Chapter Text
Concealed under the table in her lap, the files feel like a loaded gun. Her palms are slick with sweat. She’s wiped them on Starlight’s skirt a dozen times now. A small, damp patch has formed at the hem, but Annie blots her palms on the sporty fabric again, anyway.
Faintly, beyond the double-paned windows of the conference room, she can hear the voices of the protesters that have gathered in anticipation for Victoria’s address. Below, on The Tower steps, homemade signs bob above the crowd like jagged teeth. Periodically, Homelander twitches like he’s heard someone shout something he doesn’t like, and grumbles about it under his breath. She tries to tune it out, to narrow her focus into just one point, like a fighter about to enter the ring. The noise dulls, warbled, like it’s traveling through water.
But it’s impossible to get the image out of her mind: of Victoria’s mask finally slipping, another friend’s face transforming into an enemy before her eyes.
As betrayed as she feels, Annie can only imagine how it’s been for Hughie.
Hughie. A hollow, sickly feeling fills her gut.
Will she even recognize him when they see each other again? When he looks at her like some damsel in distress, with that pitying shine in his eyes, it’s bad enough — but as a villain? There's no emotional armor she can build to stop that from tearing her in two. Even if it's temporary.
And there’s always the possibility that it won’t be. That protecting Homelander, no matter how practical on the surface, is unforgivable.
Suddenly, Homelander perks up.
Two polite taps at the door.
Annie pulls herself from her thoughts. Her grip on the paper tightens.
Homelander leans in and whispers in her ear, his breath ghosting over her neck, “Remember what I said. Keep your eyes forward. Don’t react. Don’t let her rile you up. She knows she won’t get anywhere with me, but she’ll try to get to you. You’re her mark. Give her nothing until I have her in position, okay? Then you can have your moment.”
She forces her expression flat and unreadable. "Okay."
"And, listen, I might say some things that you don't agree with, but I'm just— I'm negotiating. I will get you exactly what you want, but it might not sound how you want it to."
"I know. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t prepared for that."
"Okay. But— Just. Look.” He rubs the back of his neck. “If I—"
She glances back. "Don't you have to answer the door?"
"No. I'm making her sweat. It establishes dominance."
"... She definitely knows that's what you're doing."
"This is what I mean. Don't question me. Don't undermine me. Roll with it. Trust the process. You were terrified of me for a reason. There's a method to it."
"I was terrified of you because—"
"Yes, yes, I know. But also because I understand people. I know what makes them tick.”
Annie squeezes her eyes shut for a second. Jesus Christ. They are so fucked. "Just get it done. I won’t be mad. Do your thing."
Homelander gives her hand a squeeze. “Good girl.” He projects his voice. “Come in.”
Victoria steps inside wearing a tailored navy pantsuit and a winning smile. Immediately, her gaze zeroes in on her, just as he said. Annie feels like an ant under a magnifying glass, sizzling. In the same second Victoria bursts her skull, Homelander could laser her in two. There isn’t any threat of her brain matter staining the wood-panneled walls — at least not unless Victoria would rather be killed than betray Edgar, and wants to take her down with her. Which, now that Annie thinks about it, isn’t impossible. Cornered animals can be unpredictable.
Her pulse thu-thumps against her breastbone. Well. There’s no going back now. She trains her eyes ahead on the whiteboard across the room, willing her blood pressure back into a normal range as best she can.
Homelander returns Victoria’s smile even bigger and faker. “Please. Sit.” He gestures to the pitcher atop the table sitting on a tray along with a few small cups. “Help yourself."
After pausing like she’s waiting for Annie to say something, Victoria goes and grabs a glass. Her movements are deliberate and unhurried. “Thank you. Homelander.”
As she bends to pick up the pitcher and her dark curls brush the wood, her musky, rich perfume wafts Annie’s way. Once, she complimented her on it. It smelled so expensive and sophisticated to her, like how a woman who gets things done ought to smell.
Now, it makes her feel sick. She’s never noticed the note of iron before, like blood masked by a bouquet of roses.
How much else did she miss? How many clues were there if she’d just cared enough to look twice?
Victoria claims the seat across from her. “Oh. Congrats, by the way. You two look great together. Very … blonde." She raises her glass to her lips like she might drink, then lowers it. She says, like it’s an afterthought, as though she's just making idle smalltalk, "Though, I am a little surprised, Annie. I thought you and Hughie were so cute together. But I guess you never know what goes on behind closed doors, hm?”
Annie grits her teeth, breathing shallowly.
Homelander clears his throat. He asks, voice tight, “Can we cut to the chase, Vic?”
“Sure.” She smiles. “We're all very busy people, aren't we?”
“Mmm. I have to respect your work ethic, I'll give you that. You get it from your daddy? I’m-I'm sorry.” He holds his hands up. “Forgive me. Do you call him dad, or does he make you call him ‘Mr. Edgar’?”
Victoria runs her tongue over her scarlet red lips. From one second to the next, her demeanor turns colder, the veneer of pleasantries dissolving. The muscles in her face holding her expression in place go slack. A mirror of Edgar’s cool, blank composure.
Goosebumps rise on Annie’s arms. Here it is. Nadia. Or maybe not Nadia. Not-Nadia. Not-Neuman. Whatever it is that lives below the surface, that slithers beneath her skin when she’s alone.
“Is that how you wish to start this conversation?” Victoria asks.
“‘Course not. Where are my manners?” He claps. Either Homelander doesn’t notice the shift, or he simply doesn’t care. “Where would you prefer we start? Shall we go back to the beginning, or fast forward to the time you killed a CIA director? I have to say, what a resume. I know I'd hire you.”
“Who sniffed me out?” She tilts her head at Annie. “Was it Hughie? I was wondering what got into him. Then again, with that crew, who knows.”
The sudden urge to lurch across the table and grab her and shake her shoots through Annie like a lightning bolt. To beat her fists against Victoria’s face until she can’t do that infuriating, intellectually superior smirk, like she knows something they’re too stupid to realize. Instead, Annie grips her knees tightly, digging her fingernails into the flesh there, refusing to be provoked.
Victoria’s eyes flick down, as if she can see through the table.
Annie glances down at the beads of blood collecting under her fingernails. She swallows hard.
Victoria’s attention slides back to Homelander. “So. Are you going to show me it, or do I have to use my imagination?”
"Woah. Hey. I'm taken." He chuckles. "Kidding, kidding. Starlight, honey?”
Annie wipes her fingers on her skirt, praying no crimson has transferred to the papers, and places the folder on the table with a hefty thunk.
A spark of alarm flashes in Victoria’s gaze — perhaps at the sheer size of it — but her composure doesn’t slip. She extends a hand, the slightest tremor in her fingers.
Annie slides it across the table. As Victoria’s hand closes around it, she doesn’t let go. “Don’t get any ideas,” Annie says. “We made copies.”
They actually haven’t gotten the chance to, but she doubts Neuman can sense deception as accurately as Homelander, even with her read on the state of someone’s blood pressure, or whatever it is that she can sense. And even then, Homelander misreads signals so easily. Whatever bias he feels colors his conclusion, that much she's learned.
As Victoria flicks through the pages, her expression darkens. Not with rage like Annie expected, but more of a vague discomfort. It reminds her of how Homelander looks whenever he brings anything up from his childhood too much for her liking.
She sets the files down, oddly delicate about it. Victoria’s lips tremble. She blinks rapidly.
The briefest reflex to comfort her like she would’ve just last week flares in Annie’s heart. The contents of the files — what few she could stomach reading — is brutal. Corporal punishment. Solitary. Endless interviews and re-interviews about whether she’d killed her parents on purpose. Every time she’d insisted that she didn’t know it’d happen, that she’d only lost her temper and imagined it, then suddenly there was blood everywhere and her parents sat headless in front of the TV in the family room, the resident psychiatrist simply wrote: Inconclusive; requires further review. And then, a month later, like clockwork, they’d make Nadia recount every detail again.
But she isn’t just a traumatized little orphan stuck in a hell hole like Red River. That little girl became a cold blooded killer. A fake, a crooked politician. The shovel Edgar is trying to bury them with.
Annie crosses her arms.
Whatever vulnerability was there, real or imagined, disappears. Victoria asks, “And this is where you demand I step down or else you’ll leak everything, I presume?”
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. You had a good run. But nobody would blame you for needing to take some time for yourself.” Homelander frowns in false sympathy. “All this recent media attention has been exhausting, I’m sure. The limelight just isn’t for everyone.”
She nods her head slowly as if she’s considering it. Then: “Stan wants me to throw the book at you this afternoon. He’s shaking hands and making arrangements as we speak.”
His fingers twitch on the armrests. “Yeah, you’ve said that already.”
“Aren’t you going to ask why?”
Annie finally snaps. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re not getting out of this. We're not doing a trade. Tell all those reporters you quit. Or. Else.”
Homelander stiffens beside her. He laughs a little too forcefully. “Who would’ve thought I’d be playing good cop today, huh? Talk about role reversal,” he says pointedly, shooting Annie a look.
Annie digs her top teeth into her bottom lip, cheeks hot.
Victoria takes a long sip of her water. When she sets it down, the blood-red imprint of her lipstick stains the rim. “For the sake of the argument, let’s walk through how this plays out. I resign. Cool. You win. But whoever steps up to run the FBSA will just be bribed by Vought, too. Or it’s dissolved, and you’re right back at square one.”
“So?” Annie scoffs. “The FBSA isn’t even real.”
Victoria tsks. “There’s that black and white thinking again. The FBSA isn't a lie. It’s just a … not completely true. There are limits Stan imposes on what I can do, but I’ve done a lot. We’ve done a lot."
Homelander's eyes roll. "Congrats."
Hot, angry tears prick in the corners of her eyes. “There is no ‘we’. You fucking tricked me.”
“Oh, you tricked yourself. I’ve never lied about anything but my name—”
“Do you even hear yourself speak?”
“What about everyone else, huh? Is what I've done really worse than being in Big Oil or Big Tech's pocket?”
A sharp, incredulous laugh bursts out of Annie. “Oh my God. You actually think your career is real?”
Victoria squares her jaw. “People voted for me, didn’t they? I let Stan tell me which supes are too high profile to arrest. That’s it. I do him the occasional favor. Otherwise, I am squeaky clean. I am the least corrupt politician you’ll find. I don’t take PAC money, I don’t go on shopping sprees with tax payer dollars, I don’t fly private—”
“You’ve killed people!”
"Like you haven't."
Homelander clears his throat loudly. “Where were we?”
Annie and Victoria freeze, mouths still open, ready to fire another insult across the table.
Slowly, giving ample time for their embarrassment to soak in and for each of them to collect themselves, Homelander’s glare fades. “Oh,” he says. “Right. So, you were doing your gambit, Vic. We can skip that, I think. I’m not really impressed. I don’t mean to be a heckler, I just kinda saw it coming. Look, if you guys lock up Starlight, I’ll kill everyone in a ten mile radius of whatever facility you jam her into. And I don’t think anyone wants that. I mean, men, women, and children? Woof.”
Annie slouches in her seat, resisting an eye roll, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Not his most creative threat.
Victoria stares back at him evenly, though her cheeks are still flushed. She fixes the cuff of her blazer. “You’re wrong.”
“If you only care about one child, then Zoe gets it. Capiche?” He flicks a hand. “Don’t let the door hit you.”
“You’re wrong,” Victoria repeats. “Stan isn’t lining up transport for Starlight. He’s lining it up for you. He has somewhere that he thinks can hold you.”
Annie’s head snaps up.
Homelander’s face screws up in confusion. “Bullshit. I—” He laughs out a crude bark. “Seriously? That’s your trump card? What’s he doing, propping up a box with cheese under it to lure me into his trap?”
“ Something’s opened up. And it’s not just any ice box,” Victoria explains. “It was built to hold the strongest supe. Before you graced us all with your existence, that is.”
Oh no.
Not here.
Not like this.
Homelander chokes. "That's— No, that's—"
"Mhm. The one and only," Neuman says, voice silky. “William Butcher freed him.”
Oh fuck.
Annie tries to focus on reacting however she should be reacting. Which— Well. There isn’t a prescribed reaction to information like this, is there? She glances at Homelander through the corner of her eye, too scared to look at him head-on and draw attention to herself. He appears to be in such a state of shock — lips parted, eyes glazed over — that she doesn’t think he’s thinking about her at all.
“He’s alive? They-they’ve been keeping him prisoner?” Homelander croaks. “How?"
Victoria shrugs as if it’s the most mundane piece of information in the world. “His team. Payback. They turned against him. Stan set it up, but they did the heavy lifting."
“No. No. Noir would’ve told me something like that.” Homelander’s chest rises and falls rapidly, his lashes fluttering.
Think, think. So. Okay, on the bright side, at least she doesn’t need to be the one to tell him, right? Expecting Neuman not to know was shortsighted. Honestly, Annie hadn’t even considered the possibility. But maybe she can spin this in her favor. The risk of losing his trust is gone. That’s huge. And does Homelander really need to know that she found out first? She’ll tell him eventually, once this is all behind them, but for now? It’ll just upset him. Tonight, instead of fighting, they can focus on the mission. They can re-group with Maeve. They can comb through Vought’s old records on Soldier Boy to get an idea of where he might hide. Get a good night’s rest before facing whatever fresh hell tomorrow brings.
Annie reaches out to Homelander, and rubs up and down his arm in a way she hopes feels supportive. She murmurs, angling herself away from Victoria, "Are you okay?"
He makes a strange sound low in his throat, something close to a whine or maybe even a whimper. There’s a helplessness in his eyes she’s never seen before — only caught flashes of — wide and child-like. A naked fear.
Annie feels a fierce, overwhelming protective instinct, the urge to grab him by the hand and lead him somewhere safe. But nowhere is safe. Not when Stan Edgar wants to lock him away forever, just as he tried to do to Soldier Boy. Only unlike Soldier Boy, Homelander will actually die of old age eventually. It sounds impossible — preposterous, even — that anywhere could even hold him, but the Russians managed to keep Soldier Boy buried alive for decades. With a few tweaks, whatever they’ve built can contain Homelander, too. For long enough.
And if Stan’s not concerned with capturing Soldier Boy at all apparently, then clearly, he has his ways of subduing someone of Homelander’s strength.
But for Stan to actually hand him over — to package Homelander up and dump him somewhere deep underground in Siberia where nobody will ever have to look at him again like a vat of radioactive waste — seems unthinkable. It’s just not something you do to a person. But Stan doesn’t view him as a person. He views Homelander as a failed product.
A failed product that at least has an expiry date. Unlike the last one.
Annie turns to Victoria. Her voice shakes. “You’re wrong, too. Hughie didn’t give us these documents. We never would've gotten our hands on them if Stan hadn't been collecting them in case you went against his orders.”
Victoria flinches almost imperceptibly. "He's a man who likes a little leverage.” Her mouth tightens. “What can I say?"
“Do you honestly think Stan gives a shit about you? You’re just an asset. You’re the same to him as any of us are. Stan was going promising future assassin shopping, he wasn’t there out of the good of his heart. He looked at a kid who had nothing and saw a weapon. That’s it. He would’ve left you there to rot, and picked another kid, and never thought about you again.”
For an instant, Victoria resembles that photo of herself as a child, of Nadia with those wide, haunted eyes. She laces her fingers together atop the table. Her expression hardens once more. “I don’t expect you to understand. Don’t forget that I’ve had to sit through your incessant complaining about how hard you had it over brunch.” She does a mocking pout. “Nobody understood you. The only supe in your High School. And you were so busy with dance classes and singing lessons. Why doesn’t anyone think about the naturally blonde, size two pageant queens?” Victoria scoffs. “It made me want to blow my own brains out sitting there and nodding sagely, saying ‘Oh God, I can’t imagine.’”
Annie sucks in her cheeks. “When you’re not useful anymore, he’ll throw you away, too.”
Homelander twitches beside her. Victoria looks away and bites her lip, the red stain of her lips transferring to her white teeth.
“No matter what we do,” she continues, “no matter how this goes, he’ll consider you compromised. Because I won’t let you infiltrate the presidency. I don’t care what I have to do. You’re finished. And isn’t that a really fucking high bar, anyway? I mean, sure, you want it too, but to need to become fucking president of the United States to get his approval? Honestly, I feel bad for you. That’s really fucking sad.”
Victoria’s throat bobs. Her hold on the glass tightens enough that hairline cracks spread through it.
Outside, through the thick windows, the muffled roar of the protesters swells and ebbs like a distant sea.
A sudden crazed, breathless laugh springs out of Homelander. Between laugh-sobs, almost hiccups, he says, “Jesus. Fuck. Russia! This whole time. Russia. Fuck.”
They both stare at him, stunned, unsure how to react.
He wipes a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, and smooths the front of his suit. “Sorry. Sorry. Don’t mind me, ladies.”
Victoria opens her mouth to speak.
Homelander doubles over in another fit of laughter. A sheen of sweat clings to his forehead. He drags a hand over his face, still grinning in flashes that vanish as fast as they appear. “It’s just you spend your whole life being compared to someone — trying to live up to them — and apparently Stan hated him so much he put him in storage. The original. The blueprint! Into the freezer you go.”
Annie’s stomach twists.
Victoria studies him. “... You think that’s funny?”
“No, no, Vic, I get it now.” He smiles at her with terrifying intensity. “Stan’s scared.” Homelander abruptly rises from his chair. “He knows I’m better than him. Just like Soldier Boy was. I’m winning. And you” — he points at Victoria — “are on a sinking ship. What’s that in the sky? Is it a bird? A plane? No. It’s the comet coming for the dinosaurs. And this? This is his last roar.”
“Homelander, maybe you should sit,” Annie says.
He puts both his hands on the table, gloved fingers spreading. “Vicky, how much does your job really matter to you?”
Annie looks over at him, eyes wide. He just wants to make Victoria beg, right? But then she sees the look in his eyes, the brightness, the conviction.
He means it. He’s actually willing to betray Stan Edgar.
The realization leaves her unsteady, like she’s missed a step in the dark.
A thousand times, she’s fantasized about exposing him, but it’s always stopped there. Fantasies. Dragging Edgar into the light and telling everyone he’s the biggest monster in the building, that he’s the architect of all of Vought’s evil, was as good as suicide. And not just because he’d retaliate somehow. Some days it felt like the only thing between her and an untimely death by Homelander’s hand was the disapproving crease between Stan’s brows. So she’d accepted him as a necessary evil — until Homelander was out of the picture, that was.
Even if now she knows that's not necessarily true, something still holds her back. A sense of trepidation, of murky waters.
Because for better or worse, Stan Edgar is the one person she’s never thought Homelander would have the courage to truly defy. There's a warped safety in that, a final safeguard.
Submission to Stan has seemed hard-wired into him. For all she knows, it is. Literally. Who knows what kind of brainwashing they did to him in the lab? She’s been too afraid to even broach the subject with Homelander. While he resents Stan immensely, there’s been no real reason for him to make a move against him. Edgar’s threats to fire him have always been talk, his desire to dispose of Homelander, impotent.
Until now.
Across the table, Victoria nods once, cautiously.
“I wanna hear you say it.”
Twitches and spasms run through Victoria’s face. “Anything.”
“Good. Then I do have someone I want you to offer up to the DOJ. We have the perfect someone,” he says.
Annie swallows, forcing calm. Of course, turning Stan’s own gun on him is the smart thing to do. But this isn’t what she came here for. This was supposed to be clean. Sparing Neuman is messy. They won’t get another opportunity to blindside Stan, however. He might continue sabotaging them. And without Stan, Nueman is weaker. She might not even be able to win without his money backing the campaign. But anything could happen. The cogs in Annie’s mind turn.
After a long moment, Victoria asks, “Have you ever heard that thing about how to get power, you need to give a little?”
Homelander cocks his head. “Name your price.”
“I want a vial of Compound V. As a show of good will.”
Annie's spine goes rigid in her seat. “What do you want Compound V for?”
Victoria’s jaw flexes. “It’s not for me.” She looks away. “It’s for my daughter.”
Revulsion twists in her gut. “No. No way. No way in hell. And we don’t have any. So. Pick something else.” Her voice goes high. “Or maybe just do it so you don’t get exposed. I mean, we’re blackmailing you. You don’t get to make the rules.”
“Just one?” Homelander rumbles out.
“One,” says Victoria. “And we have a deal.”
“I may have a stash,” he says.
A horrible pressure builds behind Annie's ribs.
“Well, Vic. Nobody can say you don’t drive a hard bargain.” He extends his hand across the table. “Care to shake on it?”
Trembling, Victoria lifts her hand.
Homelander smiles. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He yanks Victoria’s hand his way, causing her to topple over the table, and need to regain her balance. “But don’t fuck with me. You get it after.” He drops her hand.
Victoria nods, stands shakily, and smooths the front of her blazer. “Right then. Don’t forget to tune in. Channel 13.”
Annie speaks up. “This doesn’t mean you’re scot-free. This isn’t over.”
She pauses at the door, looking back. “It’s never over.” An edge of warning creeps into her tone, “There isn’t one thread that you can pull and it all unravels, Annie. What you want, it takes time. Dedication. Policy.”
Before Annie can respond, she steps out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Annie’s breath whistles in her nose. She realizes her fists are clenched at her sides, and forces them to release. “What are we going to do if she knows you’re bluffing?”
“Christ, Starlight,” he sputters. “For the thousandth time, I don’t actually want to—“
“I mean about the V. You don’t have any, do you?”
“Oh. Who do you think I am? Of course I do.”
Great. Awesome. Just perfect. She screams internally, then folds her arms over her chest, “In that case, I need one too. For Kimiko.”
His forehead creases. “I’m not dolling out power-ups to people plotting my downfall.”
“Homelander—“
He holds up a hand. “It’s mine. It’s my property. Final.”
“You literally stole it!”
“And finders keepers,” he says. “You should've thought of that yourself if you wanted some for a rainy day. Neuman gets a vial after she delivers.”
“Or we don’t give her it. She does it. We bail.”
“Lying, Annie?” He tuts with his tongue. “Naughty.”
“She gets to keep her job. For now. That part’s not a lie. I'm not— That's the compromise I'm willing to make. We can't enable her to drug her kid.”
"... Why not? It's her kid."
"You know the answer to that."
He heaves a tense sigh. "Look. She wants her kid to be safe. Can you blame her? She double crosses Stan, and there's a target on her family's back."
"Zoe isn't a baby. Anything could happen."
"And that's a risk Vicky is assuming. Not us."
"Veto," she grits.
His brows shoot up. "Veto? Veto right back at you."
"You can't—"
"I can. That’s what just happened. That's what we agreed to."
"This isn't just a social media post. This is a child's life."
“Precisely. It is about a child's life.” His jaw flexes. "The only peace of mind I have as a father is that wherever Ryan is, he's safe. He'll always be safe. I gave him the best part of me. Nobody can take that away. Otherwise, I'd be losing my mind.”
“He was born that way, though.”
“I wouldn't have hesitated to inject him if he wasn’t. I'd have done it in a heartbeat. Because being my kid, he needs to be able to defend himself. Look at the world we live in. I don't regret it. And I sure as hell won't apologize for it. Am I a monster for thinking that? Am I just like your mother?"
"This isn't about my mom. Don't bring her into this."
"Then don't bring your baggage into this," he fires back. He shakes his head like he’s trying to stay patient. "I've respected how you feel, haven't I? I've apologized. Seen it your way. Donna didn't have the right intentions. She wanted to control you. All humans do. This is different. This isn't for trophies and karate tournaments. It's survival. It’s so Zoe can’t be controlled." His voice pitches up. "And let's not forget that you're the one who's been pushing for me to have more compassion. Well. I have it. Okay? I think this is what's best for that kid. Seriously. I do. Vic's a supe. She’ll understand what she is. She's sure as hell not going to walk out on Zoe even if it's weird. That’s half the problem with people like us anyway — humans raising us like we’re something they can comprehend. And the kid's no better off being left vulnerable."
She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. Spots bloom. She hates that she can't argue with his logic, however morally ugly. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Zoe would be safer. Maybe Neuman really is trying to protect her. "We need a tie breaker, then."
"... Rock, paper, scissors?"
Her hands drop. "You're joking."
"Don't act like it's a juvenile solution. This isn't something we can hug out."
She almost suggests calling Maeve for her opinion, but decides against it. Maeve never picks up her phone. Annie lets out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” He points between them, and readies his hands. His eyes are too bright, a little wet. “Come on. One round.”
"Homelander—" She exhales sharply through her nose. "Best two out of three."
His grin widens. “Knew you’d see reason.”
They raise their fists. Annie throws a halfhearted scissors. Homelander throws rock.
He bumps her fingers with his fist and gasps out, "Yes!"
"Don't celebrate. This isn't a fun game. This is serious."
"That's what losers say," he murmurs, still smirking.
They go again. He throws rock again. She throws paper.
His triumphant expression collapses. Homelander rolls his shoulders once, oddly serious about it. “Ready?” He wiggles his fingers impatiently.
The knot in her stomach contracts. "One, two, three..."
Rock. Paper.
Her heart drops.
Homelander pumps his fist. "Read it and weep. Neuman gets the V."
Part of her wants to argue. To refuse. To say no, absolutely not, this is insane, we are not honoring this, because obviously this should not count. You can't just play a child's game to decide a child's fate.
And yet they just have.
Her throat feels too tight. "Fine."
“Good afternoon, thank you all for being here. I am Congresswoman Victoria Neuman, the director of the Bureau for Superhuman Affairs.”
“What’s going on?” Homelander strolls into the meeting room, his hands laced behind his back. The tension in his posture betrays that he does, in fact, know exactly what’s going on. She wonders if he pretends to be unaware when he enters a room to maintain the illusion of normalcy for everyone else.
Regardless, everyone jumps. They're all anxiously huddled around the TVs.
“Ah. Shit,” he mutters. He settles beside her.
“Where were you?” Annie whispers. "You almost missed it."
“Hm? Oh. Coordinating a few things.” He leans in to say, “FBI is coming tomorrow morning. Vic gave us a head up. Figured you’d rather not chit chat with her.”
With a shaky inhale, she trains her attention back on the big monitor.
“For the last year the bureau has been working under one guiding principle: the most powerful among us are not above the law. Including the most powerful man at the company. Homelander …” Her grip on the podium tightens as she looks down at her script, knuckles going white. For a split second, she almost looks like she’s about to vomit.
Annie’s breath freezes in her lungs. This is it. The moment they get the company, or lose it all. She exchanges an nervous glance with Homelander, who lifts his chin and trains his gaze on the screen, a mask of stoicism on his face. Whether he’s playing confident, or if he’s really that assured Neuman will follow through, she can’t tell.
“… and Starlight have bravely come forward as whistleblowers and provided evidence of crimes committed within Vought by CEO Stan Edgar.”
The press gasps.
Victoria looks straight into the camera. “And I would like to say to them, personally: thank you.”
A sudden dizziness washes over Annie.
Cameras snap and flash on screen.
“In the coming days, the FBSA will be investigating charges of perjury, witness tampering, and obstruction of justice against Mr. Edgar. Sources inside Vought describe him as a malignant presence within the company who has created a culture of intimidation and secrecy throughout his decades long tenure. To think that he has been ignorant to every shady dealing within the company he shepherds is naive and outright false. There is reason to believe that Mr. Edgar is responsible for the destruction of security footage surrounding Monday’s attack, as well, although further investigation is required at this time. The FBSA will be taking a closer look at the case, in a joint task force with The Seven. I will put it simply: Vought International must be held to the highest ethical and legal standards. The people are...”
She can barely believe her eyes as she watches a bewildered Stan Edgar be escorted off-frame by police. A laugh bubbles up through her throat, but she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep it in. They’ve done it. Really done it.
The rest of the team, however, do not seem to be sharing her relief. A-Train looks like he wants to bolt. Noir is statue-still. Alex’s face is pale, drained of color. And Maeve— Oh, Maeve looks like she’s about to start swinging.
A sobering jolt alarm shoots through her system. “Maeve, are you—“
She whips around in Homelander’s direction, fists balled. “What did you do?”
Homelander gives a nonchalant shrug, though every inch of him is glowing with satisfaction. “Something we should’ve done a long time ago. This is a superhero company. It belongs to us. Not him. We set things straight, that’s all.”
She spins and all but growls, “Starlight,” low and warning.
“It was the best call for everyone,” she says weakly.
As if calculating just how much respect she’s lost for her, Maeve’s eyes rove up and down her figure with pure disgust. She turns on her heel, and storms out.
No one moves a muscle.
Somewhere down the hall, there’s a loud crash.
Annie winces. Maybe she should’ve seen that coming.
“Ooookay,” Homelander drawls after a moment. “Big feelings in the room.”
“I’m going to see if Maeve is alright,” she says, moving to follow her.
“One second, Starlight. I have an announcement I’d like to make.”
Annie bites her bottom lip. She should check up on Maeve. But it’s intimidating, honestly, and her thoughts feel so scattered. Chasing after an angry Maeve is like chasing a tornado. Maybe giving her a moment of privacy to let her collect herself would be wise.