at her on the tv, “shit.”

“mom?” zoe looks at her in confusion, “what’s going on?”

victoria presses a kiss to zoe’s hair, “i don’t know, baby.”

“hey.” you call out as you close the front door behind you, “i’m home from work.” you glance over at victoria and then to the tv, “shit. they weren’t supposed to break that till tomorrow.”

“you know what happened?” victoria asks, crossing her arms and glancing over your super suit for blood.

you nod, “yeah, there was a freaky lab under the school and the kids in it broke out. and then they started killing people.” you point to the tv, “those four were trying to stop them and homelander didn’t like that.”

“where are they now? dead?” victoria looks at the image of marie on the tv. had she doomed her?

“they’re in vought custody, probably the adult facility. i’m working on transferring them to underneath the tower, we’ll see how that goes.”

“fuck. okay.” victoria nods.

“want me to break them out?” you offer like it’s a simple favor.

“where would we even put them? they’re college kids, they’re not gonna stay where we tell them to go.”

you nod, “look i’m gonna fight to get them out of elmira, alright? and once you’re in the white house, you can launch an investigation into the attack that will somehow clear their names and they’ll get pardoned.”

“right.” like that’s not fifty fucking hoops to jump through and enough political maneuvering to make stan edgar look like a saint.

“we’ll get her out of there, okay?” you tuck a strand of victoria’s hair behind her ear, “i can promise you that.”

victoria is thirty seven years old on election night. god, she’s so nervous she could puke. you’re not showing up for another half hour, and while the results coming in look good, she’s half convinced something will go terribly wrong and she’ll lose the election. victoria takes the stage, waving to the crowd.

“good evening! now look, I know it’s a late night, so i just wanted to say thanks for your patience, the bar remains open and uh… oh yeah colorado and nevada just went to robert singer!” she holds her hands out in celebration, clapping along with the crowd.

“so, stay tuned, i feel like we’re gonna be back very soon with some very good news. thank you and god bless america!”

cameras flash as she shakes the hands of her campaign staffers and various political figures. this will become her new normal, is her new normal. for the next four years her every move will be under a microscope. she’ll have to balance zoe, singer, her supe identity, her… relationship with you, with a touch so delicate as to not topple the house of cards she’s constructed to put herself as high up as she is.

and she needs to kill homelander.

victoria neuman is thirty seven years old when she becomes the vice president elect. she should feel happy, she should be popping champagne and sloppily making out with you. instead, her blazer is lying in the corner of the bathroom with an acid hole through it, there’s two dead secret service members in her hotel room, and there’s bullet holes in the back of zoe’s dress.

a man she considered one of her closest friends threw acid at her, butcher shot her, zoe’s killed two people, and you are somehow the voice of reason.

the couch is covered in sinisterly small spots of blood, zoe stares at the blood on the walls as you clean the blood off of her face with a wet wipe from victoria’s suitcase.

“you’re okay, alright? you did the right thing.” you assure zoe in a tone so damn near maternal it makes victoria glance twice at you from the bathroom. while you’re telling her daughter all of the things victoria needed to hear at her age, victoria is trying to collect herself in the mirror.

“but those two guys had families, probably. and now they’re dead.” zoe’s teenage snark is gone, victoria would give anything in the world right now to have moody zoe instead of guilty zoe. how do you assure a kid who just killed two people that they aren’t a horrible person? you can’t.

“zo, look at me.” your voice is a bit firmer now, “two- no, four complete strangers were in your mom’s hotel room. you didn’t know if they were friend or foe, and they weren’t, and you reacted normally.”

zoe doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“okay?” you ask.

“okay.” zoe echoes, although it’s clear the issue has not been resolved.

your hand is on victoria’s shoulder and your face is in the mirror behind her. she jumps at your presence, zoe seems to have settled down so it seems you’ve drawn your attention back to her. she turns around to face you, her back to the bathroom counter.

“is it that bad?” victoria tries to crack a joke, glancing at the hole the acid ate into her blazer.

“it’ll be a bitch to get fixed.” you at least have the decency to play along. you trace your finger along the rim of the hole. victoria tries hold in her instinct to flinch.

she scoffs, a pathetic attempt at remaining nonchalant and unbothered, “what the fuck am i supposed to do? i mean-“ she tries to scoff again but it sounds closer to a sob or a sniffle.

“you’re gonna change, we’ll touch your makeup up a little bit, and you’re gonna go celebrate winning an election.” you cut in, cupping her face with a sort of reverence victoria has never been able to understand.

“but zoe. i can’t just leave her here. she’s freaked out.” she sniffles. god, she’s losing it. the likelihood of the boys coming back to the hotel room is practically zero, but she can’t just leave her baby here, in a room covered with blood.

“i’ll stay with her, alright? we’ll order room service and eat ice cream and watch mamma mia or something.” you offer it up like it’s nothing. it’s not terrifying that zoe is capable of what comes so naturally to the two of you.

“she prefers the princess bride.” victoria corrects dryly. but her mind is made up, your plan makes sense. she moves past you to put on a different suit.

you laugh as she changes into a pink suit, “she really is your daughter.”

“well i gave birth to her, so it’s not as if that was ever in question.” victoria’s quick to fall back into banter with you. she watches how your eyes never stray from her face as she changes. you roll your eyes and turn around to rummage through her makeup bag. you look at her like you looked at her in red river. when she was still nadia. she wants nothing more than to curl up in a cramped twin bed with you like you’re 8 again.

“oh whatever.” you have her lipstick in hand and victoria tries not to smile as you apply it on her lips.

victoria is thirty seven years old and she should get an award for the amount of stupidity and stress she has to deal with.

not only does butcher know about the godu virus, but he also tries to strike a deal with her, ryan for the red river files of her that hughie has. frankly, ryan being away from homelander is a net good for society, but the longer hughie has those files on her the more inclined his coworkers will be to use them.

the ball’s in butcher’s court. so naturally he cowers out last minute and victoria is right back to square one.

victoria is thirty seven years old when her worst fear for her daughter comes to pass. zoe thinks she is a monster, like victoria thought she was when she was zoe’s age. she really did doom her when she gave her that compound v.

zoe’s sitting at the kitchen island on her phone wearing makeup.

“what is on your face?” victoria asks, she’s late for singer’s cabinet meeting that she wasn’t invited to. zoe rolls her eyes.

“come on, you know the rules. no make up. go wipe it off, now.”

“it’s not like anyone’s gonna see it but mrs. williamson on zoom.” zoe says flatly. she’s only half looking at victoria.

“you know, ryan is homeschooled, too.” victoria says, grabbing the milk carton from the fridge.

“yeah well he can also go wherever and do whatever he wants.”

“i’m sure that’s not true, zo. look, you’re gonna be the vice president’s daughter, okay? we have to take your safety seriously.”

“my safety? don’t you mean everyone else’s?”

victoria sighs and leans her arms on the kitchen island, “you just need to learn how to control your powers a little better.”

“even if i did, you wouldn’t let me use them.”

victoria reaches her hand across the countertop to hold zoe’s, “hey, how about this weekend, we go to uncle stan’s country house, huh?”

“the uncle stan you put in prison?”

victoria doesn’t have a response for that.

“please, you wanna hide me on a farm?”

“no.”

“it’s not like i have the cool powers, like ryan. i turn into a.. a monster. a nightmare.”

victoria wants to hug her, to wrap her in her arms and assure her she’s not the monster she thinks she is, like how victoria wishes someone had done for her when she was zoe’s age, “powers or not, you’re still my kid, okay? so go upstairs and wash your face.”

zoe looks at her with a mix of melancholy and resentment. she presses her lips together like she’s holding a retort back.

“now. go.” victoria says firmly. zoe puts her bowl in the sink and leaves.

victoria is thirty seven years old and singer is actively trying to kill her. or get her out of washington by any means necessary. he’s excluding her from meetings, pushing bills that would ban supes from all roles within the federal government, if her entire life and livelihood didn’t hang in the balance she’d compare him to a pissed off third grade bully.

but if his bill passes, and it just might, and if hughie and his band of assholes leak her red river files, and they just might, she will be royally fucked.

and it’s not as if she can go to you for help. you’d kill them, in all likelihood. and while that’s a great final resort, it means she can’t lean on you in the mean time. with the tower renovations finished you’ve all but moved out of her house. she sees you rarely, which makes those moments when she does more special, but it also means she has no one to talk to in the middle of the night.

victoria is thirty seven years old when she gets strong armed into partnering with homelander. to be fair, she agreed to meet him because you would be there. it takes everything in her to not cling to your side while sage and homelander go on and on about what she should do once singer’s out of the white house and she assumes his place. you seem to be half paying attention, glancing at how victoria looks in her brown suit and completely overkill overcoat. she wonders if you even can get cold. she certainly feels cold in the ice rink.

homelander wants her to come out as a supe once she’s president. that’s political suicide. her entire base is centered on supe regulation, to come out as a supe would be an incredibly difficult sell. it’d be easier to announce publicly that the two of you are dating. homelander looks at her like a piece of meat. a means to an end. sage looks at her like she’s a pawn in a game she’s never been invited to play in.

as homelander discovers hughie in the vents and the meeting falls apart, victoria gets a good look at you. you smile at her like she hangs the stars in the sky. victoria watches you turn away to look for hughie or any of his coworkers, and she watches in agonizing detail as your face becomes emotionless and stoic. damn near inhuman.

victoria is thirty seven years old when stan edgar’s ankle monitor goes off. there’s no way he broke out of prison, that’s not who stan is. which narrows the field down to the boys. butcher knows about the godu virus, so it’s a safe bet to head to the farm and see if those bastards are there.

which means she can’t tell you where she’s going or why, so she doesn’t tell you anything at all.

“fucking bitch.” starlight has an exasperation in her voice that seems completely unwarranted. every one of the idiots pulls a gun out.

“easy.” god it’s annoying how trigger happy they all are. it’s not like a bullet would do anything to her.

“victoria. you’re looking well.” stan looks as dapper as ever.

“you think i wouldn’t know the minute you and your ankle monitor stepped out of that prison?” it’s surreal, seeing him. with these cia agents. she’s completely alone here, her secret service hardly count.

“i don’t recall giving you permission to turn my rec room into a virology lab.”

“you brought these assholes here? they wanna kill me.”

“i’m sorry. are you upset that i betrayed you?” he talks to her like she’s twelve.

“oi. knock it off you two this ain’t family pies.” butcher’s annoying as hell.

“you have five seconds to tell me what you did to sameer or i paint this fucking room red.”

“who the fuck’s sameer?” butcher asks. starlight’s eyes light like she’s going to use her powers but they fizzle out.

“enough.” stan somehow manages to create order, “so, you brought in sameer. smart, that’s what i would’ve done. but whatever happened to him, it wasn’t us. we should find him together.”

“you’re fucking kidding me.” victoria has to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“if i’m not mistaken, you hurt these people, they expose you as a super-abled killer, yes? then i’m afraid we are at a stalemate. you might as well use their expertise, at the very least they’re effective cannon fodder.” victoria could close her eyes and imagine she’s back in high school, and stan is assuaging her fears of ap calc or ap chem. instead, she’s in the pennsylvanian backwoods with a bunch of wannabe cia assholes.

“thanks. that’s really nice of you.” mm says dryly. victoria always liked him and hughie the most out of the group.

“where’s your cunt of a girlfriend?” butcher asks her as they leave the house.

“new york. you better hope she stays there.” victoria says dryly. it’s refreshing to watch them all stiffen at the implication of you flying over to her. it’s both odd and amusing to victoria how frightened they are of you. they see you like they see homelander: a clusterfuck of impulse, sheer power, and selfish intention.

butcher scoffs and the group of them set off to ficouldnd sameer. it’s mildly terrifying to think of what happen should butcher get to the virus before she does. you’re in new york at the v52 expo, being paraded around doing promo for some movie you only agreed to get some quick cash. you don’t even know where victoria is, if the boys get to the virus before victoria does, she’s completely fucked.

stan steps in a puddle of cow manure, looking visibly disgusted to be out in the country.

“as if you don’t have sixty more pairs.” victoria murmurs. the farm is frighteningly quiet.

“prince andrew gave me these shoes. i’m suddenly reminded of how much i hated it here.”

“really? i used to love it. i always felt a little more free here.”

“and yet you’ve turned my farm into an infectious disease lab. i can only assume you’re searching for a way to control homelander. he’s a freudian cesspool of random impulse and deep insecurity, there’s no one who can control that. you’ve put yourself and zoe in terrible danger.”

“no. you put me and zoe in terrible danger. you used me like you use everyone else. somebody had to protect her.”

“you mean shooting her up with compound v? you’ve took a bright-eyed little girl and you into a-“

“into a what? a monster? is that why you had me hide what i was? stick to the shadows, never reach too high?”

“that was to protect you.”

“no it was because you were ashamed of me. my daughter will never have to live like that.”

the group end up in a chicken coop, the farm eerily quiet still. the chickens seem normal and for a moment victoria can pretend that she is 15 on the farm for the summer with stan, running amuck and seeing barnyard animals for the first time.

and then a chicken flies through one of her secret service agents. she watches the boys as they fumble their way to survival, shooting bullets at bulletproof chickens like a gun would do anything against a supe normally. her powers are working just fine, thank you, unlike a certain blonde former superhero.

they make a run for it out of the coop, victoria’s pulse is racing despite her best efforts not to. stan’s is annoyingly calm and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“well you coulda warned us your pal sameer was cooking up a kentucky fried fucking massacre-“ butcher is trying to berate her. emphasis on trying. he’s cut off by a boom that rips the sky, lightly shaking the ground and the farm.

“well what the fuck was that?” butcher looks to victoria, “your buddy cook up something that fucking flies too?”

“homelander.” annie says with a nod like she’s piecing a problem together, “that could be homelander.”

“well aren’t we fucked.” butcher spits out, “i say we rat neuman out and watch him tear her apart.”

victoria glances up to the sky, listening for anything. the swish of a cape, the telltale muttering, even a heartbeat.

she can hear one. fuck. she can hear one. she opens her mouth to speak, talk, do anything really besides freak out about how she’s going to die here on a farm in the middle of fucking pennsylvania away from her daughter, surrounded by people who hate her.

there’s a more controlled whoosh as you land, “what the fuck is going on here.”

you’re in an old ranger’s jersey that used to belong to sameer, vought-branded sweatpants and socks. the v52 expo must’ve wrapped early or something.

“aye, easy now, we can be civil about this, eh?” butcher puts his hands up in surrender. victoria’s reasonably sure this is the first time she’s seen you two interact, it’s delightfully refreshing to watch butcher become aware of his own mortality. you roll your eyes and turn to victoria instead, easily clocking the blood on her black coat and her face.

“who’s blood is that?” you ask her and it’s like it’s just you two for a second. you lick your finger and wipe the semi-sticky blood off of her face like it’s as commonplace as getting syrup off.

“my secret service agent’s.” she murmurs.

“and that man would’ve still been alive if you hadn’t cooked that virus up.” mm cuts in. he’s clearly gotten over whatever fear he had.

“what virus?” you ask, turning to face the boys. fuck.

“did your girlfriend over there not tell you that she’s making a virus designed to kill supes of you and homelander’s caliber? she must’ve forgot to mention it.” butcher grins with a smugness that is completely unwarranted for a man who’s accomplished as little as he has.

you turn back to victoria, your voice is quiet and tense like you’re actively holding yourself back from yelling, “you made a bioweapon?”

“it’s not a biowealon.”

“so it exists, then.” you nod and scoff, “you weren’t gonna tell me?”

“it’s to kill homelander.”

“if it could kill homelander it could kill any one of us. it could kill you, it could kill zoe, it could kill me. fuck, i mean it popped up on the cia’s radar, you don’t think they’d try to use it on you?”

“well we gotta find it before they have the chance to.”

“you lost it?” your tone is incredulous, “you lost the bioweapon you made and the cia is here and you’re not concerned about it?” you glance at stan, “how the fuck are you out of prison? shouldn’t you be like, i don’t know, in prison?”

“that’d be our doin’, love.” butcher says with another smug smile, “gotta use the resources available to ya.”

you very dryly say, “don’t call me that.”

“resources available to you? is that why you tried to cut a deal with me?” victoria asks.

“wait, what does that mean?” annie asks.

“said he’d steal all the files he had on me if i gave him ryan.”

“are you fucking kidding me?” annie asks incredulously.

“and i didn’t go through with it, did i? which proves i’m on the level.” butcher defends.

“when are we gonna learn? he’s never gonna fucking change.” annie’s pointing at butcher and looking to mm like they’ve had this conversation before. victoria wants to turn to you to exchange a look of these fucks are incompetent. but you’re standing with your arms crossed watching them instead of her.

she should’ve told you about the virus. but you wouldn’t have wanted her to work on it. you’d hate it as much as you hate it now, and the virus is her one shot at homelander that doesn’t evolve trying to take him out herself. or having you do it. she can’t risk either of those things.

“alright listen, we got a lot of ground to cover, so let’s just, go.” mm has finally become the voice of reason.

you roll your eyes and shake your head, “how have you guys not died yet? i mean you seem like you’d fucking argue about the color of the sky. you’re just gonna sell the one chance you had at getting ryan for morals?”

“what, you have an opinion on what we should be doing? that’s rich.” annie’s arms are crossed too now.

“ryan’s a kid. he’s zoe’s age. you think keeping him around homelander long term is a good idea?” you raise an eyebrow.

“he’s your nephew, you could just snatch him up and out of there if you really wanted to.” annie says skeptically.

“not without getting something in return. butcher should’ve taken the deal,” you shrug, “if i were you my top priority would be taking ryan away from homelander. for the kid’s sake.”

“well it’s real easy to be full of advice when you ain’t the one living it.” butcher’s response elicits another eyeroll from you.

“it’s an absolute wonder to me that you all managed to live this long.” stan says before walking off. victoria follows suit, and to her delight, you’re walking five steps behind her. she can hear the nervous half steps her remaining secret service agent takes to make room for you, probably unaware of who you are to victoria.

they somehow form a line, somewhere along the way you end up in the back. the only reason victoria knows this is because she glanced behind her shoulder as they started on a trail near the woods, and you were in the way back, behind the boys. it’s reassuring that someone’s watching her back, but she can practically feel how angry you are at her.

“that’s smart, you know.” stan says randomly. victoria has to do a double take.

“what’s smart?”

“your.. relationship with her. it’s smart. even if you do care for her, love her, whatever, it’s a smart move.” he’s applauding her for a power move she never made, one she barely even considered.

“i prefer not to think of my partners as political moves,” victoria says evenly, carefully stepping over an iced over puddle.

stan hums, “you picked the right supe. she’s been hardwired to protect, to feel, to care. homelander’s problem is he’s ashamed to still feel human emotion. her problem is that she feels too much. we brought in the best psychologists to make her what she is. once she cares for someone? there is nothing she wouldn’t do to see them safe. even now, as angry as she is at you for not telling her about this virus, she’d be right by your side in a heartbeat if she thought you were in danger.”

victoria hazards a glance over her shoulder you’re still in that stupidly underdressed outfit, walking in socks that are probably soaked through, because you were worried enough about her to track her down.

she looks forward again. annie, kimiko, and mm are all ahead of her. she might as well pick on annie while she’s here.

“i noticed you’re having a little uh.. projectile dysfunction.” victoria teases. annie’s powers were strong enough to fry the power grid on election night, now she can’t even get her hands to light up.

“yeah, you know what? why don’t you worry about yourself, ‘kay?” she smiles like she’s done something.

“i am, you’re not much use to us if your powers are on the fucking fritz. i saw you beat the piss out of firecracker on national television. don’t get me wrong, i enjoyed the hell out of it, but um, don’t you think it was a little.. out of control? we can’t lose our cool like that.”

“we?”

“come on annie, i’m one of the only people who does get it. dual identities?” fuck she’s getting too vulnerable, “i’m still nadia, you don’t think i want to let her sometimes? but i can’t, i gotta be neuman. and shit you’ve been starlight for so long do you even know who annie is anymore?”

annie punches her and victoria falls. she isn’t sure what she expected from egging on starlight, but it wasn’t having the wind knocked out of her.

stan, mm, and her secret service agent turn to see what happened. she expected that, at least. they’re all more or less predictable.

she doesn’t expect you to be by her side in an instant. she blinks and your hands are on hers, pulling her up from the ground. you’re firmly by her side.

frenchie and kimiko are holding annie back as if she can do anything against victoria and you but look vaguely menacing. it’s about as intimidating as a pomeranian is next to a mountain lion. victoria laughs and steadies her breathing as she wipes her hands off, “yeah, you really got your shit locked down.”

she can tell you're still angry at her as you look her over for any signs of injury. frankly you have every right to be. but you walk in step with her as she walks away from annie and for a second she believes stan.

the group moves up a hill, your eyes are warily on stan’s back as he breathes a little louder than anyone else. he leans on a fence, “please, can we take a break?”

“you alright?” mm asks him.

“yes. i’m alright.” he confirms, leaning his back against the fence. victoria leans on the fence on the other side of the path. you stand next to her, which victoria silently considers a win, looking down the hill at annie and the rest of the boys.

“hey.” victoria murmurs, you turn your head to look at her, “hey.” you say back with a bit less enthusiasm.

i’m sorry is on the tip of her tongue when part of the fence breaks, a v’d up bull stomping onto the path and attempting to charge at the group.

“fuck.” is what she says instead. you move in between her and the bull like its instinct, even though there’s at least five people between her and the bull who you are less than inclined to save.

“is that a fucking v’d up bull?” mm asks.

“off we fuck, nice and slow.” butcher says, and you scoff and shake your head, motioning behind you to victoria to back up.

it looks for a moment as if kimiko is gonna fight the bull, instead, a flock of flying sheep descend on the bull, raising it high into the sky and tearing it to pieces.

“go, go, go.” you say practically pushing victoria up the hill.

“run!” butcher shouts. stan stumbles and victoria grabs his arm and practically pulls him.

“jesus christ, leave him!” you shout at her, backing notably slower than the rest of the group. victoria’s final secret service agent is ripped to shreds, her blood splatting on the snow as the group runs to the barn. victoria’s looking at stan, pulling him towards the barn as she hears your laser vision slicing a few of the sheep in half.

“come on!” mm shouts, opening the barn doors. you all make it in, you’re notably covered in much more blood than the rest of the group.

“jesus christ, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” butcher mutters, “you look like a fucking slaughterhouse.”

“if y'all can’t clean your act up you’re next.” you say dryly, ringing out part of your shirt.

there’s movement behind a hay bale, sameer.

“oh my god sameer.” victoria breathes, hugging him tightly, “are you okay?” her voice is breaking a bit. it’s a relief to see him alive.

“yeah, i’m fine, but uh. henry.” he points to a dead lab tech. mm moves in to inspect the body.

“wait, zoe’s not here, is she?” sameer asks.

“now why the hell would a twelve year old be here, sam?” you ask dryly, still ringing out your shirt. your voice fills victoria with a dread. for all she knows, this is the first time you’ve met sameer. you don’t know who he is to her. she has no idea how you’ll react to him.

“no, no, she’s okay.” victoria assures him.

“wait, oh my god. is that.. zoe’s dad?” annie asks.

“dr. shah was my top man at vought r&d before he went behind my back and deflowered my daughter.” stan says, clearly not over it.

“okay i was 20, throughly deflowered and this isn’t the time or the place.” victoria says. she turns back to sameer, “what happened?”

“we gave v to a hamster so we could test the virus on it.” sameer says.

“well a v’d up hamster was your first mistake, mon ami.” frenchie says.

“it got loose, trashed the lab. we ran but the v had already leaked into the groundwater.” sameer explains.

“is the virus gone?” victoria asks.

“yes.”

“fuck.”

“except for uh,” he reaches into his coat, “except for one dose.”

victoria can feel the air shift. she’s all too aware that she is outnumbered.

“hey uh, how transmissible is that?” mm asks.

“not very, only through bodily fluid. blood, salvia, semen.” sameer explains.

“okay, so we inject it into your dead buddy over here as bait, and we put him outside to infect the crazy fucking flying sheep.” mm’s plan is awful, victoria is not sacrificing the one dose of this virus to infect the flying sheep.

“this man is in no condition to fuck a sheep.” frenchie says bewildered or horrified, victoria can’t tell.

“they would eat him.” stan says slowly as if explaining machiavelli to a kindergarten.

“bollocks. that’s the only dose,” butcher interjects as frenchie nods, “i say we fucking leg it.”

“butcher’s right.” victoria adds, as much as it pains her to agree with him, “it’s too valuable.”

“okay, we run? we don’t all make it.” annie counters.

“darwinism luv, don’t gotta be the fastest, just not the slowest.”

“no fucking way.” annie retorts. do they always fight this much?

“enough. not now.” mm’s attempt at deescalation all but confirms victoria’s suspicions.

“i won’t be able to outrun them.” stan tells victoria. her heart drops. you can certainly handle yourself, she doesn’t have to worry about whether or not you can outrun the sheep. you could kill all of them if you really wanted to. but stan? she can’t risk him.

“oh don’t you cry for that cunt. he’s just tryna knick zoe from ya, that’s his whole fucking plan innit?” butcher stops her guilt in its tracks.

“he’s lying.” stan defends dryly.

“sorry stannie, just business.”

“guys, stop.” mm says tiredly.

“son of a bitch.” stan mutters.

“i should’ve fucking known.” victoria bristles. you glance between victoria and stan, there’s a clear warning on your face.

“mm could die, okay? or frenchie! i mean, you really don’t care who you just throw to the wolves?” annie asks exasperatedly. victoria watches you for any indication of how you’re feeling, your eyes are on everyone else but her, as if assessing for threats.

“no, not really.” butcher freely admits with a certain degree of detachment that is concerning for the group’s survival chances.

“you’re a monster and i’m not letting you do this.” annie’s righteousness is getting annoying, and judging from your eyeroll you feel the same way victoria does.

“or what? you gonna start raving like you did with firecracker? i got the headpoppa, and you can’t even get it up!” that makes you bristle. you’re both aware that the cia wants to kill victoria, but butcher parading around that they have victoria while both of her secret service agents are dead is unnerving.

“enough, enough!” mm shouts, “look, look, y’all see this?” he rolls up his jacket coat, “hives. and i got ‘em ‘cause y’all motherfuckers are driving me the fuck crazy. now annie, you can’t just go around, fucking everybody up. and neuman, do you really want to risk zoe growing up in a group home the way you did? and you,” he turns to butcher, “look, my little babygirl needs me, and i intend on seeing her. you’re not a monster butcher. you are a motherfucker, but you’re a motherfucker with a heart.”

butcher and annie blink like his words meant something to them. what he said to victoria certainly shook her a bit. but they seem to have aggravated you.

you scoff, “no one’s doing anything, alright? i don’t care who’s plan is more morally superior, i don’t give a flying fuck if half of you die on the way home.” you point to sameer, “in what world do you think it’s a good idea to tell a room full of strangers that you have the last dose of a supe killing virus? you have a phd and you can’t read a fucking room?”

you walk in closer to him and victoria has to hold herself back from stepping in between the two of you. she has to believe you won’t hurt him. sameer tried to press himself further into the hay bale to try to maintain some distance from you. it doesn’t work, to no one’s surprise. you open his coat and take the syringe of the virus from him. the room is tense, or maybe it’s just victoria. you open her coat and hide the syringe away from the group.

“if anyone tries to take it, you pop their head. i don’t care who has what dirt on who, we didn’t come out here to waste the fucking thing on sheep.” you back up and point to kimiko, “you. we’re gonna go kill those sheep.”

“is that really-“ annie goes to interject but you’re already moving to the door.

“if anyone so much as breathes near victoria wrong, i’m ripping them in half.” you tell the group as you start to slide the door open, kimiko warily at your side.

you point at sameer and victoria, “you need me, call me.”

victoria nods and you close the barn door behind you and kimiko.

victoria is thirty seven years old when she has to justify her relationship with you to sameer. in a musty barn, surrounded by the boys.

“her? seriously?” sameer asks.

“she’s a step up from you, in my book. considering she doesn’t have any kind of advantage over victoria.” stan says dryly.

“you’re okay with it? she’s covered in blood. she can fucking fly, how is that not an advantage?” sameer is looking between stan and victoria while the wannabe cia agents pretend not to be eavesdropping.

“i didn’t approve of her and victoria at first, no. but if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s keeping victoria safe. and she wasn’t well into her 30s making passes at a 20 year old. that’s more than i can say for you.” stan says dryly.

there’s a thud against the roof and a baaaaah from a sheep before she hears your laser go right through it.

“jesus christ. your girl’s brutal, huh?” mm mutters with a glance at the rafters as dust is shaken off with the force.

kimiko opens the barn door, covered in sheep guts and bite marks, signing something victoria doesn’t understand.

“she says to make a break for it!” frenchie yells. the boys don’t need to be told twice, running while victoria has to bolt away from the people who want her dead.

there are still sheep flying overhead, its dark out by now, the only light is coming from the farm and your laser beams.

mm is yelling go, go! while sheep are falling on the ground split in half, their burn marks still sizzling.

a sheep lands in front of victoria, baring its fangs and hissing. she’s paralyzed for a second, too high-strung to pop its head. she blinks and the sheep is split in half and you’re holding her like she’s the only the person in the world that matters to you.

the sheep are all dead, you’re rubbing circles into her back and rocking her back and forth.

she slowly pulls away from you, glancing around in the dark for stan and sameer. she sees stan, but not sameer

“you okay?” you ask stan. he’s maybe six feet away, victoria can see his outline vaguely. he nods, “quite. thank you.”

“yeah don’t mention it.” you nod back, “let’s loop back to the group, yeah?”

sameer isn’t with the boys either.

“where’s sameer?” victoria asks, glancing around, “where’s sameer?”

“sameer?” no one says anything as she calls out for him, again and again. to no response.

“sameer?”

“victoria, victoria, calm down.” stan says, pulling her in to hold her while she sobs.

victoria is thirty seven years old when she officially becomes a single parent. she’s leaning on your shoulder almost entirely when an fbsa agent finds sameer’s leg on the farmhouse property. you rub her side and try to comfort her as much as you can, short of full on sobbing into your chest and cuddling together. you’re in public, after all.

she watches as the boys put stan back in cuffs and he’s stuffed into the back of a car.

“you’re coming home with me, right?” she asks you, her voice hoarse from screaming and sobbing.

you nod, “yeah. let’s get you home.”

the drive home is quiet. you offer to drive and victoria is too exhausted to fight you on it. you spend half the time complaining about the turn radius on the chevy tahoe, and victoria can’t help but smile.

“hey i think that’s the car stan’s in.” you say, pointing to the other black tahoe up ahead.

the car comes to a stop at the stop sign ahead. victoria gets a glimpse of the driver and splat.

“pull over real quick?” she asks, you nod, “sure.”

victoria is thirty seven years old when you carry her into her house. one of your arms is under her knees, the other is supporting her back. she feels lighter, being in your arms. she’s half asleep and she’s sure she looks a mess and you’re covered in blood and there’s a million things she wants to say to you. but she doesn’t say anything. you both shower and change, victoria has to resist the urge to kiss you in the shower because she’s reasonably sure you’re still mad at her.

“i’m sorry.” she whispers to you as you’re putting on pajama shorts, “for not telling you about the virus.”

“why didn’t you tell me?” you ask her, braiding your hair to sleep in it.

“i was scared. it was an opportunity to get ahead, to have some power over homelander, some control-“

“i would have him broken and beaten in a heartbeat if you told me you wanted that.” you say, “you know you can trust me to handle him for you.”

“i can’t risk losing you.” victoria murmurs, “i lost you once and it haunted me for the rest of my life, i can’t lose you again.”

“i wouldn’t lose.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i do. and now we have a virus that if put in the wrong hands could kill us. kill you. i’d rather have me dead than you.”

“don’t say that.”

you sigh, “you and zoe are the most important people in the world to me. zoe can live without me, but she sure as hell can’t live without you.”

victoria shakes her head, “i don’t wanna talk about this anymore. let’s put on a movie or something.”

victoria is thirty seven years old when she goes to a tek night party. the place is crawling with conservative politicians, the ultra wealthy, and to her surprise, you. looking back, homelander and sage had invited her, so it really shouldn’t be a shock that you’re here. but it’s strange seeing you standing next to homelander and ryan so comfortably.

and then a smelly c-lister bumps into her.

“jesus fuckin-“

“oh shit i’m so sorry, uh, madam vice president elect.”

“webweaver, that’s quite a scent.” victoria manages to suppress her grimace enough to give him a smile.

“everything okay over here?” you ask, you’re suddenly maybe five feet from her. a generous five feet but five feet nonetheless.

“uh, of course. why wouldn’t it be?” webweaver says.

you nod, “madam vice president elect, i think i need to introduce you to some folks next door.” you give webweaver a fake-polite smile that lets victoria know there is no one in the next room she actually needs to talk to.

she makes her way over to sage and homelander, you got sidetracked by ryan and if she watches you talk to him any longer she’s just going to think about her relationship with zoe and how badly zoe wants to be like him.

“what happened to you? you look like you got assfucked by the business end of a hammer.” the crude language sage uses doesn’t put victoria at ease. rather it makes her feel objectified, like the only use she has to sage and homelander is her body and her position of power.

“well maybe i don’t wanna be at this cpac nightmare any more than they want me here.” victoria defends, trying not to eavesdrop on the conversations around her to avoid this one.

“there’s gonna be a little sidebar later on, 1% of the 1%, sage here is gonna lube them up with cognac and montecristos, and then convince them to commit a little high treason.” homelander says it all so simply as if that wouldn’t put her entire life on the line.

“i’m sorry what the fuck? why would i expose myself like that?” victoria ask, risking a glance over to you. you’re talking to firecracker now. she never liked firecracker and now she has one more reason to hate her.

“because in this room is 38% of the us gdp. and if we have a shot in hell of pulling of the 25th amendment, we need them.” sage is the actual brains between her and homelander, it seems. but she doesn’t have victoria’s back any more than the cia does.

“do you want to be el jefe or not?” homelander asks flatly.

victoria awkwardly nods and backs up to be more in line with them. this is insane. and embarrassing. and insane.

“good. now, you’re the virgin at prom. go get finger-popped.” sage says before walking off and god, she really knows exactly what to say to make victoria uncomfortable.

victoria moves to go make conversation, but homelander stops her with a simple,

“oh hey.”

she turns back around to face him.

“you hear about stan edgar?” he asks. fuck.

“no, what about him.”

“well, apparently, he got released from prison.” homelander takes a couple steps closer to her side and she gives him a weary once over, “hmm. details are fairly sketchy as to why, or how. but, yeah, he got out. hasn’t been seen since.”

“well, he’s nothing if not slippery, i’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” victoria says dryly, trying not to play into whatever homelander might feel about her, “he can’t hurt us.”

“mm-hmm.” homelander smiles at her and excuses himself from conversation.

god she wants to go home.

you’re speaking with a banker, victoria can’t place her name at the moment but she sure can remember a face. while you’re getting insider secrets, victoria has to get chummy with speaker of the house calhoun.

which goes horribly, in victoria’s opinion. she’s never liked calhoun, but having to pretend like she can actually stomach being around him? that’s a bridge too far.

she tries to talk to sage, playing vulnerability and overwhelm in order to evoke some sort of sympathy. sage gives her next to nothing.

they make their way over to where you and homelander are murmuring to each other, victoria isn’t entirely sure how invested in her coup you are, but she’s glad at least one of her co-conspirators actually has her back.

homelander pulls the rich and powerful aside for his little sidebar. you’re leaning your hands back on a windowsill off to the side, not talking in the slightest. she can feel all of their eyes on her as she takes a seat in a chair. you’re looking at her when she glances over to you.

homelander is quietly yelling at sage on the other side of the room, something seems off. what the fuck victoria mouths to him. he shakes his head as if clearing his head of doubt and starts talking.

oh what the fuck.

“folks,” homelander says, directing the rooms attention to him, “thank you for coming. i’m sure you’re wondering why we pulled you aside so let’s get to it.” he sighs, “i think we can all agree that robert singer is the greatest threat this nation has ever faced. he is going to destroy this whole country. you all met ryan, my son.” he gestures to ryan who sitting across the room from victoria, “for his sake, i cannot and will not let that stand.”

“does she agree?” a man with a southern accent ask, gesturing to victoria.

“of course, especially her. she’s not just eye candy.” victoria’s blood runs cold as homelander moves towards her, “no, no, victoria here, she’s an integral part of the plan.” he says, putting a hand on victoria’s shoulder. she tries to keep her heartbeat steady as his hand doesn’t move. she doesn’t want him near her, let alone touching her.

“she sees up close what a doddering slave to the woke mob singer really is.” homelander continues, “how great the threat really is. so once he’s in office, we need to act. we need to invoke the 25th amendment.”

“you’re- you’re talking about a coup.” Calhoun says,

“no, I’m not. I’m talking about saving this country. before singer replaces us with a bunch of transgender illegals that will do everything—“

“save the boogeyman shit for the idiots watching vnn.” the banker you were talking to earlier says, “how do you propose to handle the justice department?”

“well, they will all.. be our appointees. obviously.” homelander stumbles through his response. victoria tries not to roll her eyes. it’d be comical if he wasn’t putting her entire career on the line right now.

“and the military’s reaction?” calhoun asks.

“or opec?” the southern from before asks, he’s probably a texas oil tycoon, “how are you gonna guarantee our oil reserves?”

“of course there’s gonna be some birth pangs-“ homelander struggles to find his footing. victoria really doesn’t want to have to intervene.

“the shock to the markets would be total.” a hedge fund manager chimes in. god this is maybe the only time victoria has ever agreed with a hedge fund guy.

“and what happens if civil servants resign? en masse? with all do respect, sir, i think you got a little hitch in your giddy-up.” calhoun and all his asshole colleagues are causing homelander to flounder. for all his force and power, he has no where near enough charisma to pull this off, “who’s handling all this?”

“great question. this is great. great questions. truly. and, um, uh, sage. sage, um,” he turns around to sage, who’s eating an entire cake with her hands. god victoria wants to curl up and die, “has the details.”

“who’s handling all this?” victoria stands, “me. i fucking am.” fuck fuck fuck. she laughs and takes a few steps forward. she has the ability to pull this off, she just needs to breathe, “look, i’m sure you’re all wondering why i’m here tonight instead of rimming out aoc, while shouting defund the police up her asshole.” she laughs, it’s not funny. she can feel your eyes on her the entire time as she puts a hand on homelander’s shoulder.

she starts walking around like it’s a fucking ted talk, “but i’m here tonight to tell you the truth. the truth is america is not a democracy. the word democracy makes people feel safe. but the the founders never trusted the masses because the truth is the masses are fucking stupid. anyone who owns a live, laugh, love mug shouldn’t have a say in how a country is run. people are a labor force. that need a kind, but firm hand. there are no nations. there apple, exxon, and berkshire hathaway. corporations are the real superpowers here. you should be able to operate without any regulation or restriction whatsoever. after all, you’re billionaires. you are smart enough to know what’s best. bottom line? you support me, and that is what you’ll fucking get.”

to her surprise, the assholes actually toast her. it shouldn’t surprise her, she’s a political animal, but it still does. they don’t want her here, she doesn’t want to be here, and yet they applaud her anyway. she smiles and toasts with them.

“what the fuck, victoria.” you hiss at her in a deserted hallway, “what the fuck was that?”

“what? it’s politics. singer wants me dead, what am i supposed to do?”

“oh i don’t know, maybe don’t become the second coming of ronald reagan? are you insane? this is gonna get you killed, or - or get you a treason charge.” you are panicked for some reason.

“you think i wanna be here? it’s fine, okay? i’m handling it. they fucking toasted me.”

“there’s a leak in the seven.” you grit out, “the cia could have what you said on record.”

her blood runs cold, “what? why didn’t you tell me?”

“because sage put homelander on a wild fucking goosecase. there’s like four people he’s killed on suspicion.”

“there was a fucking leak?” she hisses back, “and you didn’t fucking tell me?”

“like you told me about the virus?” you shoot back.

“that is not the same thing.” she defends, “i had people working on it, it was handled.”

“it could kill you. or zoe.”

“you do not get to bring zoe into this.”

“well we did. you did. like it or not she’s gonna be affected by every single move you make. you’ve built this delicate, little perfect life and now that you’re actively taking a hammer to it, you’re surprised at how fragile it is? you’re going to be the vice president. she is your daughter. you’re going to have to balance politics, ethics, and raising a 12 year old.”

“oh fuck you. i’m doing the best i can to keep myself and her safe.”

“it would sure be a hell of a lot easier if you weren’t rubbing elbows with men who want to strip your rights away.”

“don’t tell me how to do my job.”

“don’t act like you’re above it all. you’re still you. you’re still gonna have to live with yourself. what, you’re gonna ruin the economy to get ahead for maybe eight years?”

“i don’t even know how to argue with you right now. it’s fine when you work with homelander but it’s a crime when i do it?”

“that is completely different and you know that.”

“how?”

“he is my brother. we are coworkers. everyday i wake up and i watch him turn into a monster in an effort to shed himself of his humanity like he’s a fucking lizard. he is dangerous, and evil and awful and he has done some absolutely dispicable things and every time you are near him i worry he’ll try something with you.”

victoria scoffs, “i can’t do this. not here, not right now.”

“great, victoria. that’s great. i’m really glad you can communicate that.” you say sarcastically. you scoff and shake your head, “i’m fucking done. i’m done watching you self destruct and just hoping you’ll come to your senses and see how much of a shit show this is. there is not a single person here at this party who wouldn’t stab you in the back for a fucking dollar.” you shake your head, “i’m done. i’m fucking done. no amount of anything is gonna make you realize how much of a stupid idea this is.”

you scoff and victoria laughs, “you don’t mean that.”

you roll your eyes and run a hand through your hair, “don’t fucking call, alright? don’t text, don’t fucking send me a letter, don’t think about me. zoe has my number, and if you use her phone to call me i’m not gonna fucking pick up. i’m not just gonna stand by your side while you fuck the country over for maybe eight years in the oval.”

victoria is thirty seven years old and single for christmas. there’s a pile of presents she’d bought for you that sit wrapped under her bed that she’ll never get to give you. there’s a pile of your things sitting in the corner of her closest she doesn’t have the heart to get rid of. eventually, it’ll go into a box, and she’ll probably put it in storage instead of bringing it with her to dc. maybe she’ll bring it with her to dc. she will. she knows deep down she will. and even if she doesn’t, you’ve touched enough of her life for her to never be able to get her life clean of you. she’ll see you in the curling iron, or in her sweatpants, or the wine bottle she’ll be tempted to finish in one sitting, or when the ac stops working randomly, or-

zoe won’t look her in the eyes. victoria’s 99% sure you didn’t say anything to her, you were never the type of person to involve zoe when you fought, but her daughter can feel your absence anyway.

“i don’t want to be homeschooled anymore.” zoe tells her at christmas dinner. it’s a shitty christmas dinner by all accounts, nearly everything they’ve ever owned has been sorted and packed away into boxes. victoria’s wearing sameer’s old mit sweatshirt and your old flannel pajama pants she couldn’t bare packing up.

“zo, we’re not talking about school right now, eat your dinner.”

“you told me that when we moved, i could pick a school to go to.” she says with a glare, “it might not matter that much to you, but i care about you sticking to your word.”

“zoe. we’re eating dinner.”

“you can’t just make up an excuse to not have this conversation with me every time i bring it up.”

“we’re eating dinner.” she says more firmly. zoe scoffs, rolls her eyes, and leaves the kitchen island. the dinner table had been packed up and sold already.

victoria is thirty seven years old and putting everything she’s ever owned, ever been proud of, in boxes. her undergrad degree? boxed. her law degree? boxed. her signed copy of the next american frontier that stan had bought her for her 21st birthday? boxed.

“madam vice president-elect?” her secret service agent asks.

“yeah.”

“there’s someone here to see you.” they’re always so vague when announcing guests. she turns around, foolishly expecting you to be there. it’s not, of course. it’s hughie.

she nods and he’s let in.

she half wants to apologize for the mess her townhouse is right now, but she doesn’t. she rummages through the bag of truce-snacks he brought from the bodega, instead.

“fuck, i’m gonna miss new york bodegas.”

“listen, we need to talk. you can still stop all this, alright? just stop.”

“you must be pretty desperate if you’re throwing a hail mary like this. jesus-“

“five minutes, alright? just five minutes where we cut the bullshit and we talk, just you and me about how fucked all this is.”

“what it is, is politics. you know how it goes, strange bedfellows.”

“yeah, but it’s not like you’re palling around with mitt romney. you’re working with homelander. he’s gonna kill the president, that sounds fucking insane coming out of my mouth.”

victoria shrugs.

“wow. and when homelander chucks all the starlighters into internment camps, you’re just- you’re cool with that, too?”

that’s the first she’s heard of that. fuck, you might’ve been right.

“you didn’t know about the camps. why do you think that you were at tek-knight’s? that’s what his prisons are for.”

“i gotta get back to it.” she needs him to leave. she brushes past him.

“i still have all the dirt on you. what you said at tek-knight’s. everything.”

“is that a threat?”

“no. because when we drop it, then you’ll kill us all. like you said, mutually assured destruction. but it doesn’t have to be that way. and if you’re even, like, one percent of the person that i knew, then i don’t think you really want to do this. you can still step back, vic. it’s not too late.”

it is too late. she has to keep zoe safe. “thanks for coming by.”

victoria is thirty seven years old and she keeps getting visitors who aren’t you.

there’s a knock at her door in the middle of the night. selfishly, foolishly, she dares to hope it’s you. you’ve gotten over whatever you needed to get over and you’ve come back to stand by her side.

“vicky.” sameer breathes her name like it’s a prayer. he’s freezing cold and missing a leg. he doesn’t stay for long, just long enough to kiss zoe goodbye and give the both of them more abandonment issues.

zoe cries as he leaves. victoria moves to comfort her but she shrugs her off.

victoria is thirty seven years old and what should be a fairly easy day has turned into her worst nightmare. she wants to sob. she wants to scream. she wants to throw up.

homelander has outed her on live television and there is nothing she can do about it. his plan is falling apart in the meantime, and she is being dragged down with him into hell.

she stares at her phone, hoping you’ll call her. fight for her, reassure her, anything. she doesn’t even know where you are, if you even care about her anymore.

“vicky?”

“i want out.” victoria says, once hughie picks up.

“i-uh- is this a joke?” hughie asks.

“no. it’s gone too far.” victoria says, crouched into a ball on her townhouse floor.

“no- no. you’re just saying that because the assassination failed.”

“no, i’m saying because it’ll never fucking end.” she says, standing and sniffling back tears,

“homelander’s unhinged, he’s not even listening to sage anymore. if i become president i’m just going to be a puppet and if i fight back-“ she sighs, “i’ll resign, go without a fight. i just need you to get the cia off my ass and get me and zoe out.”

“of fuck all the way off, you’re like the asshole who cried wolf- the shit that you have done-“ hughie starts, but victoria cuts him off.

“oh what? like how you got sameer to cook up more of the virus to kill me? oh, yeah, and cut off his fucking leg!” she yells.

“ah. okay, so glad you two connected. so the leg thing wasn’t me, and you didn’t exactly leave us with very many options.” hughie says.

“look, point is, you hit me, i hit you back. and it never fucking ends. war games, hughie. only way to win is not to play.” she pauses, grabbing a piece of zoe’s artwork from a box, “i thought i wanted this. not for zoe.. or edgar, but for me. i.. just wanted to feel safe. not like that scared fucking kid at red river.” she laughs to try to ease the tension in her words, but it sounds watery and forced, “but o don’t feel safe and i’m really fucking scared, and i’m not getting zoe killed over this.” she wets her lip, “this is the only way.”

“vicky, I don’t know how to trust you.” hughie says.

“i’ll tell you where zoe is.” victoria says.

“is she okay?” he asks.

“yeah. but if i get her it’ll draw too much attention. and that’s how you know you can trust me because i am trusting my daughter with you.” she pauses, “please, hughie. you’re literally the only person on earth I can turn to right now.”

victoria neuman is thirty seven years old and her palms are sweating.

hughie walks her into what she assumes is the main room at the boys headquarters, her arms are reflexively around zoe, and to her surprise she isn’t brushed off.

“hello, hello.” hughie greets french, kimiko, mm and starlight. victoria’s stomach fills with dread as she spies the gun frenchie’s holding. zoe bares her teeth at them in warning.

“you got your braces off since last time we saw you.” frenchie says.

“let’s not do that.” victoria does not want the man who tried to kill her on election night anywhere near zoe, let alone talking to her.

“uh uh.” frenchie nods.

“so how’s this gonna work, neuman?” mm asks.

“simple. you help me get clear of homelander, and singer’s people at the cia, and i go quietly.” she explains. god, mm might be the only competent one out of the group

“mm. and you’ll owe us one.” mm says.

“a lot more than one.” starlight says, arms crossed next to kimiko. kimiko glares at zoe, who glares at her right back.

“i will owe you many.” victoria agrees.

“great, so, you’re going help us take down vought, and homelander.” hughie says, addressing the room, walking towards victoria. she nods in agreement.

“oi.” butcher gruff voices echoes through the warehouse as he walks into the room. victoria can feel the blood drain from her face, she notices the strange looks the others exchange. butcher looks well, he doesn’t look half dead and cancerous like normal.

“butcher?” hughie asks, turning to him.

“no deals.” butcher says. hughie glances at victoria over her shoulder. fuck.

“i can explain alright? it’s all good, know what this looks like, with everything that we’ve been through together, i’ve never once asked you to trust me, i am asking now. like the way you used to trust lenny. please, butcher.” victoria isn’t sure what half of that even means, but from employing butcher at the fbsa she’s fairly confident this won’t be going well.

but he puts a hand on hughie’s shoulder, and for a second victoria thinks whatever hughie said worked. but then butcher tightens his grip and he’s throwing hughie to the side. fuck. she moves in front of zoe without hesitation. tentacles of flesh erupt from his chest, wrapping around her eyes and neck and throwing her onto a table. fuck, fuck, fuck.

she can hear zoe start to use her powers, and then a dull, metallic thud. there’s shouting, she can hear metal clattering and she can feel the broken glass on the table she’s being pressed into. she can’t see. is this how she’s going to die? in front of her daughter, caught in the trap of a former friend she made the mistake of trusting. fuck, the last thing she said to zoe was to get off of her phone.

victoria is thirty seven years old when she wakes up to the smell of burning flesh. her ribs ache, her head is pounding, and there’s glass shards all through the back of her blazer.

she blinks, the room is fuzzy and there’s a ringing in her ear. butcher is lying across the room with a massive, steaming hole through his chest.

“how many fingers am i holding, zo?” that gets her attention. she sits up fully and sees you, crouched down in front of zoe, moving your fingers from side to side as if checking her for a concussion.

“two?” zoe looks a bit battered, victoria isn’t entirely sure what happened or why you’re here, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved to see you.

“eh, close enough.” you shrug and carefully lean in to check zoe’s face for other signs of injury. victoria coughs, it sounds wheezy and hollow. you and zoe both look over immediately.

zoe scrambles to get up, “nonono, don’t get up too fast.” you fuss over her like you were never gone, carefully and slowly helping her up to her feet.

“mom! mom, are you okay?” zoe rushes over to her and victoria can finally breathe. she hugs victoria with a gusto that makes her wheeze.

“easy, easy.” you carefully poke and prod at victoria for injuries.

“ow, ow, what are you doing? why are you even here?” victoria swats your hands away.

“i called her.” zoe shrugs, “she told me to call her if i ever needed her, so…”

“so, i’m here.” you finish, glancing victoria up and down still for injuries.

“so i when i got outed on national television, that wasn’t enough to get you to check up on me? it took my twelve year old calling you in a panic for you to care?”

“you’re a grown woman, victoria. i’m sorry homelander outed you, but you and i both knew for months he wanted you to come out as a supe. it was naive to think he wouldn’t out you the second the opportunity presented itself.”

“but involving zoe is where you draw the line?”

“it’s where you drew the line too, if i’m interpreting this whole striking a deal with a cia black ops group situation correctly.”

“can you guys save the divorce talk for the lawyers? i want to go home.” zoe butts in with a groan.

“what’s the plan?” you ask victoria.

“me? how the fuck would i know? i was trying to get the hell out of dodge when butcher tried to murder me in broad fucking daylight.” she gestures to butcher’s corpse across the warehouse.

“well it’s not like i have a plan, either, victoria. it’s your career on the line here. i have no skin in the game.” you snap back.

victoria scoffs, “i don’t fucking know, okay? i’ve been in flight or fight all day, i’m not exactly in the best headspace to be making life-altering decisions. i just want zoe to be safe.”

“well she’s not gonna be safe ‘til homelander’s dead.” you say flatly. and fuck, you’re right.

victoria is thirty seven years old on inauguration day. the media makes a big a fuss as they can about the identity politics of it all, that, and the fact that she and singer were publicly denouncing each other a matter of weeks ago.

but the ceremony goes off without a hitch, for once she can actually breathe and not have to worry about the cia trying to kill her or homelander breathing down her neck.

you escort her into the inaugural ball, whispering teasing jabs about different attendees. victoria has to press her lips together so that she doesn’t burst out laughing as you point out how prominent singer’s bald spot has become.

you trip once during one of the dances and victoria fuses over you like you’ve broken something.

“i’m fine, okay? i literally killed homelander, i’m tough. i can handle a tiny little stumble that no one noticed.”

“i think at least five photographers got a photo of it.”

“goddammit. i can never show my face in public again.” you shake your head, “guess i’ll just live at your place like some sheltered victorian recluse.”

victoria rolls her eyes, “yeah, i’ll pass on that one, i need you for all of the photo ops we’re gonna be doing.”

you shake your head, “i can’t believe you’re using me as a pr prop.”

“whatever, you’re doing the dance wrong.”

“uh, am not.”

“am too.”

“am not.”

“sorry, which one of us is an actual trained dancer? me, or you?”

“you. but i’m always right, so.” you shrug, “obviously you’re in the wrong.”

victoria scoffs, “i’m leading the next dance, you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“uhm, i’m dancing with a pretty woman. i don’t need to know anything more than that.”