Chapter Text
Butcher didn't know what to do with himself once it was all over. Hell he hadn't even thought he'd survive, in fact he'd hoped not to, yet here he was. Homelander was in the ground and he was standing at the harbor, staring out over the murky water and wondering what was next. Of all the scenarios that crossed his mind, the one that came in the form of a phone call from a dead woman wasn't one of them.
His phone vibrated against his chest, snug in the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt, and he hesitated before answering the unknown number.
"Butcher."
"Hi."
The air snapped with a sudden quiet, and he nearly dropped his phone as he leaned back against the railing in shock, "Maeve?"
"Yeah, I guess." Her voice was soft, almost laughing on the other end, "Congrats, by the way. I didn't think you'd make it out alive."
"You an' me both." Butcher chuckled humorlessly, "How come you ain't dead?"
"Long story."
"Now I know ya seen the news; I got all the time in the world."
She didn't laugh, but gave a "hmph" of acknowledgment and sighed, "Can we talk about it?"
He bristled slightly, unused to her straightforward attitude. "What's there to say?"
Maeve was quiet on the other end, and he almost thought the call might've dropped before he heard her deep sigh, "Look. I don't have powers anymore. I need some help."
"Right." He paused, considering saying no. He didn't really owe her anything, but as he thought back to the last time he saw her, locking eyes with her as he silently pleaded for Ryan's life to mean more to her than Homelander’s death, he realized that it was a debt to repay. "Drop me an address, yeah? I'll come through."
Two weeks later he pulled up at a tiny house in McGregor, Texas. He sat quietly in his Camaro, the rumble of the engine out of place on the otherwise quiet street. The little swing on the porch looked like it had been built out of hope rather than intention, and he sighed as he took in the thin chimney, the barely-there porch, everything so little for supposedly housing what was once the strongest woman in the world. He cut the engine and climbed out of the car, all but gagging on the late August heat as he crunched up the gravel, narrowly avoiding the sad excuse for foliage that lined the walkway to the rickety porch. After ringing the doorbell he tugged at his shirt, the polyester already sticking to his sweat-slicked skin.
Butcher had no real expectations, nor did he really know why he felt compelled to meet up with her other than the itch to ‘go’. Ryan was staying with Rachel, Becca's sister, and seemed happy enough. The boys had scattered, finally able to live their lives, and then there was him. He was running out of reasons to keep moving.
Maeve opened the door with a forced, tired smile, her bad eye lazily closed while the other sparkled, looking nearly the same as she had the year prior. "You made it."
"Said I would. Why the fuck ya all the way out here in bumfuck Texas?"
"Elena's idea. Thought it would feel like bumfuck Fresno." Maeve answered sharply as he lumbered past her and took a look around at the sparse home. It was almost sterilized. There was a dusty TV, a couch, and a coffee table, but other than that and a bookshelf, it was bare. No photos, no art, nothing that would suggest a home.
She broke his train of thought as she went to the kitchen, "You want a drink? Iced tea, coke?"
"Nah, love. Just come to hear ya out."
"Yeah." Maeve rolled her eyes and motioned him to the couch, annoyed as he ignored her to continue looking around.
Butcher picked up a book sitting face down on the kitchen island, clearly holding the page that Maeve had been reading before he arrived, and turned it over in his hands. Treasure Island. He smirked and wagged the book at her, "You a big reader then?"
She gave him an annoyed stare and he held up his hands in false surrender before closing the book and gently sliding it back on the counter. Maeve sighed at her lost page and Butcher took to the couch, sitting almost precariously at the furthest end and bristling at the off feeling surrounding him. "How long you been here?"
"Little over a year." She tossed a blanket off to the side so she could sit at the other end, turning to face him. They both sighed deeply as they sat in silence, elbows resting on their spread knees. Maeve licked at her lips before clearing her throat, "So... I survived."
"Yeah, I got eyes."
She laughed and wiped at her face, "Lucky you."
He quickly looked at her with a raised eyebrow before giving her a tiny, embarrassed smirk, "Ah ya got me there."
Maeve didn't quite smile, but she licked at her lips as Butcher stared at her quizzically, and she ran her hand through her hair to steady her nerves, "Soldier Boy took most of my powers. I still... I seem to heal quick, cuts and bruises you know. And I don't really get sick, but I'm not what I was. I'm not invincible."
"Bloody hell. He took your power and ya still survived that fall?"
"Dumb luck probably."
"Sounds like it."
Maeve scoffed and looked away from him, "I moved out here with Elena, to start over. To just be Maggie."
He raised an eyebrow at this, and a thick quiet set in as Butcher realized something wasn't right. The house didn't have any indication that a happy couple lived there. A year in and nothing to show for it, save a few misplaced books littering the tables. Maggie noticed him looking around and muttered, "She's not here."
"Why not?"
"She left me." Maggie paused and looked away, bringing her fingers to her mouth to chew at her nails. "Three months ago."
"Ah." He sighed, shaking his head, "Seems like her thing."
"Yeah." She muttered, and as Butcher stared at her she turned to him with tears in her eye, "I wasn't... I swear to God I didn't think you were going to survive. I- I still didn't... I didn't know if I should call you-"
"Fuckin’ hell, Maeve, you doing me head in with the nerves and the like. Just tell me what the fuckin trouble is."
Her face hardened quickly and she stood up to walk to the adjoining room, looking at him over her shoulder, "You're... You won't like this."
Butcher sighed at the dramatics but followed her anyway, stopping short in the hallway. Maggie was at the door, hand on the doorknob and unmoving other than the deep, shuddering breaths that she was taking. He furrowed his brows and stood next to her, quietly waiting until she looked up and held his gaze. He heard her gulp, causing his skin to crawl, and her voice broke as she whispered, "Please?"
Butcher gave a sharp nod before moving her hand and taking the step she couldn't, turning the knob and opening the door.
Neither of them moved, honestly they didn't have to. It was enough for him to look at her, to notice her good eye wide and her chest heaving, enough to know that all of this was because of the tiny, cooing sounds from inside the room.
Maggie looked up at him, silently pleading with him not to make her say it. He felt his own chest grow tight and his ears burn as soft babbles filled the air. He met her gaze as the heat finally made its way to his eyes, and he stared at her with his mouth hanging open.
"Ain't- there ain't no-"
Biting her lip, Maggie's face contorted as she tried not to cry, wringing her hands as happy sounds filled the silence between the two of them. Butcher rubbed at his face, trying to focus on anything but those fresh sounds that hit him wrong. They were too soft, too normal, they were something he wasn’t built to be near, and he set his jaw tight, trying to control the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. Another happy sound finally broke him, and he turned to glare at Maggie, "Fuck you."
"Butcher-"
"Don't." He yelled, throat tight as panic filled him, and he snarled at Maggie's unflinching face. "Don't."
A tear slowly escaped her eye as he backed away into the wall, refusing to engage anymore. He shot her another nasty look and without another word he left the tiny house, the slam of the door behind him echoing in his mind long after he'd driven away.
He pulled over at the first bar he saw and tripped in, not caring that it wasn't even three in the afternoon yet. The bored bartender looked up at him from his magazine, giving him a nod once he realized Butcher was good, just a little shook up.
"What'll it be, boss?"
"Whiskey."
The bald man raised an eyebrow, but seeing Butcher's overwhelmed state he didn't ask any other questions, instead just pouring him a double Jack. Butcher threw it back and tapped the bar, signifying his need for another. A chuckle escaped the bartender as he poured another, "Rough morning?"
Butcher stared at him from under his thick eyebrows and pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket. He lit it, not breaking eye contact, and took a long drag before exhaling smoke across the bar, "Just a Tuesday, innit?"
The burly man shook his head at Butcher's sourness and went back to his magazine, unwilling to try to engage the sulky Brit as he chain smoked, his free hand vacillating between the drink and his quiet phone.
He thought of calling MM. He thought of calling Maeve. Hell, he thought of chucking his phone across the room and hoping it shattered into a million pieces.
After nursing his second whiskey for nearly hour he asked for another, and as his pack of cigarettes dwindled so did his resolve. More dark liquid appeared in his glass and he pinched his eyes closed, wondering how he could be so stupid. What else would Maeve have to talk to him about than the consequences of a drunken hookup?
The buzz of his phone on the counter pulled him out of his ever darkening thoughts and he answered without opening his eyes, "’Ello?"
"Butcher? You said you were going to call me when you got to Texas."
A heaviness lifted from him and a smile nearly graced his face, "Aw, Ryan, lad. I'm sorry love, I got right tied up and haven't a chance to take a beat. How you? Hanging in there with your bat-shit aunt?"
Ryan giggled on the other end but sounded relieved, "Yeah. I like Aunt Rachel."
"I s'pose she could be worse. She used to be a right terror."
"That's funny. That's what she says about you."
Butcher gave a soft chuckle and wiped at his eyes, "You getting ready for school?"
"Yeah, we went back to school shopping today. Are you still going to be here on my first day?"
"Course, son, wouldn't miss that if the world had me by me bollocks."
The boy giggled on the other end again and gave a happy sigh, "Okay. I have to go have dinner, I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
His chest tightened at the thought of Ryan wanting to check in on him, to make sure he was safe. It should have been the other way around, yet here he was- all but crying into his drink.
"Butcher? You're okay, right?"
He cleared his throat and tried to smile, not that he could see him, "Yeah lad. I'm alright. You go enjoy yourself now, I'll be seein’ ya in a few days."
"Okay. Bye Butcher. Love you."
"Love ya too, Ryan. Keep your nose clean, guv."
Butcher sighed deeply as he took another swig of his drink, pushing the empty glass toward the bartender for another and ignoring the patron who dragged the seat beside him out. He took another long drag of his cigarette while the bartender asked his neighbor, "Whatcha having?"
"A Coke." Her raspy voice was unmistakable, but he still didn't acknowledge her. "His tab's on me."
"Don't need your charity."
"And I don't need the fucking attitude." She growled, nodding at the bartender who seemed to finally understand Butcher's mood.
They sat there together, the bar quiet other than the staticy music of the jukebox in the the corner and the soft hum of the bartender pretending to mind his own business, unmoving besides sipping their drinks for a good fifteen minutes before Butcher finally broke, "How'd you find me?"
"You drive a Camaro with New York plates. Wasn't hard."
"Where's your-"
"With my neighbor." She cut him off, bristling at his audacity before eyeing his cigarettes, "You gonna offer me one or what?"
He didn't answer, rather he pulled one out and lit it, puffing it twice to get it burning before handing it to her, "You know these things will kill ya."
"I wish something would." She sighed, taking a deep drag and smiling as the smoke trailed from her nose, "Goddamn, I miss cigarettes."
They sat there silently, a heavy wall building between them as Maggie took another drag of her cigarette and leaned back to look at him, "Butcher... You had a right to know."
"Did I?" He cleared his throat before he downed the new whiskey before him, teetering slightly as he turned to her with an angry, hazy look, "You always been real good at keepin’ secrets."
Maggie chuckled haughtily, putting out her cigarette before she got up and grabbed him by the collar, startling him into knocking his almost empty glass to the ground where it shattered as quickly as the peace, "You really wanna do this, Butcher?"
"Hey!" The bartender exclaimed, annoyed that his chill afternoon was shaping up to include a domestic dispute, "Take it the fuck outside."
Butcher pushed her away, eyes wild as he adjusted his collar and got up to stumble for the door, "The tab's on you, right?"
She rolled her eyes and tossed a hundred dollar bill on the bar top before following him out, annoyed at how quickly he made it out the door even after his four whiskeys. He'd almost made it to his Camaro before she caught up with him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pushing him against the hood.
"Bloody hell, Mae-"
"It's. Fucking. Maggie." She seethed, pressing him against the car. "I just want you to listen, asshole!"
"Fine!" He exclaimed, widening his stance as if anything could steady him, "I'm here, I'm listenin’!"
They glared at each other as another angry tear ran down Maggie's cheek, and she sighed bitterly, finally releasing his shirt and taking a step back. She took a few deep breaths and wiped at her wet cheeks before clearing her throat, "Can you please come back to my place? So we can talk?"
She licked her lips and let a hot breath escape her as she looked around at the random looky-loos that had started to take an interest in them, "I don't want to do this here."
Butcher barely found his footing and ran his hand over his wrinkled shirt. Going back to that house felt like the worst idea, and he moved to get into his car, ignoring her ask. He fiddled with his car keys, ready to leave until he looked at her and saw her fear, her loneliness, the deep hurt that he'd seen for years in every person he'd ever loved, and with a deep, steadying breath he nodded.