iihauntedmuffinii

[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air

Chapter Seven I'm No Superman (The Boys Fanfic)

STORY SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER SEVEN: I'm No Superman

The dark alley smelled of rotten Chinese food and the city smog didn’t help to mask it. Grace was beginning to really hate her job these days. A lot of waiting in dark smelly alleys for  leads that led to nowhere. What a load of shit. Grace huffs out a bitter chuckle, laughing at her own life decisions that lead her here . Not just once this week but a few times no less. She’s going to need a vacation after this, but she knew she was lying to herself the instant she thought it. She was never going on vacation.

“Hey.” Agent Bardot walks up from the shadows not making a sound, showcasing her catlike grace. Her new identity and attire almost fools Grace into believing it wasn’t Agent Bardot, but a few blinks later she could see through the disguise. It still spooked Grace out nonetheless. Her new identity of a punk rock young adult was a complete switch up from the soccer mom identity she wore last. It’d be amusing if her job didn’t require life or death commitment involving high stakes repercussions. 

“You said you had something?” Grace snuffs out her cigarette with the heel of her black boot, discarding it onto the alley floor. 

“Look at this.” Agent Bardot is straight to the point, handing Grace ten by ten photo documents–they were blurry but detailed enough to be legible. Sage Grove Center was printed clearly and boldly on most of them. The details were focused around this project called Control Center ; they were working on this project on the side of everything else. So many projects at this little center, very curious.

“Where did you get this?” Grace’s monotone sergeant attitude comes out in full force.

“Dr. Daphne Bennett, currently employed by Stan Edgar himself to be The Seven’s therapist. Very forward thinking of Vought if I do say so myself.” Agent Bardot’s sardonic tone doesn’t pass by Grace’s notice. 

“You think there’s another reason for the hiring?” She asks this while looking over the next few photos; journals by a doctor previously employed by the center. He was contacting someone directly that was a higher up at Vought, maybe a legacy member. Or a shareholder? Grace would have to look into that.

“From what I can read of the pictures; she might have more connections to Vought than we would have expected. I’ve been trying to look into the employee history through their mainframe’s system, but it seems to be on a completely different grid. I think I will have to go to Sage Grove.”

“Hmm, I think I might have the perfect team for the job.”

“Don’t tell me…” Agent Bardot sighs.

“The Boys already have their own agenda when it comes to this Sage Grove. I’ll just inform them of this little bit, and they’ll be happy to jump on it.”

“What makes you think that? Butcher can barely keep his own plans straight!” Agent Bardot barks, forgetting herself in her anger. Grace only had to silently stand there for Agent Bardot to calm down. “I apologize for the outburst. I meant to say that I’m worried about Dr. Bennet.”

“You’re worried? Do you think she’s a Trojan Horse of Voughts?” Grace gets real close, whispering the last part to make sure no one could hear them even if they were bugged.

“No, no…I just have this feeling. Maybe she is a secret weapon of Stan’s or…something.”

“That’s a bit conspiratorial of you, not like you at all, Bardot.” Grace chuckles wishing for another cigarette as she twitches with the top button of her black coat. Agent Bardot shakes it off, her spikey black and purple hair not moving an inch. Over gelled to the max, Grace would say.

“Hey, I’ve survived this long in the industry because of my gut. I wouldn’t look past it.” Agent Bardot reminisces darkly looking far off into the dark corner of the alley.

“Alright, I’ll make sure they take it seriously but I don’t want you going down there. You're too valuable now that you’ve integrated into Tech.” There was no playfulness to Grace’s tone anymore. Their banter is over; ready for dismissal Agent Bardot stands up straight.

“Understood, I will update you on the security systems in a week's time. I should be fully integrated and past their firewalls by then.” 

“Good, call me if you find anything else about Dr. Bennett. Just don’t stick your neck out for her, you got it? Don’t play the hero.” Grace warns her as Bardot’s turning her back to the shadows, ready to disappear.

“When have I ever played hero?” Agent Bardot’s classic humor rings hollow as she slinks out of the alley. Grace knows her better than that, but that doesn’t deter her from calling Butcher to cash in a favor.

_______________________

“Now for something new.” Her voice sounded like it came straight from an old Disney film, reminiscent of Snow White —Adriana Caselotti. Her usual attire didn’t stray far from the traditional, either. Her classic pearls and pretty pastel dresses made her different from most, not all, but most. “This is a national holiday called Thanksgiving. On the fourth Thursday of every November, families feast and think about what they’re thankful for.”

“Which one’s the daddy?” John asks innocently, forgetting to not interrupt when in the middle of a lesson. She simply points to the man in the power-point who was cutting the turkey.

“Do I have a daddy?” The question left the tutor breathless, not expecting his spark of curiosity in this session. Usually he was so, so obedient.

“Of course you do, Dr. Vogelbaum, silly.” She quips quickly, with a cheerful tone most children like. John doesn’t smile like most children. A flicker in his eyes paired with a dismissive shrug, he focuses back the tutor with a new assertion he didn’t usually possess.

“So does that mean you’re my mommy?” His question rings out into the extremely white bare lab, and the air is thick with this new tension John didn’t understand. She turns the monitor off, slowly walking up to John with compassion clear in her pretty brown eyes. She kneels beside him, knowing that this was important for him. 

“Sure. I can be your mommy.” She gives him a soft smile that John couldn’t help but lap up, the positive response was something he rarely ever receives. He couldn’t hold back the question he was never brave enough to ask Dr. Vogelbaum.

“So you love me?” The question is as desperate as it sounds, and the cold but persistent stare from John leaves the tutor feeling cornered. 

“I do.” She gulps, trepidation clear to any adult watching.

“And you’ll always take care of me?” John persists.

“Always.” She smiles standing up from the floor, John jumps to hug her, and clings like he’s never been allowed to before. 

“I can’t breathe…” She wheezes out through a growing crushing pain evoked by an ungodly tight hug.

Crunch, crack, pop.

She lands on the floor with a haunting thud. The group of white lab coats burst in with no ceremony. John rushes to his bare bed and covers himself with his blanket. The man who seems to take care of everything— including getting his hands dirty, the one who’s face he can remember, rushes to his side. He kneels before him, directing the other lab coats to cover the body. He stares back at him, as if seeing right through John’s soul. He makes sure John knows he isn’t scared of him, never looking away for a moment. John appreciated that aspect of the doctor. 

“It’s okay, we’ll take care of her. Just like the others.” He rasps out. He comforts him in the way he only could, with a promise he can keep. The worry in his voice wasn’t caught by John, and the doctor was grateful for that. He was growing more worried by the day for the boy, knowing this wasn’t his usual MO. His seemingly isolated induced depression was only progressing at a worse rate. Dr. Vogelbaum didn’t care though, no matter what he told him. So, the doctor decided not to care either. He had his own family to worry about after all. Besides, none of the scientists cared.

Snap, squelch, crack.

I wake up screaming my throat bloody raw, or close to it. I can taste blood clotting its way down my throat, and the smell of iron wouldn’t leave my nostrils. It felt like I swallowed a bag of pennies. I couldn't help my stomach from twisting nauseously at the thought. I roll and stumble out of my bed, running for the bathroom. I make it to the toilet before I throw up, cold awful sweat trailing down my brow. 

My heart stops as I stare dumbly at the blood covering the toilet bowl. It looks like a horror scene from a slasher flick, and the chunks that came up didn’t look like food. I start to hyperventilate and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out everything that’s right in front of me.

“That’s disgusting.” John appears out of nowhere. Drawing my head back from my knees I can’t help but stare with my mouth gaping at him. He kneels beside me as this was a normal morning for him. Did I imagine him into existence? I blink at him still not able to get a word out, not fully comprehending what’s going on. He wipes my hair back from my face, his eyes dark and the usual grimace he wears is almost darker, more sinister this time. Tilting his head at me he was expecting me to say something, anything.  

I wasn’t able to focus on him though, only able to see  the bloody gunk staining my blond curls. Okay, that’s pretty gross.

“W-what are you doing here?” I ask through a raspy breath, my throat bloody raw from my screaming.  

“You don’t remember? You invited me to sleep in your bed. You're just lucky I took the pajamas and didn’t sleep naked. I am a gentleman, after all.” He taunts with good humor, trying to lighten the mood to this bloody nightmare of a morning. I try to stifle my smile, but I can’t help the weak twist of the lips. It helps, oddly. He picks the worst times to joke, but I can’t help but find him funny-–in a dark twisted sort of way. 

Wait a second…I invited him to stay? I don’t remember much of last night, after taking my meds and being exhausted I must have been loopy. The comforting, soothing hand running through my curls stops at the nape of my neck. In a blink he grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back just enough to get my full attention. 

“You said you weren’t sick. When we talked in your office a few days ago, were you lying?” The sharp edge to his aura was running over my mindscape like a bulldozer, and it hurt . The blood falls down my nose making his nostrils flare and the irises of his eyes blow out washing the blue away to turn black. Something twists inside his gut leaving an awful sour aftertaste in my mouth that makes me pucker my lips. 

“No, no it’s just that…my powers can cause some bad side effects from time to time. Like the nosebleeds. It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.” I try to evoke as much confidence as possible. John releases his grip by running his fingers through my curls, my shoulders release their tension slowly as the threat in the air disappears.  He seems far away, stuck in his thoughts. He silently wipes  the blood from my face, like how he has before. The towel he took from the counter is coated in blood by the time I’m properly cleaned up.

“You were screaming when you woke up.”

“Just a nightmare, nothing to worry yourself over.” I try to lighten my voice to sound cheerful, but the raspy crackling and the blood smears everywhere didn’t help uplift the mood.

“Hmm.” John helps me off the floor with ease, flushing the toilet as he does this. He lets  me lean on him and we step out of the mess that’s my bathroom. “Are you going to be able to come to the shoot?” He asks with an accusation clear in his voice. He couldn’t quite hide the layer of worry coming from his aura, but that wasn’t what was important at this very moment!

“Oh god are we late?!” I squeal out the question, stepping out of his arms and scrambling for some semblance of an outfit residing in my closet.

“It’s five in the morning. We have plenty of time, so stop freaking out.”  John, in his unusual show of kindness, steps up to me holding my shoulders with a gentle touch. He rubs my shoulders back and forth, and together we take a deep breath. Exhale, inhale. Exhale, inhale. “You feel better?” He asks as he presses his large hand to my forehead, and the heat of it almost makes me flinch. Instead I press further into the touch, a content sigh breaking from my lips without my consent. 

“Y-yeah, thank you. Where’d you learn that from?” I can’t help but ask. We stand still in the center of the apartment, not leaving each other's touch, content with where we were. 

“I’ve had therapists before you, you know. They tried telling me techniques that would help me with my ‘anger’ issues, and I thought they were full of shit. I guess not all of it.” He says this lightly with an amused shrug, as if this wasn’t important information to know for his new therapist. Jeez John. I sigh, stepping out of his grip, feeling my aura quiver at the sudden flux and change within the room. 

My aura that was reaching out to touch his, now it shoves itself back inside me. I want to be his friend, but this feels too friendly. I need to try to handle my emotions in a more professional manner around him. For once in this tug-of-war like battle between us. The growing tension in my belly was back in full force, but for completely different reasons this time. I gulp down my worry and paint a too wide smile across my face. John crosses his arms across his chest, readying himself for a fight.

“How about I make you breakfast before we go then, since we have time.”

“I don’t need breakfast.”

“You haven’t eaten since that hotdog last night, have you?”

“Well, no…”

“Then you must have breakfast!” I ran to the kitchen, not letting him stop me from my mission. With ease and a lightness to my step I begin the pattern of making simple but delicious omelets. As I prep the eggs I also grab a glass of water to down two blue pills before I can have any more episodes, and I do this all without John seeing it. He was too busy looking over my projector, fascinated with the few options I have in comparison to him.

“Man, you barely have anything in your apartment. Have you thought about moving into the Vought suites. They are a lot better than this place, that’s for sure.” He says in his usual dismissive candace. He flicks through the channels, looking disgusted at whatever the newscaster said when he lands on CNN. I can’t help but roll my eyes at him. 

“I love my apartment, John. A fire would have to destroy the whole building before I ever leave this place.” I joke, beating the eggs with a quick elegance most couldn’t achieve.

“From the looks of your neighbors it doesn’t seem all that far from happening.” John grunts, sounding annoyed while flicking to another channel.

“Hey, don't judge a book by its cover!”

“I can hear at least three drug deals going on and a mugging just a block away. Not exactly a vacation home you got here, Daph.” His use of my nickname has me freezing in the middle of stirring the egg mixture. I stumble for a second, almost getting myself into a mess by dropping the bowl—but I recover, putting it in the pan. I prepare the veggies and cheese next. 

“It's fine John. I can handle myself.” I dismiss waving my hand in the air, knowing full well of the neighborhood crime rates. That’s why rent is so cheap here. 

I chop all of the veggies finely making sure every cut is perfect. I sprinkle a perfect amount of cheese and veggies into the pan. Folding the omelet was easy after the millionth time doing it, and this was no exception.  Placing the omelet on my rose embellished plate I sprinkle a last bit of mozzarella and basil to complete the dish. 

“Do you want anything specific to drink?” I ask as I go through my cupboard looking for at least two clean glasses. I really need to spend some time cleaning up in this place. I don’t hear an immediate response, peaking my interest, I turn around to find John frozen still on my couch. He wasn’t even looking at the TV anymore, but his hands. “John?”

“Yes, orange juice is fine.” John just catches himself from stumbling over his words—a rare occurrence for him. 

“Okay.” I grab his glass and his plate, placing it on the coffee table in front of him, making him flinch. As if he didn’t realize he was here on my couch. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I should be asking you that.”  The first instinct for most would be concern, John sounded more angry.

“I’m fine, it’s just the cards I was dealt by my powers.” I say to try and comfort him, but it came out weak and hollow, especially out of my destroyed vocal chords. He doesn’t touch his food or his glass, and he looks at me as if I said something hurtful. He looked like he was almost offended. He looks back down at the food, dismissing me like some servant. Typical. I go back to cooking my own omelet, letting him have some space. For now.

Out of the corner of my eyes I can see that he’s slowly starting to eat his breakfast, finally relaxing into the plush orange couch. He grabs for the orange juice first, downing it in a few gulps. Leaving him to his own devices, knowing he’s now eating, I focus on cooking my own breakfast. Quickly whipping it up I grab a plate for myself and clumsily plop myself down beside him. I start to scarf down my omelet, staring at some Vought news he decided to leave on.

Oddly enough John finishes before me, he lays the plate on the coffee table, and wraps his arm around my shoulder as if it was the normal thing to do. My stomach twists into spasming butterflies that I want to go away right now . Instead of moving, I lean in, feeling the pain in my body alleviate with his touch. I slowly begin to relax into his warmth as I eat my breakfast in a daze. He combs his fingers lightly through my curls with a gentleness he rarely hands out. I sneak a glance to see he’s not even paying attention, seeming unaware of what he was doing. 

The pain from my headache slowly recedes away into the depths of my psyche. I crumble under his attention, needing some form of touch to keep me grounded. I want to be as far away from my own mindscape as possible, before it tries to kill me from the inside. At least that’s what it feels like it's doing. You wouldn’t think my love language was touch, with how my powers make everything feel so invasive, but my family and friends brings me such warmth, it makes it all worth it. Bonding through our auras by a gentle caress, it makes everything feel right, like finishing a puzzle. It is always worth the horrible cold grazes of strangers and the invasive emotions of strangers that held their darker selves locked deep inside. It was all worth this warm feeling of content swelling inside me.

“Are you sure you feel okay enough to go?” John actually sounds worried, a note of stress in his voice he couldn’t mask, not stroking my hair anymore. This wakes me from my dazed stupor, realizing I had fallen asleep in the middle of eating. My body felt so tired and even John can see the signs clear as day. I mean he did see me puke blood not just an hour ago, but I digress.

“Y-yes, of course. I’ll be there for you and The Seven no matter what! I promise.” I shout standing ramrod straight as if ready for battle. John laughs, shaking his head at me, as if I was the stubborn one between the two of us. “Right, you're right. Do you need to take a shower?” I ask him, already fumbling with our dishes to clean later, my usual MO. 

“No, but you do. You still have blood in your hair.” He points to my general vicinity, rather rudely, I might say. I pull a disgusted face that makes him snort, and I silently head to the bathroom to clean the gunk off. Getting into the shower and grabbing a semi professional looking outfit that wouldn’t be irritating to wear I’m ready to get out of here. I scrub roughly at my skin with my overused loofa, so much so that it's raw and red.

Gently putting on the light summer mauve top with daisies embroidered across it rubs at my skin painfully. I put my wet curls into a high ponytail with a white scrunchie. I pair the top off with high waisted bell bottom jeans that had matching daisies embroidered on the seams. Running out of the bathroom I grab for my white kitten heels in a rush. John was lounging in the same spot, with his suit on this time.

“Finally done preening in the mirror?” He asks with a big shit eating grin, including his over-commercialized dimple. My eyebrow twitches before I can stop myself, only making his smile grow shit-eatingly wider. I slam my feet into my shoes and grab for my purse, deciding to ignore his childish taunt. He laughs again, seeing right through me. I sigh, as I  walk towards the terrace to see it's been vandalized. The handle was completely smashed in. 

“Did you do this?”

“Yeah, it was locked.” He shrugs.

“You were just telling me how dangerous this neighborhood was and now you're complaining I didn’t leave my door unlocked?”

“...Yes.” His confidence is somewhat dampened by my scolding, but not completely. This only further fuels my growing annoyance towards the man.

“Mhm.” I snicker, cleaning up some of the glass off the floor, throwing it out in the bin. “Okay, are you good to go already?”

“Yeah, I swung by my apartment while you were in the shower.”  This information makes my head spin and John’ aura flickers with amusement, the taste of cinnamon cotton candy makes my mouth water.

“Oh…you didn’t have to come back and take me to the shoot if you didn’t want to. I’m not using you as my taxi or anything!” Saying this with worry ringing in my voice I maneuver around him as I fumble to lock all my doors.

“Good to know.” John grits out, stopping me from watering my plants, and captures me full bridal style. I awkwardly shuffle closer to him, not wanting to fall face flat from a hundred feet off the ground.

“I’m serious John you don’t have to—” He vaults off the terrace with me in tow, and flies too quickly for me to prepare myself. I scream violently into his ears, clinging with all my strength, which was not enough for my comfort. He flinches back but still laughs, not disappointed by my reaction one bit.

He was twisting and swirling in the air making me scream louder, squealing in fright—the pitch in my voice higher than it's ever been before. He slows at my final scream as we get closer to the set. I punch him lightly in the shoulder when I feel comfortable enough to unfasten one of my grips on his shoulder. He just laughs as if I was some little bug that he can just flick away.

He lands with ease letting me drop on my own two feet, I stumble but recover, a not so graceful entrance in comparison. People were already gathering towards us, to prepare John for whatever these things call for, I assume.  His hands grips the back of my shirt tight, as if clinging to it, before releasing me and stepping forward. His tight uncomfortable smile was back on his face, dimple included. Homelander was back on the scene ready to perform. His aura flares back from the dead like a persistent red dustbowl actively terrorizing the mind, and on the prowl to attack whoever is in his way.

It made my heart stutter and my breath is trapped inside my lungs like I’m drowning under the pressure. A feeling of dread seeping into my system like a spiraling current that never stops. It's this dark slimy feeling that makes my stomach curdle and I try to gulp it down as best as I can. John’s aura flaring horribly to life makes me realize one thing. I need to make sure The Seven is okay; because obviously Vought is not making a safe space for them. Or anyone really.

Maeve should be my first priority, after what John did to her. Entering the set as an unnecessary foreign entity—known as the onset therapist; not a big deal like when the stars arrive, thankfully. The entire set was taking over the lot in a fantastical way, and connected not too far off was the stars’ trailers that are all lined in a row. The set they seemed to be currently at seems to be the depiction of a destroyed city. Seeing the movie magic in real life is fascinating, if a bit disillusioning. 

The cameras on cranes were fixed high in the air, and more were on dollies surrounding the hot-set. Not needing to worry about John at this very moment gave me enough time to check in on the others. Maeve was the first in my mind, but sadly she was the one that was acting in the scene. The intertwining of busy people shimmied and shuffled in unison, trying to do their jobs around me. They resembled worker ants, moving together as one to make the movie production go without a hitch. Sadly, their perfect work ethic didn’t leave room for me to ask where I should go to get out of their way.

It was an odd conundrum. 

From my vantage point I could see on the off side of the studio there were a few popup canopy tents—Vought branding covering them from head-to-toe— lined up next to the set. There in one of the far-off popup tents was A-Train and Ashley standing close together. As if they were in a hush-and-hush meeting no else wouldn’t be able to listen in on. I slowly trail towards that way, knowing full well I’m probably not invited to this one on one meeting. I don’t care. I need to talk to A-Train and I know for a fact Ashely will have something for me to do. All in all they are asking me to walk in on this conversation, if I try to think of it in a roundabout way.

“How about we don’t imply I’m leaving permanently…and leave it open ended?”

“A-Train—”Ashley sighs, as if she’s heard the same line a few times already. 

“We don’t have to confirm anything! We can just imply it.” A-Train quickly sputters out trying to seem confident through his nervous sweats. I can feel the tension in his aura, and it made my own shoulders go tense. I feel this might be the perfect time to intervene. 

“Hello again A-Train—oh wait would you prefer Reggie, or maybe Mr. Franklin?” I ask, forgetting my manners, first introductions were never my forte. Ashley’s smokey aura turns a bitter black. I can feel the heat waves coming off her, her anger is palpable. She kept her face placid, but the fury burning in her crystal blue eyes were clear as day.

A-Train looks relieved the moment I interrupt, putting my own head on the possible chopping block known as Ashley. 

“Oh! How sweet, Daphne, thank you for finally showing up.” Ashley intervenes A-Train's possible response with a sarcastic quip. If Ashley had any power over my job I would be fired right now, I’m sure of it. 

“I didn’t know I had to be here before everyone on The Seven . Was I supposed to?”

“Well, Maeve was here an hour earlier because of reshoots. I would prefer you focus on the others too, Dr. Bennett.” Ashley reprimands, with a snide little twist of her lips, her aura eating up any signs of weakness. I shudder from her cold glare. I gracefully glide up beside A-Train, taking his arm in mine. He reluctantly goes along with it, only to get himself out of this situation, if anything. His lips pressing together in a tight line morphs his handsome features into a gruesome grimace. 

Ashley crosses her arms seeming to have none of it. With an arched eyebrow and puckering red lips she calls my bluff. Not bothered in the least she continues her spiel to A-Train as if I hadn’t interrupted.

“Okay, this can go one of two ways. One: You leave The Seven with dignity and your severance package intact. Or two: you get fired for breaching your morality clause by shooting up Compound V and giving yourself a fucking heart attack in the fucking process. It’s your choice.” She looks over at me like she’s the cat getting the cream. She turns g away from us in her majestic mustard pants suits, leaving us to eat her words. I can feel A-Train shrivel under Ashley’s harshly worded ultimatum. 

“Are you okay?” I ask before overthinking it.

“What do you think?” A-Train responds sardonically, breaking contact with me the moment Ashley turns away. Him shaking me off makes me stumble into a trailer parked next to the popup tent. That will leave a bruise.

“S-sorry.” I whimper out feeling the anger steaming off his aura like a boiling pot. “H-hey since your still on The Seven, for now that’s means your my client, so—-”

“Shut the fuck up.” A-Train groans storming off not letting me have a word. I shut my mouth tight, hating that feeling of being one upped, and Ashley leaving A-Train to stew in his anger so he could push it all on me was a very calculative decision. He’s gone before I can say anything .

I sigh into the dry summer air, exasperated already with this day. There was no one around to judge me for it anyway.

“Look at Maeve go! Really giving them what they want, girls get it done, that’s for sure.” Stormfront burst from the shadows and is now clapping beside me, sarcasm so thick in her voice it lacks subtly. Applauding the whole set and her fellow actors, but it all rang hollow. Her aura still was hidden to my powers, no matter how hard I prodded. 

“Stormfront! How’ve you been?”

“Oh, wonderful really. Just got done with a speech in central park for my fans. It was all very lovely.” She sounds as if she’s mocking me, but I couldn’t pinpoint what’s the tip off.

“Is that so?” I ask the wolf, feeling like a lamb being shepherded for the slaughter. Her dark intentions were seeping out of her like a heat wave. Even if there was no aura I could perceive from her, I can still feel it.

“Yeah, just pointing out the many flaws Vought decks out to the blowhards that eats their shit for breakfast. Just my usual talking points.”

“Well, there are a lot of flaws Vought should be criticized for. That’s very strong of you to voice your disagreement with their injustices.” I praise her a little too hard, feeling like a brown-noser. “Has your assistant asked about a time slot for a therapy appointment?”

“No, I'm still looking for a time that would fit my busy, busy schedule. As you know.” She rolls her eyes, her smirk only growing wider the more she plays her games with me. Because that’s what this was to her. 

“R-right. Well I can’t make you go to an appointment, but it can be really beneficial to have someone to—” She laughs, no guffaws loudly, not letting me finish.

“You can save it, ‘Doctor’ Daphne. I think you need to worry more about your favorite right now, anyways. Kind of looks like your whole social media kickstarter didn’t work out as well as you planned.” Her smile was full of glee that sparkled behind her dark brown eyes, and if I stare too long I feel like I’m being sucked into an unending abyss. 

“What are you talking about?” I couldn’t mask the quiver in my voice.

“Oh, you’ll see.” She snorts before walking away, watching her sashay away with a confidence I could never replicate. My heart is in my throat and with shaky hands I grab my phone to check my Instagram feed. I stiffly walk to the closest chair in my vicinity and fall into it, watching what I could only conclude to be a possible war crime.

My feed is filled with a bombardment of the same video of John lasering through a terrorist, as well as straight through a sheet—which hits a kid directly in the stomach. It ends on who I can assume to be the mom screaming while clutching her kid as he bleeds out. It was horrific and straight to the point. I turn my phone off needing space from the influx of anger coming from all angles online. Vought on all official accounts has not come out with a statement, not acknowledging it at all—yet. John might not know about this either, now that I’m thinking about it.

But I can’t focus all of my attention on him right now, but I know that’s a sitting bomb waiting to explode any second. First, I need to at least check on Maeve. If Starlight is back I will be able to catch up with her too. Then I can deal with John. As if my thoughts were brought to life, Maeve is storming past me, looking lost in her stormy thoughts. The smell of ozone smothers my surroundings as her burning hatred writhes inside her.

“Hey, Maeve!” I hobble out of the foldable chair trying to catch up with Maeve’s long strides. Her fearsome expression doesn’t waver as she continues to stomp ahead, assumedly going to her trailer. She is either purposely ignoring me or too inside her head to have heard me calling out. 

I’m out of breath by the time I step by her side feeling tension bursting from inside her, she was ready to snap. We’re at her trailer door before she stops, finally turning to acknowledge my presence. I gulp under her dark glare, the storm clouds over her head thunders and the noise makes me go deaf for a few seconds. Enough time for me to miss what Maeve says to me. I shake my head back and forth as if that would stop my powers from messing with my body.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” It pains me to ask her already annoyed self the question. Maeve groans rolling her eyes at me, not in the mood to deal with her hard of hearing shrink.

“I said I’m not in the mood for you right now. If you want to be helpful go distract Homelander from involving himself in my life.” Her whisper feels sharp and is full of disdain, her mental psyche cutting at my own in retaliation for my poor timing. I gap at her like a dumb fish dying on the floor. Has my focus on John convinced everyone around me he was my only concern.

A muffling shuffle shudders out of the trailer, a faint smell of saltwater taffy and sunscreen overtakes my senses. Someone else was in there. She catches me staring; her glare turns from annoyance to menacing. She turns her full attention to me grabbing by my shoulders and shuffling me towards the hot-set and video village. 

“Thanks, you're a life-saver.” She pats my shoulder a little too roughly trying to make her exit, I guess, or distract me from whoever is inside her trailer. I guess I could talk to Starlight after she’s done shooting her scene. Holding off from dealing with John is probably not the smartest idea either, but now I’m just being stubborn about it. I can admit that.

Maeve quickly gets out of my line of sight before I can doubt anything and stop her. The sound of the bell for the ending of a scene goes off; and the director storms onto the set shouting at a crew member near the hand painted background. Starlight and Stormfront are leaving it together–seeming to be in a deep conversation of their own. I stop mid-stride, indecision wracking my body. I don’t want to interrupt and be rude–but I also don’t want to look like I’m eavesdropping by just standing here. 

“Daphne!” Ashley turns me around by the shoulder, putting her face so close to mine I could see the redness surrounding her large blue eyes. Almost as if she’s been crying a lot or has rarely gotten a good night of sleep. The stress filled smog tasting of ashes coats my throat like sludge being pushed down my stomach. 

“W-what?” I stutter in trepidation knowing nothing good is going to come out of her mouth.

“Did you see the video?”

“Yes, I feel—”

“Good, now go convince Homelander to keep quiet. Just for now, and tell him to wait for Vought’s official statement. The script writers are trying to come up with something right now—they need time, ‘kay?” She waves her hand in the air as if mimicking doing magic—spirit fingers and all. She shoves me towards John’s trailer with an extra aggressive ‘hmph.’ I almost fall face first into the pavement, but I catch myself in time. Ashley’s annoying tapping heels peel away fast as lightning; a sure sign of her exiting the scene. 

“And how exactly am I going to do that?” I mutter under my breath as I trudge towards John’s trailer. Luckily, I didn’t have to look far because he’s standing right in front of it with Stormfront. She was obviously provoking him, even from this distance I could see that. Prodding at the wild animal to get something out of him. What, I don’t know, and now I have to calm him down after the provocation. Great.

“I don’t need your help.” John grits out through a jutting jaw, he’s half-way in his trailer before he notices me stumbling onto the scene. “Come on, Daph.” He motions towards me, now ignoring Stormfront’s presence all together. 

I can’t help but shrivel under Stormfront’s glare as I step by her. She grabs my arm before I can enter the threshold of the trailer. She pulls me in close like a black widow on the prowl, her next target in sight. Her lips scrape against my earlobe,  whispering into my ear, abrasive and alluring all in one. I cringe away from the forced intimacy, feeling the shivery goosebumps take over my whole body. Her dark brown eyes stare dead straight at John while she holds me still. She swipes my neck with her leather gloves bringing it back so both of us can see the blood smeared on her hands.

“Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” Stormfront’s smile never leaves her face as she asks this. I must have missed a spot when I hurriedly took my morning shower. I gasp not able to hold it in, her perspective eyes crinkle with delight. Her aura still shows no signs of making itself known, much to my disappointment. 

“Y-yeah of course. You don’t have to worry about that—” Before I can finish making up some kind of excuse, John is at my side grabbing me from Stormfront’s enthralling grip. I felt like a chew toy between two rabid dogs, and a full blown fight was just waiting to happen.

“Stop touching her.” John yells, almost making me jump out of my skin. Stormfront doesn't  bat an eyelash at his words.

“Alright, alright. I was just asking, besides you're not the only one allowed to worry about our dear ol’ doc.” She hums warmly, and just to encite more rage, briefly flicks a few of my curls back over my shoulder. Hopefully hiding the blood I missed this morning. John instinctively brings me closer to him, ergo further away from Stormfront’s touch. “Hmm, well when you're done with our dear therapist you can come to me with the help you so obviously need.”

“I told you. I don’t need your help.” John’s growing anger was starting to scorch the roof of my mouth, the pain was getting progressively worse the more time they were in my vicinity. I need to cool this down soon before it gets out of hand.

“Well, your therapist didn’t cut it did she? Might need someone with a better perspective on social media. No offense.” Stormfront says demurely, adding in a shrug. 

“None taken.” I quickly whip out before any of them can bulldoze over me.

“Bye.” John dismisses her completely, waves her off with his hand, as if she could be shooed away into disappearing. She snorts, rolling her eyes, shimming away with the swagger of her hips. Her confidence radiates off of her but the sinister chill crawling up my spine to nick at my brain like a bad itch didn’t bode well. It was beyond infuriating, so much so I can’t help but stare off at her disappearing figure, squinting as if that would help reveal Stormfront’s aura. 

“Come on,” He steers me inside. I can't help but feel that it's just too bougie for a trailer, but I digress. He plops down on his lavish navy blue couch staring up at me expectantly. “So, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is for you to eventually apologize, there’s no doubt about that. If you're lucky Vought will be able to weasel you out of any actual consequences involving the law.”

“I’m not worried about it,” He snorts, shrugging the idea of consequences out the window.  “I want to know how I get those numbers back up to what they were yesterday!” His anger toils and turns; his usual angry scow is back in place. And only a few hours ago he was laughing at breakfast with nothing to worry about. 

“You should be worried about that! John, there are people out in the streets protesting you , not anybody else. You need to be careful.” I sit beside him on the couch and take his hands in mine. They were gloved and the lack of actual touch rings a forbidden sense of disappointment inside me. I choose to ignore this. 

The humming sound from the TV with The Deep and his new wife talking, a public interview, was the background noise that filled in the slowly rising tension. The silence coming from him was loud and clear. John’s eyes grew dark and the storm brewing inside him was twisting and toiling, ready to harm whoever is closest. 

“I do this all for them, you know! And they never appreciate it, there’s always something to complain about. I’m the one out there saving their asses while they sit at home tweeting about how much the new Vought movie sucks. I fucking can’t with these people…” John’s rambling starts with a boom, right in my face, before it devolves into a contemptuous whisper. His anger is so hot it hurts to be this close, but instead of flinching away I cling. 

“It’s okay to be angry, John.” I whisper, soothing him by rubbing my hands over his in a repeating swirling pattern. One inch at a time, feeling like Atlas struggling to keep up the sky with every breath, I try to calm his anger. Trying to push out the shards of pain interlaced with his emotions and turn it into something more thoughtful. More retrospective.

“I have every right to be angry!” John yells, tensing his shoulders, tight like granite. His face morphes into a furious scowl directed my way. His eyes were dilated as his breathing grew more erratic with each angry word he spews.

“So do they.” I say calmly, not letting him intimidate me. I stare him directly in the eyes as I face the monstrous aura that stabbed at my mind, like a dissected frog, I felt like I was splitting into a million pieces. The blood coming down my nose comes in a wave and I feel myself growing lightheaded. I don’t relent this time. The heat inside my mouth feels like hot coals being stuffed down my throat, but I take hold of aura and I don’t let go. 

“What..what are you doing?” He asks with a quiver, his shoulders release and a deep unsettle breath leaves his shaking body, as if excised from being possessed. 

“You almost had a panic attack. I helped.” I say feeling numb and cold. As if I couldn’t feel my body anymore, everything was so very numb. It was a terrifying feeling. 

“Don’t do that without asking me first.” 

“You would have said no. Your anger was clouding your thoughts.” I can feel everything I was saying sounds off, as if my emotions were hard to express. It must be the result of dismantling his anger, a painful process, but this was not the usual side effect that came with my powers. It is unnerving, these new and progressively worse side effects. It almost makes me completely forget my bleeding nose until John is there wiping my face with a towel. 

He does this with a gentleness most would never believe coming from him, but I can see it with my own eyes. He was handling me as if I was going to break right in front him, worry swirling at the edges of his mind. The taste of bile and sweat inside my mouth was unpleasant as the worry gnawing inside me. I push myself to smile brightly and push those thoughts out of my head. I’m the therapist, not him. I’m supposed to be the one to help him. I’m not his burden to worry over. I gently take his hand off my face, but I keep it close as If he would disappear if I let go.

“Don’t worry about me, ‘kay? You got enough on your plate. Which is why we're here, isn’t it? We need to talk about your next steps to regain the public’s favor.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” John’s words were brattish and very much him. An authentic smile sparkles bright and sudden across my face; I laugh. The numb feeling melts away and I can’t silence my giggles fast enough. “Don’t laugh at me!” He groans, putting his hands in the air as if I was the one acting like a child. He can’t help but smile back, no real anger there, just a light playfulness and the hint of pine in the air. “So, what is the first step in your glorious plans?”

“Say nothing for now.”

“So you agree with Stan and Ashley! I should have known.” His angry scowl now falls dramatically back. 

“No, just for now. Giving people time and space will help them be more receptive to anything you say in the future. Right now though they just want to bring out their pitchforks and burn you at the stake. It is not a good time, yet.” 

“My numbers are dropping every second we're doing nothing and you're telling me to continue doing nothing .” He sardonically quips with a sharp laugh.

“Only for right now. Like anyone who is really upset, most of the time if they are given space they will eventually come back with a clearer head. They will be more receptive to you if you wait.” I try to breathe in through my nose and out my mouth, being as calm as possible as I repeat my advice. I swear he is such a brat sometimes. 

“What will you give me if I do this?” John’s voice full of indignity just a moment ago now turns into a raspy whisper. The tension changes into something else but I couldn’t decipher why. My brain still too jumbled from the work I did by cooling him down.

“Um, you get to have a successful comeback and your numbers will be back to where they were yesterday?” I ask back dumbly. 

“No, what are you going to do for me? I won’t do this without getting something in return.” The sharp smirk flashes on his face like wickedness all in one expression. His eyes travel over my body, lingering in all the places I purposely cover up to the max. I adjust myself awkwardly on the couch, hoping I can just disappear into it. Sadly, that wasn’t my power. 

“U-uh w-we can watch your favorite movie!” I squawk out trying to think of anything to get out of this dangerous conversation.

“You already promised me that,” His shiny white teeth almost look aggressively sharp at this moment. He leans in close now cornering me as I sit on the navy couch, as far away from the exit as possible. He grabs my chin and his eyes are fully dilated again, his nostril flare and I feel like Red Riding Hood staring into the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf. “You could suck my cock?”

“W-w-what?” The ringing in my ears doesn’t hinder John’s growing confidence, as his face inches towards me his lips trace my earlobe. 

The chills wrack down my body and the heated pleasure swirling inside my belly fills me with shame. My body’s response is so sudden and quick the betrayal is beyond my comprehension. Until it's not. I jump off of the couch and somehow leap far enough out of his arms to regain some form of space between the two of us. 

“You didn’t like that offer? You might find it very relaxing . Isn’t that what you're always harping us on? Finding time to relax.” The taunting tone is playful, but the voice is growing more predatory with each step he advances on me. “How ‘bout I eat you out instead? You’d like that more?” He asks me as if I was pushing him to say more inappropriate things. No, just no! I shake my head at him crossing my arms into an ‘X’ as if that would make him stop. 

“S-stop! That’s so inappropriate. If anyone overheard you saying stuff like that I could be fired and my license would be revoked! Not to mention, as your therapist, I’d be taking advantage of you. Just no, John, no .” I state firmly, as I’m stumbling backwards, slowly taking one step at a time towards the exit. I don’t let my eyes off him, only a few steps from the door. Just in case I need to escape…just in case.

“Your heart rate is increasing.” John is jovial as he says, the glee evident in his aura and expression. The cinnamon flavor of dominance takes over my pallet making me want to sneeze. He’s on me in a second, his hand on the door—keeping it firmly shut. His other hand grabs me by the arm, a vice grip of steel that could break my bones with one little squeeze. I blink up at him slowly, so very obviously caught in his trap, I try to think quickly on my feet.

“I’ll make you my secret family recipe osso buco with risotto. You’ll be so impressed our friendship will be cemented with this dish. I-I promise.” I look him directly into his eyes, keeping myself still as he presses his hand to my face.

“Friendship, huh?” He chuckles as he strokes my face, the leather scraping against my skin was starting to burn.

“It's the closest we can be.” I say firmly, nodding to him and myself included. As if I was trying to convince myself too! I need to focus on him and not my feelings about this. If any of this gets out of hand I just might need to cut all ties. That sounds close to impossible with the predicament of my contract. Mr. Edgar has me under lock and key with its tight binding choking my family and career by the neck. 

His eyebrows twitch and his mouth morphs into a straight thin line. As quick as his fearsome frown he quickly covers it with a too wide smile, showcasing his sharp canines. I almost flinch under its shiny threatening presence. The vision of him biting me into two was visceral in my head.

“Alright, fine. Saturday seven o’clock and it better be ready within a half an hour or I might get hangry.” John’s joke is light as he steps away, giving me enough space to breathe, but it rings hollow. 

“Okay, well I have to meet with a colleague of my field soon. I’ll be back by the time the lunch hour ends, and don’t provoke anyone while I’m gone. Got it?” I put my hands on my hips feeling not up for any more battles, but prepping myself anyways.

“Who’s this colleague of yours?” His eyes are beelined on me, not leaving me any space to make any sort of mistake. One wrong gesture and he’ll go for the attack. Maybe even try to force me to stay.

“She’s the dean of Godolkin University, Dr. Indira Shetty. She’s quite accomplished in our field and I’ve been wanting to speak with her about her career's history.”

“Are you looking to move onto another job or something?” John reels in close, his pupils go wide and the corner of his lip quivers. The flatness in his voice strikes fear within me and I know I’m walking on eggshells.

“No, John. I already signed a contract with Stan. I have no way of getting out of that situation, so you have nothing to worry about, on that front I mean.” I console gently, if a bit awkwardly, placing my hands on each of his arms. I try to soothe his frazzling nerves and I push the feeling of calm, like an aloe to a harsh burn, onto his aura. Taking away his brewing anxiety with each deep breath. John repeats my breathing pattern without fully realizing that he’s doing it. “I’ll be back soon. Behave.” I say with a rude finger point to emphasize my point. John guffaws at my audacity I assume.

“Very funny.”

“I’m being serious.” I say before making my exit leaving John to think on my words. Hopefully he won’t go to one of those protests and he won’t cause anything to blow up. One can only hope. It’ll be like an hour, and it’s not like I’m leaving him alone. He has...Ashley. Well he can always call if he needs me. I need to stop fretting over this. 

Hopping out of John’s trailer I try to quickly maneuver around the storm of busy crew. On the edge of the set I can see from this view Ashley was sitting near the director in the Video Village. The canopy labeled so was strictly for the directors, producers, and anyone else involved with the creative process. I beeline that way, already seeing I might be running late if I don’t hitch a ride soon. I’m out of breath by the time I’m under the shade of the canopy.

“Ashley, Homelander’s settled down I think. If there’s any issues, call me, I’ll be back by the time the lunch hour is over.” I huff and puff out barely catching my breath.

“Ah, perfect, get me a matcha latte when you get back.” Ashley snidely remarks. The snickering from behind only emboldens her to outright laugh in my face.

“Um, no I have to go to an appointment. I'm sure you can find a runner to help you with the matcha latte though.” I dismiss her rudeness completely, leaving her speechless, and exit the scene with my head held up high. I don’t have the time to deal with her passive aggressive nonsense right now. I hurry my way to the exit gate, finding myself hyper focused to an aura writhing in pain at the edge of the location. He was not quite in the lot and not quite outside of the lot on the precipice of the exit.

A-Train was pacing back and forth looking down, wearing down the pavement under his feet. Like a moth to a flame I stop myself from exiting the lot and stumble towards A-Train. I’m just an arms length away from him, and he hasn’t noticed my presence, too busy burning the rubber under him. The stench of it mixing with the lemony flavor of fear sloshing inside my mouth makes me want to vomit. 

I push through by tapping on his shoulder, against my better judgment, but I follow through on my instincts. 

“Oh, god what now? Are you here to mess up my life more, or are you done for today?” A-Train snidely sneers, contorting his face into something grim. His aura was fluctuating dramatically, from crumbling like a paper ball to stiffening sharp into a formidable blade, ready to cut people into ribbons if necessary. It was enchanting and scary all at once. 

My touch wasn’t pushed away on instinct, like I expected. It left me enough time to connect with his aura, and there beneath his anger was a bubbling self-hatred that’s been brewing for years. His psyche was a fun house of mirrors reflecting distorted versions of himself, sharp blades came jutting out to cut at every turn you make.  With each sharp cut the words he says to himself rushes over him like a horrifying song. If I look for too long into the distorted mirrors I can feel my own dark thoughts itching at the back of my brain.  

I force myself to sever the connection before its uncontainable. Taking a bit of pain inside his heart with me so he can start to heal, even if it hurts. A few less bad things he can say to himself late at night, maybe it'll make room for him to forgive himself from things he's done in his past. The only way to redeem oneself is to start by forgiving oneself. I leave the edge of his mindscape with the feeling of peace, his panicking heartbeat calms to a steady rythm. His pacing stops altogether.

The lemony taste of fear still resides on the back of my tongue, but it's lessened. 

“You just used your powers on me, didn’t you?” A-Train asks, sighing out the question. He crosses his arms across his chest, but his shoulders’ release of tension gives away his anger has diffused. 

“Yes, I noticed you were feeling…not okay. I hope you don’t mind.” I say with a blush taking over my face, embarrassed for being so obvious with my powers.

“You didn’t even ask permission. I thought therapists were all about consent.”

“Yes, of course A-Train, I’m sorry I just knew you wouldn’t listen to what I would say—”

“God, your fucking lucky your powers feel so good or I’d…” A-Train trails off before he can possibly threaten me. Fear flickering in his eyes as he stares off at the studio-set in the distance. “Never mind. No, thank you for helping me. I do feel a bit better.” A-Train is reluctant to admit this, but he does admit it so that’s something. 

“Maybe if you're interested we can schedule a therapy session. Just one. If you like it we can schedule more.” I hurried to get my spiel out, and he burst out into a full blown belly laugh. The joy bursts on my tongue, the flavor of lemony cotton candy, sweet but tart.

“I won’t be a part of The Seven long enough for another therapy session with you, doc. But it's sweet of you to ask.”

“Well, first session then. Hm? Never know, maybe you’ll get another chance and I’ll have a second session with you before ya’ know it.” I say earnestly, hoping to put that thought into the universe, for his sake. Or maybe it would be better for him in the long run to not be in The Seven . I don’t know but maybe with a session I could understand him better. Knowing Vought I’d say it’d be better to cut your losses and run, but I know that’s easier said than done. Just look at me.

“Okay, you wore me down. I’m free Monday afternoon. Does that work?” A-Train asks now on his phone dismissing me, not expecting anything but a yes. 

“Of course. If you ever need to talk to me outside of hours just call my cell.” I firmly state not deterred from his attention now solely focused on his phone. “Okay, well have a good lunch.” I awkwardly walk away from him as he nods, giving that his only form of communication. I sigh, I swear it's always one step forward two steps backwards with these superheroes. 

I call for an uber and sleep on my way towards Godolkin University, glad to get a fifteen minute nap in. The uber driver politely wakes me up and tip him for the good service. I make it to the entrance gate–encrusted in gold finery to boot—ten minutes ahead of schedule. The gates open to enthrall the incoming influx of incoming students and tourists. The first beauty to enchant everyone is the statue garden. It's an oh so clever reference to the bronze statues. It's meant to showcase their past graduates who have been members of The Seven. It all felt a little too grandiose for me, but I’m sure it's supposed to be inspiring. 

Well, it’s sure something, alright. I take in one big deep breath, and exhale. I take one step forward, then another, and now I’m on my way to the dean’s office.

______________________________________________________________

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[iihauntedmuffinii]

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER SIX: False Pretenses

Perscilla convinces me with her level ten charisma to help the volunteers clean up, and she gets photos taken of it as well. For reasons I don’t want to know. What type of photoshopping or Vought social media post I was going to be composited in makes me shudder at the thought. My white sundress came out spotless, a miracle, and as I grab my clean Tupperware from the kitchens I gracefully dodge the more dirty volunteers on my way out. I grab my phone from my large leather purse having a needling suspicion Ashley may have texted me. My intuition was right on the money.

Ashley called me twice within the hour and left me four texts. I have over a dozen unanswered texts from Olivia and two voicemails from my parents’ landline. Marie also left me a Facebook message, probably to ask how I was fairing knowing her worry-wort disposition. With a shaky hand I press Ashley’s contact, looking over the text, apprehension as sharp as a knife twists tightly inside my gut. 

As you should be aware your new schedule has significantly crunched your time and availability for therapy sessions. So, in order for you to take on all responsibilities your weekends may be impeded on. If you need to discuss this further you can sign a complaint form to HR or talk to Stan Edgar, who has personally added this new change, you must also make an appointment beforehand. 

This text was sent to me at five in the morning and I didn’t even see it in my dazed state, too distracted with my plans–and my dad’s surprise visit–to think about texts. Looking at the next one, sent only thirty minutes ago, but much more aggressive in tone. 

I’ve been hearing down the Vought grapevine, Mrs. Bennett, that you have a social media campaign going on without running it by me first. Your insubordination is seen and heard. With it comes a report to your boss, Mr. Stan Edgar. Luckily for you his outright faith in you surpasses all else. But that doesn’t mean you can go over my head like you did this morning. If this campaign doesn’t go well you will be the one under fire, understand?

I gulp down the crawling feeling of dread seeping into my core, resting inside my belly like a heavy stone. I look at the last text and it's short but just as poignant as the previous message.

Get your ass to the In Depth talk show before Homelander and Maeve arrive.

I send a one word reply back, and the taxi drives over a pothole and my headache throbs.

Understood.

The bumpy ride wasn’t helping the injuries, but the taxi driver had to go through the construction site that was the apartment building and street avenue, so it was a necessary evil. Reaching Vought Headquarters was easy to see as the traffic built up and street lights flickered brightly with ever changing ads. Mostly based around superhero brand deals and future Hollywood projects. The shimmering fake smile of Queen Maeve, Starlight, and Stormfront all pose together in unison as the flickering title ‘ Girls Get it Done’ flash across the screen. It would be nauseating if it wasn’t so impressive looking. The false positivity and fake messaging was something to get used to now, but it didn’t stop the stinging in my heart. 

I scramble out of the taxi, running with my empty Tupperware under one arm and my other hand trying to cover my curly hair from the drizzling rain. My curls were now going to be a frizzy mess, great. Hurrying inside the Vought building’s front entrance through the ever revolving doors was a relief for once. My white dress barely got wet and didn’t leave it see through–thank god. I didn’t think to look at the weather report before getting dressed this morning too. Just the cherry on top of the crap cake. 

Trying not to slip on the hard tile floor with my wet kitten white heels is difficult, but I think I manage it. Struggling to not look like a clown as I slip around the busy lobby towards the elevators I’m barely aware of my surroundings. I’m shoved down to the cold floor–the withering draft worse than ever gives me an uncontrollable chill as I land flat on my butt. 

“I’m so sorry!” The goth girl from the required HR Employee video viewing stares down at me with large purple eyes–contacts I presume, a black lip lined smile graced her cherub face. Behind the smile her aura bursts with the strong flavor of wild berries, it coated my tongue like a homemade jam. Her purple and black aura is shifting constantly under my scrutiny, as if not wanting to be pinned down. Her Kuromi inspired nails dug into her cocked hips, confidence oozing off the young girl. Her spiked black hair didn’t shift an inch as she clambered to my side on the floor, helping me gather the items that fell out of my purse. 

“I-it’s okay I should have watched where I was going. I was scrambling without looking at my surroundings, it’s something I need to work on…” I ramble, hurrying to try and shove everything inside my purse. Ashley’s threats about being late ringing in the back of my mind; a chilling death toll. 

“Well, it takes two to tango as they say…wait don’t think that's right. It doesn’t matter any way I wasn’t paying attention either. No biggy.” Her voice always had a hint of mischief I couldn’t decipher, beyond it being a facet of her personality. She hands me my bag as I balance all my Tupperware under my left arm. 

“Thanks, um, actually I never got your name before.” 

“Oh, wow I’m rude, sorry. Its—” The beginning rift of Killers by Iron Maiden blares out of her purple Kuromi covered phone. “Oh my gosh so sorry I have to take this!” She says with immediate distress scratching at her vocal chords. Her ever evading aura of swirling wild berries was just as we first met, distressed not even a little. Odd. 

“O-okay.” I stutter out; I’m left behind by her disappearing figure. Turning a corner outside my view with her phone held to her ears, looking ready for an argument, and she blends into the crowded lobby. Shaking my head from the fog taking over my brain I shakily enter the elevator pressing the golden button, 99.

The three people crowding the elevator and their loud clamoring feelings makes me break out into hives. No matter how much I try to ignore the vile bitter taste of poorly made tea on my tongue, jealousy, all three of their feelings at once were too strong for me to bear. They leave one by one taking their jealous thoughts with them, and my nausea thankfully. If only they knew how horrible and precarious my current position truly is.

I run out of the elevator; sweat dripping down my brow as I scramble. Quickening my steps past the expensive busts and impressive muralled halls, A-Train comes storming out of Ashley’s office. He T-bones me as he scrapes by in a flurry, I slam against the side wall, thankfully missing Queen Maeve’s marble statue by a hair. 

I slide to the floor, leaning heavily against the wall thinking it could help dampen the pain radiating off my shoulder. For the second time I was shoved around like a rag doll today.  A-Train’s tightlipped sour expression at my sudden nuisance of a presence changes quickly when Homelander comes out of Ashley’s office. Ashley is on Homelander’s heels, surveying the situation, calculation sparkling in her crystal blue gaze. My Tupperware was splayed across the floor. I look over my dress hoping it didn’t rip in the collision, luckily for me it's still intact. 

“Daphne, you're finally here.” Ashley’s cold tone didn’t bode well for me, crossing her arms across her beautiful blue suit jacket. Her judging look was soon drowned out by Homelader’s invasive presence intruding on my peripheral vision. He kneels in front of me but his eyes are pinning A-Train to his spot. A-Train puts his hands up, brown eyes looking between Homelander and I, he arches his defined eyebrow. 

“You okay, Daphne?” Homelander’s question is clear and his eyes don’t deter from his current target, A-Train. A-Train’s gulp was loud enough for all three of us to hear, no super hearing necessary. His sharp steel blue aura that was as stiff as metal crumbled like aluminum foil, not able to bear the weight of Homelander’s glare. His lips tremble and his left foot taps as the tension.

“Y-yes of course.” I take my eyes off their ensuing glare off, grabbing Homelander’s shoulder for some semblance of balance. Understanding my gesture, Homelander decides to ignore A-Train in favor of helping me off the floor. Homelander’s large hands grab me by the waist, the warmth seeping through my damp sundress, with such grace he pulls me up off the floor as if I was a ballerina mid plie. 

The magic of it disappears as A-Train’s growing fear bleats out my thoughts. A-Train’s terror encroaches upon my senses like acidic lemon juice shooting down my throat. Awful and tart, so much so I quiver at the impactful. 

“You're not a member of The Seven for very long, A-Train, act like it. Walk on egg-shells around me, before your necessary departure, ‘kay? Also, maybe, don’t attack actual Vought employees while you're still here. That’d be good too.” Homelander’s dark tepid voice echoes across the halls, leaving them eerily silent; it feels like the hall is holding its breath with me. 

“R-right of course Homelander.” A-Train braces himself, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, ready to high tail it out of here in a speedy fashion.

“Wait.” Homelander’s stern no nonsense tone hovers on the fringes of sounding sinister. “Apologize to Daphne, now.” A-Train only hesitates for a second before training his eyes to my feet.

“I’m sorry Daphne.” His dead tone didn’t feel the least bit sincere and the fear wafting off of him made it so much worse.

“It's o-okay A-Train. I’m fine, really.” I wave off his piss poor apology that was coated in lemon sour. My sense could barely handle standing this close to him, the lemony pungent fear made me want to pass out.

“Now scamper off A-Train, and don’t forget about your Dawn of The Seven shooting. Your last shooting.” He adds that tidbit with a growing smirk so sharp it could cut flesh. His canines shine at his cocky once over of A-Train. It was demeaning and humiliating. All over a clumsy accident. Homelanders’ cinnamon flavor of pleasure mixed with domination hovers in the air–a nice if unsettling reprieve from A-Train’s sour coated terror.

Like a bullet shot through his mask, A-Train’s proud expression cracks under Homelander’s taunt. His eyes shimmer and the corner creases of his eyes tighten, as if trying to hold back his tears. He turns away leaving the halls to go to who knows where. The urge to catch up with him echoes inside my soul, I take a step on instinct.

Homelander catches my wrist before I can move another step.

“Where are you going?” Homelander’s stormy eyes glare down at me, his grasp tightening. His domineering stance and sharp smirk was still plastered across his face. The confident clawing taste of cinnamon overtakes me, now fully making room for his aura to dominate my own. A-Train’s fear must have been close to panic if it was strong enough to cover Homelanders’ dominating presence. I can’t decide which was more discomforting.

“I-I thought maybe A-Train may need to talk to someone, after all I am his therapist.” I shrug, a weak smile I struggle to put on, which only makes Homelander’s angry red aura twist more chaotically. 

“Not anymore. He just got fired. So, don’t focus your attention on him.” His tone left no room for argument. His gloved hand wraps entirely around my forearm now, making sure to keep me in place.

“B-but he’s still a part of the Seven until his last shoot, right?” I ask, my eyes drop to the floor from his persistent glare. 

“Right.” He grits out through a tight jaw and grinding on his too sharp teeth. A frustrated breath escaping his flaring nostrils. “Don’t you want a flight to the In Depth talk show?” He asks, confident my response will be a yes. I hesitate to do just that. Behind his dismissive bravado I can see beneath the armor, and it whispers the word hope . He clings to my arm more tightly, as if he knew I could see the crack. 

Dashing his hope feels wrong and so I can’t get myself to say no.

“Okay.” I squeak out, sighing in defeat. I promise I will find time to talk to A-Train before the end of the day. I will not let myself hinder other clients all because my attention was focused elsewhere . I won’t let myself be sucked into his gravitational pull, sadly that seems to be Homelander and I’s relationship in a nutshell. 

His all encompassing satisfied smile was enough to let me know I lost this battle. My left eyebrow twitches in annoyance, but I roll my shoulders back to release the tension, trying to let another thing go. Homelander is used to steamrolling over everyone, getting great satisfaction from it. Luckily for me Ashley coughs, interrupting our battle of wills.

“Better get to it Daphne. I would have preferred if you were there before Homelander and Queen Maeve, but that doesn’t seem possible since you are here. ” Her sparkly white smile and large eyes were hyper focused on me not letting me move an inch from my spot. It's similar to how A-Train was with Homelander. Sadly, I’m A-Train in this scenario. 

“R-right, I just have to go to my office and I’ll be right back for—”

“Daphne! Don’t stall anymore than you already have and get to the shoot. Don’t let Homelander wait any longer.” Ashley’s condescending tone and her chin thrusting upwards, looking down her nose at me.

Her smokey aura filled my nostrils with the awful notes of burnt hair and the taste of charred food. Her superiority over people morphed her into something much worse as more time went on, but the clouded aura could still be salvaged. Like any of us we have to try to fight our instincts to lash out, but the only way to help people like this is to be the bigger person.

“I’m sorry for not getting permission for the social media campaign. I didn’t run it by you first and I should have—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Homelander’s booming voice echoes across the empty and overly extravagant halls. He drops my arm–I completely forgot he was holding me back—and his loose confident stride towards Ashley became more intimidating with each approaching step. Ashley’s already pale complexion goes ghostly white. “Ashley, am I forgetting our previous conversation? My numbers have skyrocketed in just short of an hour since what’s her fucking name, Penelope–”

“Perscilla.” I pipe up. Homelander pauses, giving me an exasperated eye roll before taking another intimidating step forward. His silhouette’s large shadow envelopes Ashley's small frame. She shrank back, bumping into her office door in her desperate urge to flee. Ashley did not dare run or take her eyes off him.

“ Perscilla , posted those videos. Daphne has done more than you have since taking on Madelyn’s title, so I would be careful how you talk to her in your current, very replaceable position.” His voice is now just above a whisper, but we can hear his threat within his derisive words. The off-kilter change in Ashley’s aura when mentioning Madelyn makes her aura’s cloud of smoke burn black. The taste of ashes on my tongue has me cringing in disgust.

Is he going to do to me what he did to Madelyn? N-no, he can’t possibly be that mad about some counselor…

Ashley’s loud terrifying thoughts crashes into my skull and leaves me feeling winded. I can feel my blood sugar drop and my legs tremble, barely keeping myself up. I-I can’t be doing this right now. No telepathy, no mindscapes, and no passing out for just one day. Please, that’s all I’m asking for! The blood streaks dripping down my nose and to my utmost horror lands on my sundress’s neckline. After all of this effort to keep it clean this morning just for my own powers to damn me. I ignore both Homelander and Ashley’s tense debacle, instead focusing on rifling through my purse. 

“O-of course Homelander I didn’t mean to discredit her helpfulness–”

“Uh-huh.” His bullworthy snort interrupting her feeble attempts to backtrack the conversation. “Remember your place next time, Ashley. Apologize.” He grabs her by the shoulders, clenching them tight, Ashley flinches. They both turn to me in unison to see me bleeding from the nose while my shaky hands shove a blue pill down my throat. I glance up–my expression reads guilty like a kid's hand caught in the cookie jar, as I’m finding my handkerchief to clean myself up.

“S-sorry, I sometimes get nosebleeds.” I fill the awkward silence while I try to rub the blood off my neckline, it was a fruitless effort.

Homelander drops Ashley and he’s in front of me in a flash, a swift breeze following his capes’ trail. He snatches the handkerchief from my fumbling hands and starts wiping my face clean, if roughly, mimicking his previous kindness from last night. Frozen still I look up to meet his dark stare directly, he looks grim and his eyes hold a storm I didn’t wish to decipher.

“I didn’t forget about you Ashley. But did you forget what I asked of you?” His sardonic voice boomed, his actions felt almost like he was playing with his food. It was frightening. I instinctively flinch away. His eyes flash and his other hand grips my chin tight, continuing the meticulous process of cleaning my face.

“I’m so, so sorry Daphne. I will defer to your opinion from now on about future campaigns for The Seven . Add that to your long list of responsibilities.” Ashley’s sharp tone was chilly and the usual fire was cooled. Making more enemies than friends was not something I wished for when taking on this job, but seems to be the result every time. Associating so closely with Homelander might be a part of this reason, from the way everything's been panning out. I shake his hand away from my chin, he lets me go this time, giving me a glare but nothing more. 

“It’s okay Ashley. I understand, from now on if I have any future ideas I will still run them by you. To at least have a professional opinion on it would be for the best.” I step around Homelander trying to attune back to Ashley’s psyche. Her calculating stare flickers between the two of us, she was analyzing the best course of action, in survival mode at this point.

“No, Daphne, you don’t have to do that.” He snatches my arm pushing me back towards himself, as if he was afraid Ashley was going to hurt me. 

“I don’t have to do it, I want to do it.” I stubbornly push myself out of his hold, again. 

“T-thank you for understanding Daphne. Now, I have a meeting planned with the Dawn of the Seven script writer in fifteen minutes and I don't wish to be late.” Ashley’s too high squeak in her voice gives her fear away, but she tries to defuse the situation nonetheless. The reminder of being late alerts my brain to the tight schedule both Homelander and I share now. 

“Right, okay. Homelander, I will meet you in the lobby. I have to drop these off in my office.” I motion to the Tupperware on the floor and he crosses his arms sighing in resignation. 

“Fine, go. Don’t take longer than ten minutes, got it?”

“Gotcha!” I salute him, a small smile flashes before he smothers it back with a blank expression, switching to the safer bet of glaring at Ashley. I leave him to his glare off and scurry to my office as quickly as my shaky legs allow. I place my Tupperware under my desk, a safe place for now. Quickly exiting back out and locking the door I turn back to sprint to the elevator doors; five minutes left before Homelander comes hunting me down, I'm sure.

I wait impatiently wait the elevator to glide down to the lobby’s floor level. Running out, Homelander waits in the center of the Lobby, the crowd giving him a wide berth. The circle of people walking around him, almost comically mimicking the sun and the planets. Him being the sun and everyone else just revolves around him. Poetically sad. He was at least easy to find, if nothing else.

“Homelander! I didn’t make you wait long, did I?” I say out of breath grabbing his arm to keep myself from stumbling over my own two feet. I interrupt him staring off at the horizon peeking out through the large window view. He finally deigns to turn his intense stare onto me. 

“No, less than ten minutes, like you said.” His eyes grow warm and his aura was calm–just a red dust storm rather than the usual tornado. The trepidation crawling down my spine makes me wonder if I had been just a minute later, would he have been angry? I think it's likely. “Okay, have you ever been flown by anyone before?” 

“U-um no. Actually, I’m quite scared of heights.” I shyly admit, feeling my face turn beat red under Homelander’s growing smirk. 

“Perfect.” He chuckles and without any warning gathers me up in his arms bridal style. Handling me as gracefully as a toddler would a rag doll. I can hear in the background gasps from multiple people, crowds not only walking around us, but now gathering to see us. Flashes from cameras went off and before I could cover my face and complain, Homelander vaulted off flying out of the building.

I scream, high pitched and directly in Homelander superpowered eardrums. I embrace him tightly like a spider monkey clinging to their mom, instinctively trying not to fall to my death. His laugh is drowned out by the speeding winds, he’s going faster than most cars on the highway, and I know he can go slower! Is he trying to scare me into having a heart attack?

His glee over my fear filled squeals and pathetic clinging doesn’t stop him from slowing down to a more relaxed pace. Taking my face out of the crook of his neck to finally look at the sight, I can’t hold in my gasp. The clouds were surrounding us like the city smog does in the April’s dewy mornings. The surrounding city skyscrapers that usually seem so intimidating now look like looking into a tiny snow globe. 

“Wow! This is amazing.” I gleefully gush at the view. His eyes widen in surprise but his smile stays firm in place.

“I thought you would still be screaming. Not so afraid of heights anymore, huh?”

“Still scared, but I can appreciate its beauty even if I’m terrified.”

“Hmm.” The flight towards the studio on the outskirts of the suburbs was a short silent flight of me gasping and pointing at different locations like he hadn't seen them from this view before. I can’t help the excitement though, it's an amazing experience I never thought I’d get or even want, until now. Surprisingly he never gets annoyed; he doesn't even glare!

We land gently onto the studio’s front parking lot, making a scene of course, because that’s Homelander’s specialty. People gather around us flashing photographs without permission and chanting “We love you Homelander!” to “Can you autograph my face?” It was all quite discombobulating. He steers me, with one hand on my lower back, to the front entrance and waves off the adoring crowd. He flashes a Hollywood smile that makes the crowd cheer louder and their mob like happiness makes me feel like I'm high. I try to shake my head, but the feeling was still persistent. 

Entering the studio with Homelander beside me was a completely different ball game from when I would visit Olivia alone. I decidedly miss being an unnoticed fly on the wall. People with badges and black clothing–crew members and security included enter the scene to block people from getting closer. 

“This way Homelander.” A crew member with a headset and flat stare directs Homelander with a hand gesture towards a roped off hall. Another person in black appears at my side silent like a ninja. 

“I can show you to the green room Dr. Bennett.” The small girl with the ninja-like abilities, black attire included, states plainly. 

“Thank you for showing me–”

“No, wait Daphne, you can come to the studio set with me. She can sit at the stage wing.” Homelander swirls back towards me and away from the stage manager, his commanding tone leaving little room for arguing. He walks back to my side glaring at the small girl. She does not flinch under the intense glare, courageous if she didn’t look so dead inside.

“No, no it's okay Homelander. I can wait in the green room. I don’t want to get in the way of anything or anyone important.” I wave my hands at him, trying and failing to shoo him away. He gaps at my gall but doesn’t fuss for long letting me win this argument, for once. The crew doesn’t even blink at the celebrity outburst–obviously very used to it. The crew member with the headset directs him back to the roped off hall, Homelander begrudgingly follows a step behind, he looks back toward me. Maybe to check if I ran? Instead of running, I wave; he smiles before turning the corner and out of view.

“Alright, now let's get you to that green room. There are refreshments prepared there, if you want anything.” Her flat tone may be grating but her words were still comforting. She directs me through the wide open white walled halls and through a few confusing turns we land at a simple gray door with a plaque labeled Green Room on it.

“Thank you!” I shout at her quickly retreating back before opening the bland gray door. The green room had a gray couch, gray coffee table and a small buffet prepped to the side. A large flat screen television was in the center of the room directly across the couch. It was hooked up to the show’s camera feed so anyone can watch directly from here. 

I attack the buffet table like a starving gremlin not needing to act with any decorum while alone. The tiny cupcakes are all mine! I pile four on my tiny plate and grab a Fiji water to wash the sugar down. Glancing up at the screen there seem to be sound checks going on before they air, which will only be a few minutes from now. The studio murmurs from the audience could be heard through the set-up. The small talk between the show host, Queen Maeve, and Homelander could also be heard.

“It’s so nice to see you two again.” The show host, Maria Menounos, greets them standing up from the red plush chair and shaking their hands. Much more respectful than Cup of Joey’s host by miles. 

“It’s lovely to be back on your show Mrs. Menounos.”

“Call me Maria, Queen Maeve. You too Homelander.” As Maria schmoozes the two I stuff my mouth with pink frosting covered cupcakes. 

My phone rings the familiar tune of A Thousand Miles by Vanessa Carlton jolting me away from my cupcakes. Olivia’s name flashes on my phone’s home screen and I take the call without thinking. 

“Olive?” I whisper into the receiver as I stare uninterestedly at the TV screen. Homelander’s sharp smile and tight hold around Maeve didn’t feel much different from how they were at Morning Cup of Joey’s . 

“Daphne! Oh my god it feels like forever since we talked. Do you know how long it’s been? At least a week.” Olivia’s whiny tone squeals out with full gusto.

“A day and a half.”  I interrupt mid tantrum.

“Ugh, Daph you know what I mean. You’ve been dodging my texts and don’t deny it, I know.” Olivia’s threatening tone was washed out by her worried sigh at the end of every word.

“Olivia, I’m sorry I just didn’t know how to talk to you about…everything.”

“You mean your parents? Have you talked to any of them since the news broke?”

“My dad came by this morning.”

“And?”

“He helped me get my Tupperware into the cab. He also gave me a file with the name Sage Grove Center. I haven’t looked at it yet.”

“Maybe it's the hospital you were born at?”

“I don’t know if it's a hospital. He was being, I don’t know how to word it, emotional about it. You know my dad, he doesn’t emote a lot so seeing him close to tears just made everything weird. He said he wanted me to talk to them once I looked through it. ”

“You haven’t read it yet? I would be tearing through that thing the first moment I could!”

“I-I I’ve been busy literally non-stop. Honestly, this is the first breather I’ve had in the last forty-eight hours.”

“Where are you?” Olivia’s inquiry is almost muffled out by what sounded like traffic.

“Green Room of the In Depth with Maria Menounos.”

“Oh! She’s a lot less catty than Joey. Did you know she got a journalism degree from Dartmouth college. She a real one.”

“I didn’t know that. Maybe this will go without a hitch.”

“Well, now you jinxed yourself Daph.” Olivia’s quip is fast and cheerfully bright. I give out a long tired sigh. That would be my luck. “Oh, Daph question? How would you feel about our Friday plans turning into a double date?” 

“W-what?”

“Okay, before you outright say no. Let me tell you just who asked me out. Guess.” Olivia’s serious tone left me no other option but to play her game. I nibble on my third cupcake, choosing to ignore the growing stomach pain.

“Did you relent and say yes to Randal? He asked you out after the third rejection?”

“Not Randal, ew.” The gagging on the other line only emphasizes her dramatic disgust.

“Oh, wait did Monica ask you out?” 

“Ding! Ding! Ding! Winner, winner chicken dinner! Yes, Monica finally asked me out after I gave her ten million hints.” She gripes, but underneath her easy complaining I can sense a nervousness beneath her voice-fry.

“That’s great! But why do I have to go?”

“Because Monica didn’t want to do the date without another couple. She thought it would help break the ice. I just may happen to offer you on a silver platter and she so happened to agree to the date because of it. Please! She’s never been out with a girl before and she’s shy. You know how much I like—” The guilt train would not leave the station until I relented.

“Okay, okay I’ll do it. Just tell me he’s not thirty years older than me or anything else I cannot abide by.”  I grit out, wanting to take the words back the moment I said them.

“He’s really handsome but apparently kind of shy. I’ll send you a pic of him. You are a lifesaver my dear! I owe you one.” Olivia sighs through the speaker.

“I guess I could break out into the dating scene again. Now that my powers are public knowledge there isn’t really anything holding me back, right?”

“That’s right!” Olivia’s hypeman persona comes out with a bombastic cheer. “Oh shit I gotta go Daph, apparently there’s an emergency hair care situation going on at Morning Cup of Joey’s . Dammit I just left to get lunch, for the love of—” The phone hangs up leaving me with the dial tone. I can’t believe I willingly signed up for a blind date. I shutter just at the idea of it.

Finally taking the last tiny cupcake in one bite I glance over to the large screen to see they’ve already started the show. And I haven’t been paying attention at all! 

“Is the supervillain threat real?” Maria Menounos’ clear and concise question is asked with pleasant but vacant expression. She gives nothing away to her guests nor the audience members.

“Hundred percent. Very real. But The Seven will protect you.” Maeve's strong declaration is paired with her scowling fiercely into the cameras. Making promises to America directly, I presume.

“That's right. Always listen to Maeve. She always tells the truth.” Homelander's nonchalant tone gave the audience a contrasting partner to Maeve’s intensity.

“On a related subject, Compound V. Did either of you know about it before the news broke?”

“No. Absolutely not. Madelyn Stillwell, she lied to all of us. Turns out she was a monster. We're just as hurt and upset and confused as everyone else.” Homelander’s unattached tone stays firm and his emotions are held close to his heart like a gambler with a good hand.

“Let's talk #HeroesSoWhite. The numbers are rather startling. 92% of heroes are Caucasian. African American, six percent. Latin and Asian, each one percent. Why doesn't Vought want diversity?” Maria’s voice transforms the audience’s dull murmurs into a thick silence. 

Even through the cameras I can feel the tension, or maybe that’s because I’m only a few rooms away from the set. Maeve gave nothing away in Maria’s prodding, her stern intense expression not moving a muscle, but Homelander’s tells are there if you know how to read him. His too tight and sharp smile and his eyes are wide open, glassily vacant, with there is a thunderstorm of emotions brewing just above the surface. 

“Wow. These are real hardballs, Maria Menounos. But check your facts. Let's, uh, take The Seven , for example. We've got A-Train. He's a black man. We got Black Noir. He, um… Well, he doesn't identify with any race, really, so... they're covered. And... we have a gay hero.” 

“Really? Who in The Seven is gay?” Maria’s befuddlement is clear to everyone watching.

“Queen Maeve. Mm-hmm. Scoop for you, Maria. Maeve here is a strong, proud lesbian with a beautiful girlfriend, Elena. Hispanic girlfriend. And I, for one, am so proud of her.” His voice is loud and clear as he outs Maeve to the world. Maeve is frozen still, her pallor resembling a corpse; she’s left speechless. Homelander crushes Maeve to his side, as if trying to show some form of camaraderie. Her frozen dead state changes in a blink and she’s smiling again. The cameras are still rolling after all. 

The audience is applauding–Maria is standing from her seat and clapping too. The show cuts to a commercial break with that new revelation as their finale for the episode.

My stomach turns and twists into knots—and I don’t think it's because of my over indulgence in sugar.  Homelander’s constant need to attack others is not what I wanted to see today, displayed for millions to see. Poor Maeve got caught in the crosshairs, too. Why would he do that? Because Maria bated him? Was mentioning Madelyn the trigger? I would have to confront him on this. I need to talk to Maeve first! This had been the time a therapist on set would have been helpful. Dammit! 

At that thought I jump to my feet not able to stay here when I’m needed elsewhere. I can feel Maeve’s echoing aura, the flavor of vodka and mothball foaming down my throat. Maeve’s signature fear and sadness felt the same when I first met her.  The subtle feeling was getting closer. I speed to the door and open it just an inch. I peak out just as I hear Maeve and Homelander’s voices echo down the bare halls.

“Where’s Elena? What did you do to her?” Maeve shouts trying to keep in step with Homelander’s long strides.

“She’s fine. What did I do to her? I set her free. And you. You’ve been living in the shadows so long, doesn’t it feel good to be out in the sun?” Homelander quips candidly.

“ Hold on. Me and Elena are just friends.”

“Oh. Just friends?” The Homelander took one whiff and smells that blood was in the air.

“Yes.”

“Because, see, I heard you two talking on the phone, and it sounded a little more than friends. So, I did a little digging, and imagine my fucking surprise.” Derision and hate drips from his voice like a broken faucet that couldn't stop weeping. 

“Okay. We had a relationship once.”

“Hmm.” He nods with a flat expression.

“Once!”

“Once. A relationship…relationship. That’s such a vague word. What does that mean to you? Long walks in the park? A shoulder to cry on? Scissoring each other raw?” His questions grew more tense and his rough aura’s swirling winds cut across mindscapes to scrape by my own in angry retaliation. The intensity of the conversation made me want to melt into the shadows and never leave. 

“I ended the relationship when I joined The Seven. When I met you.” Her cold voice had little emotion attached when responding to the rabid, pacing tiger that is Homelander.

“Stop fucking lying to me!” He punches the air forward, an inch from Maeve’s face. Her lack of response makes his scowl turn retched. “I am at my wit’s fucking end with the lies.”

“We're together.” She grinds out through tight pale lips, fear dripping the pungent lemonimes, only the smell of vodka permeates the air. 

“And you love her?” She merely nods at the question. “Hmm. I see. Well, best of luck to you both.”  He sighs out looking almost relieved with the sentiment, and Maeve’s face gives away her thoughts plainly. “Oh, is it so hard to believe that I want you two to be happy? And in love? Honestly, Maeve, I am really, really happy for you.” He struts away with an unsettling confidence that could not be ignored. Maeve stood frozen to her spot, not able to move after the encounter. 

Feeling like a coward, but safe with him gone, I quietly slink up behind Maeve. She seems hypnotized, or lost in thought, but I can see both of her fists are clenched tight. I tap her shoulder before chickening out.

“Maeve, I’m sorry about what happened. Out there…” I quietly trail off not knowing how to express the unfairness of it with words.

“Nothing happened that I can’t handle.” She looks me up and down assessing with a steely gray glare. Her face resembles porcelain, still and unchanging but beautiful. Sadly, her thunderstorm of an aura now shifts from lemony fear to ozone.  The fear is gone but the anger stays rooted deep inside her, an overflowing boiling pot of righteous indignation. The smell and taste of it inflicts my senses with a whooping rush. Like speeding winds during a tropical cyclone, a force of nature, that was Maeve. 

“Well, if you ever want to talk about it you’re always welcome in my office. Or if you need someone to talk to you outside of normal hours you can call my personal number.” I provide my business card to her, offering a small smile as well. 

She grabs my card from my hand and looks at it with a critical eye. She turns it over and over as if it may be bugged. Paranoia may be a Superhero thing then, makes sense with all the head trauma involved. Just a theory. After looking it over extensively she places it between her breasts staring me dead in the eyes, asking for a reaction. I don’t take the bait.

“Please, I hope you do take the time to see me. At least give it a chance.” I fill in the silence, not willing to walk away without a confirmation of some form from Maeve.

“I’ll think about it.” She smiles through what feels like a platitude, but I take the scraps she gives.

“Thank you, Maeve! That’s all I’m asking is you give it a chance.” I cheer, not able to help myself from jumping in the air with a little hop. Maeve cracks a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“I didn’t promise anything.” 

“Daphne, what are you doing here?” Homelander’s voice bounces across the halls where he pops back in from where he just dramatically exited. He storms towards me ignoring Maeve altogether.

“I was in the green room.” I point to the door behind me. He shakes his head, as if I was some inconsolable toddler, and grabs my hand without restraint or permission.  

“Let’s go.” Homelander's stiff upper lip and the fearsome glare directed at Maeve makes me queasy. I swipe my hand away just before Homelander can grip it tight.

“Are you sure you're okay?” I look into Maeve’s steely eyes and place my hands on hers. I can’t help but feel the suffocating depression that oozed off of her. I just wanted her to feel alright, just okay enough to survive to the next moment. We can talk about the next step when she is ready, if she just gave me a chance.

Her eyes flicker between me and Homelander; I can’t help but cringe under her glare. She shakes my hands off by crossing her arms across her chest. She turns her back to the both of us. 

“Thank you, Daphne. If I have time maybe I’ll take you up on the offer.” She turns her head over her shoulder, directly looking at Homelander while saying this. She struts out of the halls with confidence I couldn’t comprehend. Queen Maeve must be used to his chaotic and vicious games and was only moving her own pieces. The fog that was her aura evaporated as she got further and further away, finally leaving me with a clear head. Other than Homelander’s viscous cinnamon flavored satisfaction that was annoyingly present. 

“So, are we going or not?” He puffs up his chest as he laments this.

“Yes, going to a therapy session like you promised, Homelander.”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Well, I meant what I said. You promised me if it all went well you would try therapy, right?”

“Yes, that's true. My viewership and ratings have gone up since this morning.” He says this with a tired sigh, as if he wasn't happy about his newfound favor.

“So, let's do it!”

“Really?” Exasperation is clear as he grits out the one word.

“What do you mean, ‘really’?” I admonish him shaking my finger at his childish protests.

“Fine.” He sighs out with a loud huff. He thinks he's indulging me, but all he is doing is keeping his word. I swear this man will be the end of me. But gosh I can't hold in my excitement when he finally agrees. 

“Really?!” I scream out jumping up in the air with a little "whoop!" coming out of mouth. I can't help shaking his arm over and over in obvious glee. He smiles but tries to smother it with a not so believable scowl. 

“Yes…” He grinds out, barely audible enough to understand. He stiffens under my attention but as I move away he grabs my arm. Without a word he wraps my left my arm with his, he does all of this without looking me in the eye.

“Okay, well first you need to change into civilian clothing.” I say, pointed ignoring his odd body language.

“What, why?” He sputters out stopping mid-stride, which in turns stops me in my tracks.

“‘Cause we're doing therapy outside at Riverside Park.” I say with confidence I don't have, as if this was the plan all along.

“Why can’t we be in your office like a normal therapist?”

“Because being outside is healthy for you that’s why.”

“Uh huh–” I interrupt him mid’ eye-roll.

“Now who’s the therapist Homelander?”

“Don’t give me that shit for the love of god.” He groans.

“Fine, but you know I’m right.” I point up in the air, chin up and proud, finally I’ve won this battle. “I know the costume coordinator here, I’ll ask if there is anything you can borrow.”

“You mean have.” He says smoothly, almost like he wasn’t acting like a brat. I put my hands on my hips glaring daggers at him. 

“Don’t just assume, it’s rude.” 

“Are you more pushy than usual or is it just me?” Homelander chuckles as he tries to slow his long strides to keep in pace with me. I struggle to find any sign of where the fashion coordinator could be in this plain white maze of a studio.

“Well, you haven’t known me for that long. I can be quite pushy when I want to be. You feeling threatened?” I joke, arching an eyebrow at him. He pshaws at me, seeming exasperated with my entire being, but his attention was focused solely on me. My hyper awareness of it made the hairs on the back of my neck standup. I pointedly ignore the tension brewing between us, even with the blush crawling up my face. Instead I focus on finding my old friend.

Thankfully, the room I was looking for was wide open and the vanity mirror with the hollywood bulbs framing it was a beacon for its location. The plaque on the side reading The Rack . I politely knock on the open door not wanting to interrupt anything that may be happening inside. Sadly, I had a much ruder companion at my side who strolls right in without a second thought, his cape trailing behind him like a shadow.

“Oh! Homelander it's amazing to see you. Is there anything we can do for—Daphne? I haven’t seen you in forever! Not since you were stuck with us and that horrible teamster getting us lost in the Jersey suburbs. God, Olivia still hadn’t bought me dinner like she promised.” Eli’s huff of indignation is lost in my curls as his long arms wrap around me, lifting me slightly up in the air. He lets me go with a boisterous playful laugh that makes me feel nostalgic.

His smile shines bright and wide, matching his sharp jaw and high cheek bones to create a handsome but androgynous profile.  His dark locks coiled into gentle curls ending just above his ear, and his hazel colored eyes always held this twinkle within as if he had a secret he couldn’t tell. He was just as fashionable as Olivia, wearing peak condition black Gucci loafers with gold chains. His long lean body matches his soft slick style as well, he wore black slack perfectly tailored to him and what looked like a Ralph Lauren cashmere taupe turtleneck. His notorious bright red rain coat from his and Olivia’s favorite brand Dolce & Gabbana was sitting on a makeup chair in the back of the room . 

He was Olivia’s right hand man for a few years when her company was just a fledgling. Eventually, after some time he wanted to pursue other opportunities to try and blossom outside of her shadow. They are still close, even if they are now competitors in the same field. 

His aura was just as bright and creative as Olivia’s, only his was pearlescent, almost shimmering and changing hues under certain lighting. The taste of bubbly champagne foam around my lips, which was pleasant but surprising. The taste helped dull Homelander’s growing impatience and cinnamon flavored dominance. 

“I’ll be seeing Olivia Friday night so I’ll tell her she owes you one.” I quip easily falling back into the friendly candor we had when we were in our early twenties. He fiddles with a few baby curls that were a frizzy mess at this point, I did get rained on this morning after all. Eli grabs a butterfly clip that was bedazzled encrusted and clips it into my hair, helping it stay out of my face. I’m jerked back suddenly and Homelander’s hand has a vice grip on my wrist. His other hand is placed at the arch of my back, as if wanting to make sure I knew of his presence.

“Good! Now, why have you and our esteemed leader of The Seven  come to my abode?”  Eli recovers quickly from the abrupt change in the atmosphere. Homelander’s glare only makes it much, much worse. The writhing indignity seemed to come off of him, waves rippling across my mind, giving me enough of a warning. I have to stay on my toes. Homelander has been on the attack since we’ve been on this set and I’m not willing to risk it with an old friend. 

“R-right, I wanted to know if you had some outfits prepared for Homelander if he needed an outfit change.”

“Sure, Vought always sends extra suits just in case of anything happening to the originals.”

“No, no I mean regular civilian clothes. Do you have outfits prepared according to his measurements?”  I ask, going into assistant mode—not something I thought I'd be doing with my twelve years to get a doctorate, but ya’ gotta do whatcha’ gotta do. “Is there anything you have in mind, Homelander?” I look back up to Homelander, feeling the need to be deferential to appease his ego, for now. His hand was still wrapped tight around my wrist and he crowds over me in the small room, his whole body crushes me against him in our closeness—it felt like I could fit in his pocket. The absurdity of it all would be funny if it wasn’t so worrisome. 

“You can pick it out, Daph.” He declares just above a whisper, a breath in my ear. The closeness of the action makes me grow anxious as Eli silently scrutinizes us, a knowing look gracing his chiseled features. Eli’s eyes were sparkling with amusement as his eyes flicker back between us with an raised eyebrow, making my tomato red blush spread across my whole body.

“O-O-Okay.” I stutter out, before taking a shy step out of his tight hold. 

“We have this rack that fits his measurements.” Eli’s tone is casual as he strolls near the lounging area of the small room. The styles were limited but all of the brands were from high fashion designers, this one rack was at least worth twenty five thousand dollars. That’s not including the shoes in the back. 

Trying to bring my inner Olivia fashionista out I grab the rack and drag it to where Homelander decided to sit in the far off corner. Trying to ignore everyone and everything I think. He has fallen into a melancholic mood, toiling and turning inside, dark red clouds clinging above his thoughts. My body moves before my brain can tell me no. I grab his hands making him jump from whatever thoughts had him trapped inside his head. 

“Can I take these off?” I gently pat his hands looking directly into his piercing blue eyes. He looked vacant from within, and it made me shudder with a new fear I couldn’t comprehend. The cloying cinnamon flavor had just a hint of pine, reminding me of something buried deep inside. The conflicting emotions and aura made my head spin and my stomach twist into knots, but I didn’t, no I couldn’t look away.

“Sure.” He is dismissive, giving a slight shrug to pair off with his uncaring tone. I gently pry off his blue leather gloves, making sure to pay attention to any change in his expression. He only flexes his hands as I place them on the side table; he continues to look bored as ever. 

“What’s your favorite color?” I burst out awkwardly, not able to sound casual. 

“Huh? I don’t know, blue.” He shrugs, trying to participate as little as possible.

“Like the blue of your suit?” I look over the rack again trying to find similar colors to his supe attire.

“No, no more of a light blue, like…” He trails off now, not able to look me in the eyes. His usual overbearing confidence seemed to have left the building the moment we walked into The Rack .  It felt like there was a storm on the horizon and I was left out to sea with only a buoy to cling to. His mood swings were becoming harder and harder to understand even with my powers to help me.

“Well, here is this beautiful light blue jean jacket. Oh, feel this Homelander! How do you feel about this material?” I grab a soft cashmere Gucci white tee, simple and with no logos attached. He gently rubs it between his fingers, and a small smile peaks from behind his once placid expression. 

“I like it; it's…soft.” I can’t hold my excitement in as I rush to grab another item off the rack with Eli indirectly helping me. 

Through a few shrugs and an actual happy “That’s not bad.” we achieved a final look that Homelander couldn’t complain about. Eli even threw in a wide high-bridge set of black Dolce Gabbana sunglasses to ‘complete’ the look, Eli’s exact words. Homelander ignores the both of us as he shyly walks into the changing room with the outfit in hand. 

“I saw the social media posts on your Instagram. Didn’t know you had so many followers now, but I guess it makes sense with the new fame.” Eli hugs me from the side and I lean into it, enjoying the friendly contact. His aura alway has a soft relaxing touch, like the feeling of drinking a perfect cup of hot chamomile tea during a rainy night. 

“Ugh, I didn’t even post those. One of my coworkers just used some of my photos and made it into a social campaign.” I sigh, feeling drained just talking about it.

“Well, I could see your curly blond head in some photos. So, now you're famous. Get used to it and take advantage of the perks.” He wiggles his eyebrows looking between me and the door Homeladner was changing in. I smack his shoulder giving him my best death glare. He laughs freely and his smooth baritone is as pleasant as ever to listen to. 

“Now you sound like Olivia. No thank you, I'm going to try and be as anonymous as possible. I don’t need that kind of attention, ever. I’m a therapist . That’s it.” I mutter out feeling a throat tightening worry claw at the back of mind like a persistent draft.

“Got it, got it. Saint Daph over here, of course you’d say that. I knew from the beginning you wouldn’t be happy about it, but I still had to tease you. For old times sake.” He chirps pinching my cheeks as if I was some snot nosed baby. I blow raspberries at him like a snot nosed baby, just to show him. He bursts out into full blown belly laugh not holding anything back, his joy sparkling atop my senses like a happy haze. 

The changing room door flies open, looking like it barely held onto the hinges it was nailed down to. Homelander struts out one long leg at a time showcasing the outfit itself, even paired with his scowling face, he looked handsome. His anger was so fresh and rushed over me like a heat wave. The burning sensation of drinking something too hot coated my tongue with a flash of pain searing my tongue. 

Though the heated pain searing my mouth was a distraction I still couldn’t take my eyes off him. He wore the white Gucci white shirt and the light blue jean jacket frames the shape of his shoulders perfectly. The well fitted jeans that had a bleach splash pattern paired well with his steel colored Jimmy Choo oxfords. His shades rest on top of his head as a perfect accessory to cap it all off. 

“You look great!” I rush to his side grabbing him by the arm, steeling myself against his volatile aura. Twisting and turning into a red dustbowl of anger that attacked my mindscape without abandon. The taste of ash mixed with cloying cinnamon left me feeling light headed. I held up my defenses and kept a pleasant smile on my face under Homelander’s scrutiny.

“I agree, very sharp but still casual. I think the shoes help elevate the overall look.” Eli adds looking over Homelander’s whole outfit.

“No one asked you.” Homelander bluntly says without missing a beat. It leaves Eli sputtering, choking to find the right words to appease Homelander’s ego.

“Homelander!” I yell out admonishing with a little slap to his shoulder for emphasis. Homelander only scuffs at me, not bending to any sort of retaliation, rolling his eyes to prove my point. He grips my arm tight, not letting me out of his hold. “Sorry, Eli. I’ll talk to you another time, and I won’t forget to remind Olivia about that dinner she owes you.” Homelander steers me out of The Rack as I’m finishing my sentence, waving Eli goodbye with a twinge of guilt gnawing inside my stomach. Eli waves back politely, not seeming offended by any of it at all. I rush to throw Homelander’s suit and gloves into my large bag before he can storm off with me in tow.

The agitation was radiating off him like a broken heater, it was making me sweat under his dominant aura. As if being pinned down by an instrument, like a bug under an entomologist’s needle. Without a forewarning he’s grabbing me like I’m a sack of potatoes and he’s flying off. I scream as I clutch his shoulders so tightly I could feel my bones pop under the pressure. I close my eyes tight and I can feel my stomach doing a billion summersaults. The slicing sharp wind cuts at my skin, it leaves me feeling uncomfortable and achy. The only thing keeping me from passing out is Homelander’s warm arms holding me firm to his body, not showing any signs of letting me go.

What felt like hours which was probably only minutes, he finally lands on solid ground. Riverside Park looked like its usual busy self, and oddly enough no one took notice of the person arriving by flight. A lucky break. 

“Do you know what Stormfront’s been saying since your campaign?” Homelander’s chilling question strikes fear into my heart. Like being struck with lightning; my eyes dilate and can’t stop my abrupt inhalation of breath. I can barely get my heart to calm before he’s towering over me and looking me over with a conspiratorial paranoia haunting his eyes. 

“No, and I don’t care what she’s saying and neither should you.” I swallow down my fear, wipe away the sweat on my brow and interlace my arm with his. “Now you need lunch before we start. Let's get you a hotdog. Luckily for you I know the perfect place.”

“I don’t want a hotdog.”

“You’ve never had a hotdog from the vendor stationed at Riverside Park, have you?”

“No, but before you try to tell me–”

“Well then you have to try it!” 

“No, no Daphne hotdogs are disgusting.”

“Not these hotdogs. Now stop complaining and follow me!” I pipe up steering him inside the park through the cobbled paths that showcased the famous cherry blossom trees. We quickly step in line with the rest of the sparse crowd, no one giving us a second look. The disguise if you want to call it that was a success. 

“Sammy!” I squealed out from a few feet away. A hotdog vendor, Sammy, stood at the corner of the central fountain. The large bulky man in a bright red polo and slacks, resembling a Wells Fargo agent, waves jovially at me.

“Why isn’t it pipsqueak in the flesh!” His thick Brooklyn accent was accentuated for the tourists, I know this for a fact, but he hasn’t broken character in front of me once. Homelander trails a few steps behind me as I excitedly bolt to hug the large man. His bursting reddish orange aura shimmers bright with a homemade smell of dinner made with love. The taste of my favorite dish when I was a child sits at the tip of my tongue, like a nostalgic dream come to life. He noogies my curls into a complete disaster; Eli’s sparkly butterfly clip hangs on by a thread. “And is this your new boyfriend?” He asks with fatherly affection while he continues to noogie me into an early grave. I shove his beefy hand off my curls with an exaggerated huff, retreating to Homelander’s side. 

“No, no he’s my friend…” I stammer off looking at Homelander to save me from complete embarrassment. It's not like we discussed a code name when going out all incognito. 

“It's John, nice to meet you.” Homelander introduces himself with a charming but too wide smile and handshake that would make most fathers proud.

“Handsome boyfriend you have there Daph. Got to keep him close before you get too old to be a young pretty wife. Then you'll be crusty like all of the other spinsters out in this little city.” Sammy quips with a rumbling chuckle, this takes the air out of me, making his chuckles turn into a full blown belly laugh. Homelander bursts out into an unattractive fit of laughter, almost choking on his hysteria. 

“What do you mean spinster? This isn’t the 1800s old man!” I squeal out feeling my entire face light up into a flaming red shade, all from his prodding nature. That was just Sammy for you and I should have been used to it.

“Okay, okay do you want your usual?”

“Yes, plus add one for my friend.”

“I’m not really—” Homelander tries to intervene.

“He hasn’t eaten all day. He’s probably starving honestly.” I stop him before he can inadvertently–or overtly, offend Sammy. Homelander glares daggers into the back of my head, but I’ve gotten good at ignoring him. 

“Good! This is the food of champions my man, your little lady knows it well. Good customer she is.” Sammy boasts making his famous hotdogs with quick ease, placing the complete order in two red checkered paper trays. Homelander doesn’t take his, so I take it for him, holding onto it for safekeeping. And to not look rude, which seems to never be an issue for Homelander.

Luckily the rain from this morning has cleared away to make room for a clear blue sky. The sun was bright, a beacon of cheer in this beautiful park setting. A relaxing setting that shouldn’t raise his hackles while we talk. Hopefully. I wave to Sammy as we stroll off, not letting Sammy’s embarrassing implications linger in my mind, I continue to hold onto Homelander’s arm. 

I shove the hotdog in Homelander’s ungrateful hands, he gags at it in his usual dramatic fashion. I happily take a huge chomp of my own plain hotdog. I steer him towards an offshoot path where trees seem to take over, obscuring the view from the cityscape. It's a more private trail that's perfect for what I need it for.

As we silently follow my favorite trail I can hear birds chirping around us, and two squirrels are chasing each other across the path; not giving us a second glance or any mind as they play.  Now if by some miracle we found a deer I would proclaim myself Snow White . Sadly, they weren’t residents of this park. If we wanted to see them we would have to go to the Bronx. Stealthily taking a glance towards Homelander without his notice, I can see him sneaking bites of his hotdog, not giving any sign if he likes it or not. But he continues to eat, so I call that a win.

Definitely a childish and prideful streak of his.

“How about we sit here?” 

“I don’t care.” He shrugs, looking almost calm, in comparison to an hour ago.

“Perfect!” I drag him to sit besides me, which he relents, he graces his arm across the bench as he swallows the last of his hotdog. I hope my dress doesn’t get stained while sitting on the damp wooden bench, but it's my own fault for wearing white, so I sit without complaint. 

“What would you like to talk about first?”

“Isn’t that your job to figure that out?”

“I want to talk about what’s concerning you, and the only way for me to know that is to ask you.”

“Well, you know what’s been bothering me. Stormfront and my numbers dropping, not much more to it.” He mutters out with derision, putting his shades on to pointedly glare into the bright sky.

“Well those are definitely things we can talk about, but I was thinking more about your personal life.” 

“Hah, that part of my life is not so complicated.” He sounds like he means to say this as if it's a good thing, but his words are all pointed and coated with bitterness he couldn’t hide.

“I want to know if you’ve done anything for yourself recently?” His posture stiffens up like a rubber band pulled back so tight it could just snap .

“I-I saw my son recently.” His eyes moved rapidly across the room finally landing back on me with a pointed and cold glare. He obviously didn’t mean to say that. He was trying to be difficult no matter how far we’ve come. 

“How was that?” A simple question, but a loaded one.

“He didn’t know I was his Dad and I didn’t know he existed. I didn’t even know I could have a kid until they told me.” ‘They,’ the word he spat out with such derision that goosebumps ran down my spine. A sharp chill in the air as if the winter season decided to come visit. The taste of hate always was the same to me no matter who it was. This hate felt different though; something about Homelander’s hate tasted darker, akin to coffee grounds. He’s looking down at his hands, his cold stare gone but not the chill. I felt my powers a-light within me, a yearning to smooth his frayed edges out.

“I pushed him off the roof. He doesn’t exactly want to talk to me after that, either.”

“A roof?” I hold my expression still, giving nothing away.

“I was trying to teach him how to fly.” He stares at me with a coldness I haven’t seen before, as if waiting for me to attack him. Without a second thought I grab both of his hands and place them in mine. He flinches away, like a trembling foal, but relaxes into my touch after a few seconds pass.

“What happened after?” My calm aura overtakes his own, focusing all of my willpower to embrace his own chaotic energy and turn into something less painful .

“He fell, didn’t fly. Surprisingly, I thought he would be scared of me when he failed the attempt, but instead he was angry at me.” He huffs, blowing out an ungraceful snort, a scowl morphing his handsome features. 

“Hm, why do you think he would have been scared rather than angry?”

“Huh, oh, I don’t know. It's just…” He trails off, his aura twisting quickly, sharp pain shooting down my head at the impact. His blue gaze now looks vacant as he stares off into the distance. I continue to wait, holding his hands, as I decide to turn my eyes to the horizon too. “Dr. Vogelbaum would have been angry.” He whispers just on the cusp of sounding fearful, stressed notes twinging his voice; his admission was taken with the breeze.

“Well, you're not Dr. Vogelbaum and Ryan’s not you.” I say simply with a shrug. The lightness of my response takes Homelander out of his dark stupor, finally deigns to look me in the eyes. Even with his shades now covering his eyes I can still see beneath his bravado. Something soft flickers beneath the surface and his aura stills, the scent of pine embraces my senses.

“Yeah, I guess not.” He murmurs looking away again, quickly. He is acutely aware he showed too much of his hand, all the chinks in his armor in full view.

“Well, like I offered before I can help mediate a session with the both of you. If you’d like?”

“I guess that wouldn’t be too awful.”

“Hey! I resent that. I’m good with kids, you know.” I puff out in indignation, my cheeks full of air. He laughs at me, not with me that’s for sure. To my alarming disappointment my phone rings a blaring horn sound, representing Erving’s contact. My attention diverts completely to my phone as I quickly grab it from my bag. Homelander watch me without blinking, not giving me any room for privacy. I click on the single text message from the contact labeled under Black Noir.

There was a singular photo of Black Noir giving a peace sign to the camera with a computer techie behind him, surrounded by Redbulls . It looked like they were inside the Vought building, maybe the tech-security room, but I’m not hundred percent sure. The woman who seemed to be working under duress, she just looked plain uncomfortable, but she gave a peace sign to the camera as well. Maybe to appease Black Noir’s odd sense of humor. I chuckle at the ridiculous image. I was worried about him all this time for no real reason it seems.

“Black Noir is texting you?” His question was burning hot off his tongue as he screwed up his face in disgust.

“Oh, yeah just wanted to make sure he was okay while he was out on a mission.” I heart the picture, but decided not to reply. Not wanting to be rude to Homelander I put my phone back in my purse. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to make sure he was alright.”

“Hm.” He grits out through a grinding jaw. His veins throb in his neck and the red storm that is his aura twists chaotically. He stands abruptly from the bench. I gasp not able to hide my surprise from his whiplash of emotions. “Well, since you’re so busy with Black Noir I might as well leave.” He barks, I can’t stand up fast enough before he's storming off. 

The whirlwind of emotions and burning anger that tasted of coffee grounds lingers on my tongue even with him gone. I can’t believe I was left behind. We didn’t even get very far before he bailed. What could have changed his mood so suddenly? I sigh, feeling my whole body ache with residual pain from the last few days. Oh man, I have his suit too. 

I riffle in my bag and my hand freezes, there resting gently in the center pocket was the folder. I slowly take it out, as if it would bite me, looking over the label, it stares back. The feeling of trepidation swelters like a feverish nausea festering inside my belly. I swallow down the bile and open the folder.

S age Grove Center:

REPORT #132 for PROJECT CONTROL CENTER: 

September 2nd, 1993

Eight years of service to Vought before consenting to giving us a specimen for this honor. Dr. Bennet goes under the procedures just like the volunteers, including after pregnancy. The genetics of both spouses should present genetic markers we are looking for. Though the hypothesis proves correct–as you know, the parents of the experiment have gotten attached, it seems. 

(NAME REDACTED), I know you are prudent about how this will unfold, but Dr. Shetty is holding her ground on the subject. Though the experiment was doing better than others before her, her declining health under the more strict testing has given us little hope. We have to push her further to see how far we can go with this one. She will at least be another step forward in the right direction, even if she doesn’t pass. 

CONTROL CENTER should be a success with a few more babies like this one, as long as the parents allow us a few more samples. I see in a few more months we will have a breakthrough on this serum. Your husband would be quite proud, if you don’t mind me saying.

From,

Dr. Alfred Leeman

REPORT #133 for PROJECT CONTROL CENTER: 

October 2nd, 1993

Daniel Bennet is becoming more of a problem by the week, and he is dragging the “good doctor” down to his level. (NAME REDACTED), I feel it is time we terminate his contract before he decides to pull something similar to when he was out in the field. Dr. Shetty will have no qualms with this, she wants the “good doctor” to be compliant after all. That we can all agree on.

The good news is the experiment’s genetic markers have now fully integrated with the Compound V serum. Her genetics are changed into something completely different from the original serum. Certain powers may not even affect this experiment, but more testing is needed for this hypothesis. 

We will have to ask for people to interview for the head of security position soon before Mr. Bennett becomes a real problem. We cannot let this precious time be wasted on regretful sperm-donors, but I know you know that.

From,

Dr. Alfred Leeman

REPORT #134 for PROJECT CONTROL CENTER: 

November 2nd, 1993

Informing Stan Edgar was a regretful but necessary decision I had to make in order to preserve as much of the research as possible. I hope you can forgive this inconvenience, as you find Stan Edgar unsavory, but again it was required. To my chagrin Stan Edgar found the new side project a profitable endeavor. 

He especially loves the concept of the central nerve system being the genetic identifier for their powers in contrast to the original’s going through the spinal-cord. His added interest has helped recover our extreme monetary losses since the silent lawsuit. The Bennetts have gotten away with not only screwing us but also Vought Co, which means Stan Edgar. So, we can be happy about one thing (NAME REDACTED).

Their supposed official adoption was only granted if they signed off on the gag order, and they had to agree, of course. Oddly enough I don’t see that whole situation working out. The experiments we still have are being burned now as I write this. They were all given a “mercy death,” for they failed quickly. Your husband would have agreed with the sentiment, (NAME REDACTED).

We will have to start fresh. 

From,

Dr. Alfred Leeman

That was the last journal in the folder, but there were a few articles from 1994 to 1996. The small cut out articles all contained pictures of my parents holding me as an infant in front of a picket fence home. The article explained their normal cookie cutter stories out, her a school teacher, and my Dad the war hero. They were given a spotlight in the paper in a small town I can faintly remember. I’ve only moved twice in my whole life, and that was the first home I lived in. The blurry old photo didn’t show enough details for me to recollect much, but the nostalgia hit me like a freight train.

The articles were paid off backstories for my family to fall into. They were Vought employees and they didn’t just give me Compound V, they agreed to an experiment. Something different and from what I just read, deathly. My whole body is shaking as if I am sitting in the middle of a snow storm with no jacket to fight off the chill, but the storm is inside my heart.  Skimming through the journals over and over the sun begins to set in the background though my obsessive spiral.

Dr. Shetty, as in famous behavioral scientist and Dean of Godolkin University, Indira Shetty. My hunch might feel like a conspiracy, but at this point I have nothing else to go on. Though, it is documented that she has worked under Sage Grove Center when researching her job history. With gut wrenching bravery I didn’t think I have I dial Dean Shetty’s office.

“Hello, this is Dean Shetty’s office, how may I help you?” An elegant and cheery voice on the other side asks.

“Who may I be talking to?” I whisper through a gravelly throat. I try to hold back my tears, but it seems I’ve no control of anything these days, my tears slowly trail down my face.

“Dean Shetty’s assistant Erica, so how can I help you?”

“U-um I would love to set up an appointment with her, tomorrow if possible. I’m a psychologist for The Seven currently. Because of this I’ve been wanting to speak with more like minded people who work to service Superheroes’ mental health.” I push out with an obviously forced cheery voice.

“Oh, Dr. Bennett, you’ve been the talk of Godolkin University as of late. I’m sure she will be able to fit you in her schedule tomorrow. Let me see…” She trails off with the clickety clacking of a keyboard on the other end. “Yes, yes does one in the afternoon sound good to you Dr. Bennett?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you Erica.”

“Of course, Dr. Bennett.”

That was too easy. The chills of foreboding wracks my body once again, the urge to flee rattling in my bones. I look up to see it's night already, almost no one is in the park. The day has flown by before I even knew it. I walk tiredly out of the park’s entrance and stumble inside a cab. I decide no detours is for the best. I know my dad said I should talk to them right after reading the file, but I just can’t. The day’s drained everything out of me and I need my bed pronto.

I sleepily stumble into my apartment in a zombie-like state and I ready myself for bed. I turn my phone off needing a break from everything . Now in my pink silk pajamas I embrace my soft bed with complete glee, curling into it with a content sigh.

“John, of course you can have a hug.” A soft warm embrace before the warmth felt sticky and oozed. The cloying pressing fear clogged my senses, my heart wouldn’t stop beating a mile a minute.

“ Not so tight, John.” Crack. Snap. The sharp hollow feeling inside me feels insatiable. “J-John, please!”

The crash of glass wakes me up from the foggy nightmarish memories I’ve had locked away in my head. I jump from my bed, stumbling and tripping from being entangled in my blankets. I squint in the dark as a big figure moves, I scream. 

“Daphne! It's me…” Homelander’s deep timbered voice seems far off and his voice holds a note of embarrassment. I decided to ignore the broken terrace door and focus on slowly turning on the lights, not giving him my back, as if he was a wild animal. He kind of is in a way, at least as unpredictable one. I got to the fridge and got two glasses out with a silent patience I knew would grate on his nerves. I grab the milk and pour it in each glass with as much grace as my groggy sleep-addled brain could muster. 

I finally look him over, he’s in his suit again and the scowl he wore now reminded me of when I first met him. He looks like he’s in a state of flux. His red sand dune of a mindscape couldn’t decide if it wanted to destroy everything around it or be still and silent. I place my hand on his, trying to quiet the storm inside him so he can just breathe.  

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think I’m pathetic?” Homelander’s question makes me jump, as if burned.

“You're not pathetic, John. I think you're strong, and not only on the outside, on the inside too.” I say with the full force, yelling in indignation for him. I hand him a warmed up glass of milk as I do this, a small smile breaks his dark expression. Relief floods my soul like no other as he sips the glass, his tense shoulders relax.

“Do you want to sleep here?” I offer, his eyes flash and leave feeling like a bug pinned to a board.

“Yes, but I want the bed.”

“O-okay let me get you something comfortable to sleep in.” I leave Homelander standing in the center of my open floor plan, awkwardly sipping on his warm milk. I came back from the cubby closet with a similar outfit I gave him last time, courtesy of my dad again.

As he changes I grab an old afghan that my grandmother made me over ten years ago from my closet and lay on the top of my bed. I curl the blanket around me, mimicking the look of a caterpillar. He comes back in with his changed attire, but he stops mid-step looking at me with amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“Are you okay sleeping in the same bed?”

“Yes, it's fine. I’ll sleep on the top of the covers so your virtue may stay intact.” I yawn out feeling loopy tired at this point. Homelander snorts, slowly sliding into the bed, looking ready to bolt if needed. Silence surrounds us like the comforting dark, and what feels like an odd dream, I relax into Homelander’s presence. I can feel my eyes slowly close.

“Daphne…” I jerk up surprised to hear Homelander’s faint voice through the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“You can call me John when it's just us.”

“O-okay. Goodnight, John.” I whisper back, just as sleepy as a second ago, but for some reason my heart would not stop pounding in my chest.

______________________________________________________________

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[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER FIVE: A Worthwhile Endeavor

Leaving the premises that was now the makeshift hospital and refuge was harder than I thought it’d be. The damage leftover across the streets and roads made getting a cab or an uber extremely difficult. The rubble being cleared out by an influx of construction workers made the usual city noise much worse. I drop myself like a dead heap inside a cab three blocks away from the refuge. I let out a sigh of relief. The aching in my head and my left leg was my souvenir of all chaos that took place today.

The disgusting itch in the back of my mind did not let Stan Edgar escape my thoughts. I can’t believe Stan Edgar maneuvered out of the bad press with a little hero worship! It’s beyond disgusting. Thought I would never say that saving lives was disgusting–but using it to dig yourself out of this press nightmare screams villainous. The only good thing I can even think to come out of this was the possibility of my plan coming to fruition.

The city continued its usual song no matter how horrifically recent these events occurred on the streets. No, the city continues to dance to its own tune unwilling to bend to anyone. That’s one thing I like about living here, the scars are covered up by its gaudy beauty—even the fresh ones.

The night sky is overcast and the bright city lights are too much for my eyes as I’m stumbling into my dingy apartment building. The mix of medical concoctions were definitely causing me to trip over the squeaky steps up my floor; making it difficult to move in a straight line. The constant noise from the outside world fades as I finally enter my apartment. The warm twinkling lights--my new and improved set up is only dampened slightly by the reminder of my parents.

I can’t touch that thought with a ten foot pole.

Instead of focusing on my own issues I push myself towards the kitchen and get out my large pots and pasta maker. I grab flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt to start on the dough. Setting everything to make the dough on the side I turn on the oven top. I place my well loved and beaten gigantic pot onto the oven, and start throwing in my homegrown rooftop canned tomatoes. The garden I created on the rooftop was steady and strong every summer, something I started in secret the first year I moved in. It was also rarely visited by any of my neighbors, so it is safe in comparison to most places.

I grab a small pan and begin to sauté my fresh minced garlic while I’m mashing my tomatoes in the large pot. I grab my remote quickly into the process and turn on one of my favorite childhood films for background noise, The Wizard of Oz . It was something I would watch with my family every time I had to stay home from school when I was sick. Either a cold or my powers, it didn't matter; they were always there for me. My headache from my powers and wound throbs as a painful reminder of what happened earlier today.

I wish I could call Marie but she didn’t have a phone and they were so strict about curfews at Red River Institute. The kids that lived there could not take calls after the curfew, and that meant I couldn’t ask Marie how she was. I have to make sure to call her in the morning. She may have been my hero but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t affected by what happened in front of us. She is no hardened superhero; she’s just a kid. 

I add the dried oregano and sauteed garlic into the simmering pot of smooth tomato sauce that will match perfectly with the tortellini. The smell was amazing at this stage and the first batch of many to come was almost ready to be put in the large Tupperware. As it simmers I limp slowly to my small terrace to open the small glass door. The heat from the cooking was only going to get worse from here, so fresh air was mandatory. The soft melody of Over The Rainbow from Judy Garland’s sweet somber voice hummed across my apartment and out the door like the heat itself. Hopefully none of my neighbors mind the volume level. 

Hobbling back I crush fresh basil–that is also from my rooftop garden–and mix the herbs into the sauce as its final touch. I heave with all my might with the pot fills to the brim with tomato sauce and try to pour with as little mess as possible. I’m successful this round, but I have a feeling this kitchen will be quite messy by the end of this endeavor. I put that Tupperware into the fridge ready to be transported for later. I get the next Tupperware in line and repeat the process, starting to sauté more garlic and make another batch of tomato sauce. As the second batch starts to simmer and cook I begin my favorite part. Making pasta from scratch.

I grab the bag of flour in my wobbling arms and am pouring just enough to start the process. What I didn’t expect was an American flag shaped person to drift into my apartment like a cold breeze. I drop the bag of flour jumping in the air with fright and the poof sound that came with the explosion of white powder would be comical, if it wasn’t me in the center of this mess. Flour covered all of my clothes but nothing got in my face and hair, luckily.

“Didn’t mean to barge in, but the door was open so…” He couldn’t hold in his laughter as he burst into full blown hysterics. The crease in at his eyes showing genuine reaction and the laugh lines that came with a brilliant smile almost froze me to my spot. A real smile.

“You know, you cause a lot of trouble for just one person, Homelander.” I sigh, blowing a stray curl out of my face. I start to sweep the flour into the dustpan and into my garbage bin. I’m pointedly cleaning and not keeping watch of the obvious predator in my apartment. I invited him this time so, it’s on me. 

“Well, I thought you knew that with the whole mind reading thing.” Homelander snarks, but the meanness that was usually there was now vacant. He almost sounds relaxed, even his tornado of an aura felt calm, for him.

“You seem more relaxed after our last conversation.” I gently edge closer in on his personal space, trying to peer into his now cold flat expression. 

“You're doing that thing again.”

“No, I’m not, Homelander. I can read body language just like anyone else and I can see with my own two eyes that you’re more relaxed. Are you feeling better after getting some distance from the news press?” I ask as I turn to the pot and start mashing tomato chunks. 

“Oh, I just flew around and visited an old friend of mine. That’s it, really.” He shrugs nonchalantly avoiding my questioning stare. Unusual for him. He wouldn’t give more details no matter how much I pressed. I should be grateful he came here in the first place, if anything. I let him win this and change the subject for his benefit.

“Well, if you are here to make pasta with me you’re going to have to change out of your fancy suit.” I turn to him, giving him my full attention, expecting a battle of wills to commence.

“Whose clothes? Yours?” He couldn’t help but mock striding around the kitchen as if he owned everything in his vicinity. The sweep of his cape follows behind him like a star-spangled shadow.

“No, my Dad left a few spare outfits for whenever he decides to visit, usually, my mom in tow.” I shrug trying to push thoughts of my parents out of my head.

“How sweet.” He bites out, grinding his teeth, not able to contain the bitterness dripping from his voice. I ignore the disdain and instead run to grab said clothes from my closet. A black tee shirt and black jogger sweatpants. Simple and black. The things my dad wore in a nutshell. 

“Here you go!” I spring up from the closet and unabashedly smile, handing him the clothes with too much pep from the way he's looking at me. Like a two headed snake ready to bit him. “They're a good brand too so the material shouldn’t irritate your skin.” Oddly, that is what makes him grab the pajamas from my outstretched and waiting hands. His face contorts and flickers into an array of ever changing emotions like a flickering old film screen.

He leaves, closing the bathroom door behind him to change. I continue to multitask by setting up my next batch of tomato sauce and kneading the dough on my counter. Dorothy’s now stumbled into the Land of Oz and the song Follow The Yellow Brick Road chanted around my apartment walls. The familiarity of actions and the movie playing in the background lulls me into a calm state. The jitters and nerves melting away to the sound of me repeatedly kneading the dough, the nostalgia of the action melted into my bones and left me feeling bittersweet.

The creaking of my bathroom door opening as Homelander shyly walks out, his confident air now gone in wake of the de-costuming. He was less intimidating–and well big–without his suit padding accentuating his muscles. He looked more normal, even approachable. His aura was twisting and turning chaotically and the continued silence between us only exacerbated it. He finally meets my eyes with a furious glare, baiting me to say something cruel, I expect.

“Well, what are you doing standing there? Come over here and help me make the tortellini.” I wave him over turning my gaze away from him, his held breath releases and his aura stills from its inner destruction. His stiff gate showcases his unease as he crosses the apartment floor. 

“I don’t know how to make tortellini.” He grumbles annoyance obvious in his posture. Stiff and unyielding he juts his chin out and crosses his arms like he was protesting the dough itself.

“That’s why I’m here, so don’t fret.” I grab his arm pushing him to the center of the kitchen island, he scuffs at my bravado. The fabric of my dad's shirt hung loosely against his waist. The urge to feed him began to itch at the back of my brain at the sight.

The dough is laid out and flat after running it through the pasta maker a few times. I create perfect squares across the flat sheet of dough feeling a calm settling over me once again. Getting into the zone from one of my favorite pastimes. Sharing this part of me with Homelander feels like lying down and baring my neck to a predator hot on my trail. Blood rushes to my head and I feel goosebumps trail down my arms and neck. I ignore the chills wracking through me and begin my cooking lesson instead.

“First we fill each of the squares in the center with the filling.” Said squares took over the whole countertop, except for the bowl with the filling laid. It contains ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan to name just a few ingredients for my Nona’s secret recipe. The recipe has been passed down multiple generations on my father’s side. His family tree was so far back rooted in Italy we call it an ancient Italian olive tree. A family joke that was only funny to the family.

“Nona?”

“It means grandma in Italian.” I grab two tea spoons, putting one in his stiff hands, not taking no for an answer. I start filling the center of the forty squares of dough I have cut. “Now we just fill each square, see.” I plop a small dollop of the filling with my teaspoon in the center of a square. He tries to seen uninterested, crossing his arms and letting out a huff, but he doesn’t look away from my hands. “Here, I have one for you so we can do it at the same time. We will get a lot more done doing it together.” I push a teaspoon into his hand not wasting time or pussyfooting around it. 

“Now, why in the hell would I do that?” His anger that was simmering inside his cold blue eyes became a furious forest fire spreading across his emotional wavelength. “I’m here because you said you had a plan to make my numbers go up. Were you lying?” His eyebrows scrunched forward shadowing his eyes from my view, only making his figure more intimidating. Even without his suit he can still be just as much a threat. He’s not like everyone else. I need to handle this situation with soft hands.

“Homelander, I didn’t lie. What we're doing is a part of the plan.” To make a point I take his hand–too cold for anyone in good health–and scoop the filling with his teaspoon. “That’s a good amount. You can place it in whichever one you wish.” He springs away from me cradling his hand as if burned. I try to mask my reaction afraid I might provoke him into a full on attack, with words or powers I don’t know. 

His once relaxed aura–well, relaxed for him–turns and twists picking up speed. His eyes become clouded and dark, like a stormy sky on the horizon, his mind toils over things I cannot begin to guess at. His tight white knuckle grip on the teaspoon left it with a dented imprint of his hand.

“You still haven’t told me shit Daphne. How is this supposed Martha Stewart nonsense going to help me ?” I’m frozen still at him saying my name; I don’t think he’s addressed me by my name before, only ever called me doctor sarcastically. I don't notice the shift in the air as I’m too far gone inside my head. 

In a step and a blink he is looming over me like the skyscrapers just outside of my apartment. His closeness brought his aura with him. The red desert sand of his twisting aura scrapes against my psyche. I flinch back in pain hitting my hip against the island counter. I ignore my hip pain in favor of the throbbing painful reverb residing in my skull, which pounds to a beat I can’t stop.

“Are you trying to get in my head?” He’s one notch away from yelling, gripping my right wrist as quickly as a rattlesnake’ strike. 

“N-No, Homelander I’m not! I wouldn’t do that–”

“Unless you had a reason to!”

“How can I make you see that I’m here to help The Seven . I’m not some mole to unravel Vought from inside out and I’m not Stan Edgar’s whipping boy hired to tattle. I’m a therapist. I’m your therapist. Did you sense me lying just now?” I hold my head up high, meeting him directly in the eyes, not looking away even as my nose starts to bleed.

“No, none of what you said was a lie. Or you're an amazing liar, which you're not.” As fast as his anger comes it swoops right out of him. His shoulders once tense like granite now settles and his eyes lose their stormy disposition. His combustible aura shrinks within itself, calming to a normal degree. “You're bleeding.” He points to my nose still close enough for me to feel his breath on my face. A dose of adrenaline pulses through my bloodstream keeping me on high alert. I’m the prey stuck frozen at the attention of its predator.

“O-oh sorry!” I quickly grab a towel to hold to my nose. “Just all the stress and bodily injuries I’ve gotten today.” I huff out a sad laugh. I go to my cabinet and get a bright orange teaspoon. “Here you can use this one instead.” I put another into his open hands, his eyes widening at the gesture.

“You're just going to give me another after I destroyed the last one?”

“Well, are you going to destroy this one too?” I ask as if talking to a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

“...Maybe?”

“Lucky for you I have a few sets of measuring spoons, so it's no worries.” He guffaws, sounding like he’s choking mid swallow. I continue to put the filling on the pasta squares as if nothing has happened at all. From the corner of my eyes I watch patiently; a flicker of conflicting emotions crosses his face like an old film screen. He robotically, as if waiting to be struck by lightning if caught, starts to put the filling on the pasta squares one by one. “So, my plan revolves around what happened today. As you know, Stormfront and Stan Edgar made this terrorist attack into an opportunity. To not only standstill the journalists but win Stormfront and Vought—”

“Yes, I know this already! Cunt Stormfront takes my win right from under my nose and now your idea of helping me is just rubbing it in. Just wow, good for you.” He grumbles out a snort of derision blowing straight out through his nose. He continues filling the squares at a calm and steady pace, for now.

“R-Right, so this whole thing can easily flip against them. If you were not aware they held that little press shoot in the middle of the refuge! Not only that almost no hero but Starlight was handing out supplies for the newly Homeless. If analyzed for even a moment the facade cracks beneath the weight eventually shattering their illusion.” 

“The illusion being?”

“That they care! That’s where you come in, of course. You will be there tomorrow morning with enough to feed all of the newly homeless from the terrorist attack with our homemade food.” I stop to grab my phone taking pictures with both of our hands in the shot putting the filling on the pasta squares. It looks very The Kitchen - esque. “With a few shots like these,” I show off the photos to Homelander who looks nonplussed by everything. “And a coworker of mine will help shoot everything so we can pull the rug right out from underneath Mr. Edgar and Stormfront. Boosting your numbers in the process—you being in the limelight in their steed. They will see you as the one superhero people can actually look up to, to be good. ” 

“Like good, good? Starlight’s sparkly reputation level good?”

“Well, Homelander, all you can do is try.” I shrug at his disbelieving stare.

“I have been trying at this for years.” He grits out, sounding in pain, struggling to push those words out of his tight lips.

“Maybe allowing people to see more of you is a good thing.”

“More of me! Hah! They see me everywhere. I’m on every billboard and have a blockbuster hit coming out every year. How can I not be the most popular member? It's insane! It’s insane…” His frustration is leaking out of him in waves as he angrily throws the filling into each pasta square to each angry word he speaks.

“I mean you . Not the version of Homelander Vought writes in their scripts. I want you to be able to bring the version of you, you want to be and no one else's.” 

“No script?”

“No, of course not.”

“How are we going to pull this off, exactly? Give me the step by step as if you're talking to The Deep.” 

“Okay, you and I will bring in the food and things should be set up at the refugee by the time we get there. I’ve been texting Priscilla since I got home and she’s on board with setting up the camera crew and volunteers.”

“Real volunteers or actors?”

“Homelander! God, no, real volunteers.” I can’t help but burst out into giggles at his audacious response. I try to cover my face with my hands but I inadvertently smear flour across my nose. “Oh, dangit!” Homelander cracks a smile before a quick chuckle escapes his lips. 

Unaware of my own body, my hands drop limply to my sides, ignoring the bubbling pot behind me I’m gaping at his aura like a fool. It's just a hint of the forest from a memory, a smell of pine, and the flavor of lavender invading my senses. The sincerity of his emotions makes me feel warm and tingly all over, like I’m dancing on a cloud.

He’s up close taking over my personal space, but not as a threat, like earlier. This time it's different. His bright smile is gone and his usual flat expression is back in place. His eyes look over my face, as if he was examining me for a lie within my soul. Too close for me I start to feel a red blush spreading across my body. The unnecessary embarrassment only heightened by his now encroaching wolfish grin that took over his face. 

“You're bleeding again, here.” He grabs my discarded cloth and grips my jaw in his other hand. I freeze as if caught in a trap, ready to spring. He’s so hyper focused on roughly wiping the blood off my face he doesn’t notice me tensing up still like a statue. 

A memory of mine flashes behind my mind's eye; me, as a small child being helped up by my father. He was cleaning up my scraped knees and scratched up face because I fell down on favorite a hill to rollerblade on. The feeling of him urgently and roughly wiping the blood off with his handkerchief has a nostalgic warmth buried inside my heart. He would be so rough and silent but he was always so worried. He banned me from playing on that hill ever again. As if that would stop me from getting injured. 

I can’t stop smiling at Homelander’s exact replication of the behavior. The warmth that I feel comes from my own aura. The glowing orbs that resemble a family of fireflies gently touch Homelander’s red storm clouds, instantaneously they converge into one aura, in just a blink. Like two colors put together to make something new my powers begin to untwine and welcome the invasion like a new skin. As if waiting for this very moment my heart settles into a calm rhythm for once in what feels like a long time. 

He steps back not noticing a thing. The towel now covered in blood he throws it in the sink without faltering to ask why. I appreciate it even if that isn’t really a good sign considering his lack of empathy. Or maybe just not expressing it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. I can’t pinpoint which one with him.

“Thanks, now that we have the first batch filled, let's start the best part!” I grab his arm, steering him back to the island counter. I gently handle the pasta square with the dollop of my grandmother’s recipe filling in the center. "So, first we have to wet the edges of the dough squares with a brush of water, and then fold the dough over to make a triangle. Second step is to pinch the sides together to seal the ricotta stuffing inside of the dough. Now, we have to take the two bottom points of the triangle and fold them underneath into each other and pinch together to seal and form your tortellini.” I do this with meticulous ease. My ability to make perfect tortellini coming from time and annual family dinners. His eyes are shining with awe and his mouth is left slightly agape.

“I’m not some cook, Daphne. How'd you expect me to do that?” He  spits out, taking a few steps towards the projector in a huff, seeming to give up on cooking all-together.

“You just have to try. I don’t expect anything other than that you try, okay. Or are you afraid?”

“Afraid of pasta? Hah, I’m the motherfucking Homelander. I’m afraid of nothing.” Acting comedically confident he strides back towards the counter ready to impress. His hands frozen midair not remembering the steps, I presume. Without any prompt-to I start to make another tortellini with slow precision. He watches closely, but when I catch his eyes he looks away immediately, as if his hand was caught in the cookie jar. A little involuntary smile quirks up at the corner of my lips.

He hesitates before finally grabbing a pasta square himself, trying to mimic my instructions. His hands are large unlike mine, making it a little more difficult to achieve pretty results. His eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration and one of his sharper than normal canines bites at his lip in anticipation. I make twelve tortellini at my usual pace while he concentrates on his one. 

“Ah!” He murmurs out, surprising himself with a completed tortellini gently lying in his palms. His smile is small, he can't wipe it off his face fast enough before I have a glimpse of it. The tortellini is too big on one side and the folds aren’t correctly made into a triangle, but it's an amazing start.

“Wow! That’s really good, definitely put that one to the side so we can eat it tonight.”

“You're making them for us too?”

“ We're making enough food for a whole refuge. We might as well make ourselves dinner while we're at it.” I shrug, not minding the extra work. Cooking is one of the few things that help me not spiral over my own problems. It's like a form of meditation for me. I give him a thousand watt smile, trying with all my might to be encouraging. “I’m going to make my special butter sauce for only us, though.” I whisper trying to act conspiratorially with a finger to my lips. That reminder has me putting in the next pot of tomato sauce. Turning away Homelander continues to make more pasta, more assured than the last time, but he kept his expressions minimal. 

“But I could change my habits

Never more be scared of rabbits

If I only had the nerve.

I'm afraid there's no denying

I'm just an awful dandy-lion

A fate I don't deserve.”

“Wizard of Oz, now? I thought people your age liked John Wick and Barbie .” The sardonic tone coming off his timber voice surprises me from my cooking stupor.

“I like those too. Hey, you know, I never mention your age when we talk!” I turn back to make more tortellini, and to admonish him, of course. 

“You're just surprisingly old fashioned for someone so young, it's actually refreshing.” His praise almost sounds like an insult, but I choose to ignore that, in favor of being the bigger person. His shiny white smile and blue eyes sparkling with amusement doesn't faze me. Ignoring the bubbling frustration and embarrassment is probably the best choice of action anyways.

I grab more pasta squares and start folding it into tortellini as if it's my second language. He watches me close like a hawk viewing a mouse struggling beneath its sharp claws. Fascination sparkling in his stormy eyes makes me audibly gulp, nerves sparking across my body. 

“They’re so perfect.” He’s hypnotized as he watches me make five tortellini in quick succession and to absolute perfection.

“Well, they’re only perfect because I’ve been making them since I was a kid. My grandmother who we visited in Venice taught me how to make them. My mother tried to keep up the tradition for my father’s sake but she’s a better baker than a cook. You should have seen my first tortellini, it looked like a monstrosity and my grandmother told me just that,” I burst into giggles at the memory. “Your tortellini are a great start! You’ll be a professional chef in no time.” I motion to the five other tortellini he’s finished laying on a platter. They were lumpy and misshapen but they were perfect. 

“Is this your grandmother’s recipe?” Homelander asks, ignoring my pointed staring. I’m completely baffled at him continuing the nice conversation.

“Yes, actually. Most of the recipes I make are my family's. I have a whole recipe book passed down to me on my father’s side. The instructions on how to bake tiramisu cakes all the way to Lamb Ragu are inside that family treasure. It's pretty much an heirloom at this point.”

“All for a bunch of useless recipes. I don’t understand what the big deal is.” He scuffs pointedly glaring at his misshapen tortellini.  

“You haven’t tried them yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind once you have.”

“Food has never changed my mind about anything.” He states with a dull condescending tone I can’t help but roll my eyes at.

“Look, wait and till you try it. Okay?”

“Fine.” He scuffs with a huff only a celebrity or a toddler could replicate. I sigh back at him, it is almost endearing if his attitude wasn’t so exasperating.

Somehow, we stumble into a comfortable silence as the Wizard of Oz plays in the background. As I get into a rhythm of making dozens at a time I start to boil a batch for just us. Including Homelander’s few lumpy tortellini into the boiling pot. I continue to simmer the butter sauce in a small pan to the side. Finally, after finishing the last batch of tomato sauce I put the last tub into the fridge. I throw the dirty pot into the sink to deal with at a later point in time.

I work around Homelander’s unsettlingly invasive presence by dancing around him in my small kitchen space to set up my coffee table. I quickly grab two of my favorite plates–roses with vines decorated on the trim–and place them at the table with my silverware. I can feel Homelander’s eyes following my trail the whole time. 

I gently fish out the pasta with my slotted spoon placing the finished tortellini in a large ceramic bowl. I put the next batch of raw tortellini into the boiling pot without missing a beat. I place the bowl in the center of the coffee table grabbing the sauce and fresh parmesan to sprinkle on top. Homelander walks cautiously over to the coffee table as in the kitchen rushing to grab the basil. He sits on the couch looking vacantly at the bowls and plates in complete silence. 

I stumble and almost fall flat on my face as I hurry to serve Homelander. He sits silently at my couch of all places. No where else to really eat in my small apartment so he’ll have to make do, sadly. Like a normal commoner such as myself. I shave the fresh parmesan over the hot pasta adding the sauce lightly on top. I gently place a few basil leaves over each of our plates as the final step to a perfect dish.

His clumsily made but full of potential tortellini shimmered on top of the bowl proudly. I make sure to put his few tortellini on my plate. 

“Enjoy!” I sit beside him with a chirp of excitement I can’t extinguish. He doesn’t dig in first so I take the first huge bite, stuffing my mouth full. He watches with a small twist of his lips he can’t cover up with his hands fast enough. “Delicious.” I say with a mouth full; my Nona would have thrown a shoe at me for that misbehavior. He takes a few bites at a calm and polite pace versus my obnoxious gusto.

“It’s really good.” He whispers, so quiet I barely catch before the draft steals it away. He continues to eat as if he said nothing in the first place, now putting all his attention towards the movie. I can’t help it when my smile spreads into a wide goofy grin. He glances back up at me and the smile he gives back looks painful, but it's a positive, nonetheless. 

“Worthy of family heirloom status, huh?”

“Yeah, I think it qualifies.” He settles into the couch, relaxing around my presence since the first time I met him. He continues to eat with grace I can’t replicate. The theme of Over the Rainbow starts to gently play, the beat of the symphony swelling with Dorothy’s final words in the film.

“Then Toto’s safe. You hear that,

Toto? We’re both safe. And we’re

home. Home! And you’re all here.

And I’m never going to leave here

ever, ever again, because I love you

all. And… oh, Auntie Em, there

really is no place like home!!”

The film goes to credits as the theme continues to play it out, a classic film with a message that has always been dear to my heart. But the idea of home now left me feeling confused and the deep pit in my stomach I’ve been ignoring swells. No, don’t think about it.

“I keep making you watch all my favorite films. It feels unfair. Next time you come over, it's your pick. What’d you say?” I push the bad thoughts away to focus on something brighter, oddly enough that happy thought is attached to Homelander.

“You’d want to watch Taxi Driver with me?”

“ Taxi Driver ? Ah, well if you want to. I always saw it as kind of a sad story, but if you want I’m game.” 

“You think Taxi Driver is sad? It's revolutionary for men all over the world. That we take control of the world with our own two hands, and not be pushed by everyone that can diminish you. It's inspiring.”

“Wow, I guess I’ll have to watch it again. Maybe I’ll see it with a second viewing.” I finish my plate quickly. John is barely on his third bite as I run to the kitchen to finish the rest of the tortellini. The next movie is already in queue, not surprisingly one of my favorite Disney films, Robin Hood starts. 

The strumming of Oo-De-Lally fills the silence. I put the second batch of tortellini in tupperware ready for travel. I begin the next batch of dough to repeat the process all over again. In my steady rhythm of cooking I forget about Homlander’s existence, going into a trance as I roll the dough.

“I will see you tomorrow at the refuge with the camera crew. It’ll have to be at nine-thirty because I have a commercial to shoot at seven, but I assume you already know that?” He quirks his eyebrow up, testing me.

“Yes, Homelander, I told Perscilla to be there at nine to set up. I’ll be there to help and get the food prepared before the camera crew arrives.” I pipe up loud and clear like a sweating cadet under the scrutiny of their commanding officer.  

“Hmm,” He stares down at me with an eerily steely stare that gives nothing away. The tension was so thick in the air that I was choking on the smog that was his aura.

He pats me on the head gently and steady, my blond curls bounce with each pat. His presence brings the images of a flowing current in the middle on the mountain side, not too far from here. I meet his ironclad stare and it feels like lightning struck my body.  His too wide smile only makes his sharp fangs look more deadly. I gulp down my nerves with a wobbly smile he won’t find fault with.

“Good. Don’t disappoint me, now. I’ll see you in the morning.” He makes for his suit, turning himself away from prying eyes. His aura that was calm now begins to reawaken, the sharp cutting sands whispering in my mind. 

“You can keep those, if you want.” I stop him before he can make for the bathroom. “I don’t think my dad will mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, Homelander. Have a good night.” I approached him slowly, as if he was a rabid animal that could attack at any moment. No matter how good tonight is for him, the aura tells me a disaster is always waiting in the rafters, ready to strike at any time. His response to that is to fly out of the terrace with his suit in hand and my Dad’s pajamas as his attire.

He’s gone and it feels like the electricity in the air has finally dissipated back to its usual setting. The disturbance in the environment rectified with his tense passing. That feeling that settles over me is not numbness, no, it's a feeling of cold sharpness sleeking through my veins. Like breathing in air so cold it hurts going down your lungs. The foreboding feeling of being exactly what I didn’t want to be, a Superhero's lapdog. I gulp down the guilt and return to the cooking, willing those thoughts out of my head. 

It’s 3am by the time I’m done with the last batch of tortellini and I’m thoroughly exhausted. My wounds and meds are now taking its full blow on my mental state, but I still force myself to clean everything up, and I do so in a zombie-like state. Done with that by 4am I settle into my bed to get three blissful hours of rest. 

My alarms blares at me in my ear as if I just closed my eyes for sleep a minute ago. Oh, today is going to be a long day, isn’t it? My head throbs with a dull ache, a flash of pain reminding me to call for a Doctor’s appointment. Also, I need to call Perscilla to see how everything is going on her end. So many things to do with so little time. And on very little sleep. 

I run to the bathroom rushing to take my gross bandages off my head. The thin scar encroaching my hairline was pink but thin, not too noticeable thankfully. I get into the shower making it cold to get my blood pumping and my mind alert. I throw on a cute summer dress that’s eggshell white and slam my feet into my favorite white kitten heels. I grab for my white scrunchie throwing my wild curls into a high ponytail, annoyingly, my hair still reaches down to my waist even put up. I need to get a haircut before I’m called Cousin It at work. I sigh as a few baby curls escape to frame my face. I quickly put on a pink lip-gloss, lightly dust blush across my cheeks, and dab mascara over my eyelashes to complete the look. Getting ready in under thirty minutes is my new record! 

I stumble around my apartment as I’m scrambling to get everything I need to bring to the refuge. Six tubs of tomato sauce and tortellini may be heavier than planned for my noodle arms, but with my determination and grit I open my apartment door with all in tow. My heart is running a mile a minute as I’m balancing everything as gracefully as possible down the creaky stairs. 

“Do you need help with that, dear?” My father’s booming voice intimidates most, but to me his gruffness always felt like coming home. Until now.  His sudden appearance and tall shadow was completely blocked by my comically tall stack of Tupperware blocking my line of sight. It's a miracle I didn’t drop the food with his surprise appearance.  

“I-If you don’t mind.” I mumble out, breathless. He grabs for all but one Tupperware handling it with ease. We walk out of my apartment building in unison, I stay silent not knowing what to say.

“You haven’t answered any of our calls since…” His warm deep timber was gruffer than usual; his aura practically oozing sadness I couldn't ignore. The saltiness of tears swarm my taste buds like a bad thought that wouldn’t go away. 

“Since the news broke out that superpowered people were not born, but made. Yeah, I haven’t felt charitable enough to give you guys my time right now. If you haven’t noticed, I'm kind of busy.” I bite out, closest to yelling at my father I’ve ever been in my life. My bitterness leaking from my aura like a bad infection, and though I want to lash out, I know that won’t get me anywhere. I’m in this situation because of my own dumb actions, and they are under constant threat of it because of me. 

So, I just need space. To think over my feelings, and it's for the best I try to keep them at an arm's length. It would keep them safer if I do so. I take in one deep breath, and then let it go.

“I need to be somewhere dad. So, why’d you come?” I decide being direct is the best course of action when it comes to my father. 

“I want you to have this.” His hands are trembling as he passes me a manilla folder with the words Sage Grove Center stamped in bold black ink across it. “We wanted you to know everything before you started looking into it yourself. When you’ve read it, come see us and we will tell you more. Please, honey, promise me you will come home after reading the file!” He stares me down with a dark blackness that pins me in place.  I’ve never heard him sound so distressed before. I can’t stop myself from saying it.

“I promise, dad.” I gulp down the cold warning feeling dinging inside my brain. He sighs out of relief, looking less haggard with my verbal confirmation. He gently steers me to a taxi helping me put the Tupperware in the trunk, safely securing it so it doesn’t splatter everywhere. I instinctively hug him goodbye, but I don’t smile.

“I love you, Daph.” His hug tightens to almost a painful degree, as if I was going to melt away like sugar being pelted with rain.

“I’ll see you soon dad.” I mutter out before running into the cab, not able to say I love you back. My dad’s eyebrows twist up and tears were being held back as he weakly wave me goodbye as the cab drives off. This fills my heart with deep pain that continues to needle at me as the drive progresses. As the taxi gets stuck in traffic I make a doctor’s appointment for the next morning. I don’t need an unknown head injury plaguing me when I’m already stressed enough as it is. 

Checking my email I can see Starlight’s schedule being changed early this morning. Apparently, she had to visit her cousin in North Carolina and wouldn’t be at any functions for a couple of days. I need to call in and check on her then, or would that be too invasive? She is on vacation, so does that mean no work calls? I’m not a work call, I'm her therapist. I quickly press her name in my contacts before I can doubt myself for a second longer.

“Hey, it’s Annie, if you want to reach me leave a voicemail and I’ll get back to you when I can.” Her sweet voice comes through the phone in a dull monotone that’s grating to the ear. I left a quick voicemail asking her how she’s doing and how I just wanted to check in. Before I’m done with the voicemail my cab driver is helping me out of the car with my Tupperware in tow. 

I walk through the construction site and into the refuge building as quickly and gracefully as I muster. Dodging moving bodies from every corner, barely keeping the Tupperware in my arms by the time I reach the kitchens. 

Volunteers with Vought branding on their shirts were scrambling about preparing for food to be served out. People in not so obvious Vought branding were prepping some camera men that were standing at the fringes of the entrance. Perscilla Jones stood center of the chaos with her immaculate hair shining bright like a beacon of hope. Her aura flares with life and vigor like a fresh and steady campfire. She was in her element and the perfect person for this job.

I drop my containers onto the kitchen counters and find myself being swarmed. The volunteers take action immediately grabbing Tupperware after Tupperware prepping it to be served to the refugees. Like a unit of soldier ants they all work in unison, it's inspiring if a little scary. Not needing anymore help with that, I walk towards Perscilla to see if there’s anything else that needs to be done.

“Hey Perscilla! Do you need—” A forceful breeze passes the room and that is the only warning the normal person has before Homelander’s dramatic entrance. 

“Hello, everyone! So, how can I help?” His voice is booming for everyone to hear. His perfect posture and calm smile that looks practiced. His exact verbiage feels like it was ripped right from Dawn of the Seven . I told him he didn’t have to act like there was a script…but maybe that’s his autopilot. Interesting.

The camera crew that hovered at the entrance of the makeshift cafeteria enters the scene the moment they realize their star has arrived. The volunteer workers are grabbing bins of the food and setting up buffet- lines for people to serve themselves. Volunteers would be posted at that station so they can help out if needed. The volunteers all gapped at Homelander’s sudden arrival, all stopping together like the ripple of a stilling wave.

Perscilla Jones' quick steps towards me are annoyingly loud with each point heel tap and her humongous bright white smile is nearly blinding. She grabs me by my shoulders, wrinkling the large puffs of my sundress. I can’t help but see the predator on the horizon blazing a trail towards us, my heartbeat grew erratic at the sight . I’m frozen to my spot, instinct of a prey animal, the prey animal being me.

“You have to introduce me to Homelander, Daphne. I’m so excited for how good this is going to do on Instagram and Twitter.”

“And how good it’ll be for the people who recently lost their homes.” I add in quickly–Perscilla giggles at that, like I was joking, giving me a shrug as a response. 

Her glowing bright sherbet aura bursts into a bright orange sweet flavor of excitement that took over all of my senses. She was too happy right now to even think about the reason why she’s here. Only that the opportunity has landed on her lap and she’s going to take full advantage of it. Happiness stemming from something like this is not surprising, but I can still feel the bitter disappointment lingering in the back of my thoughts. 

“Do you need anything else from me, Perscilla. I could help the volunteers if not–”

“No, you’ll be helping me, remember?” Homelander’s sardonically cold voice would be chilling if I wasn’t preparing myself for it beforehand. He maneuvers around Perscilla, completely ignoring her, like walking by a bug on the subway. Perscilla perceptively decides to step out of Homelander’s way, letting me go from her too tight grasp. I absently rub at them, feeling the eventual bruises growing on my already wounded body. “I thought we talked about this last night.” His sharp blues eyes not only glare daggers down at me as he steps a little too close, but his scowl is pointed directly at Perscilla. 

“R-right! Um, Perscilla I have these photos I sent to your email of Homelander cooking the food being served. I think it’d be a great addition to this event for the social media campaign.” Perscialla nods to every word I say as she starts going through emails on her pristine phone. 

“That’s perfect! It’ll round out the whole photoshoot, great idea, Daphne.” Perscilla’s sweet excitement now felt more brown-nosey since Homelander came into the picture. It made me feel extremely uncomfortable and the slow crawl of goosebumps traveling down my arms didn’t help. 

“T-thanks–”

“Now that’s settled, let's get to it.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, showing us as a united front that Perscilla ate up, but it felt more threatening than friendly to me. She steers us to the serving tables where the volunteers prep the food. Every utensil and decoration had Vought’s logo covered all over them, it made my skin crawl.

“Okay, Homelander just pose behind the serving table and we will composit the photos with the ones of the volunteers.” Perscilla says this as if listing off her grocery list, not even glancing up at us as she continues to tap at her phone. The ringing in my ear speared itself through my brain and I couldn’t get it out. 

 “W-what? No, n-no Homelander is serving them with the volunteers.” I step forward out of Homelander’s grasp trying to gain Perscilla’s full attention. “We’re both here to participate in helping the refugees; no pretending, no lying.” 

“Of course, Dr. Bennett, I understand. This is just usually how things are shot for social media, but if that’s what you want. Thank you again for this opportunity Daphne.” Perscilla calls for the camera crew to set up, walking off and grabbing a volunteer by the shoulder to boot. 

“I like how you tell people what to do.” Homelander’s voice is closer than expected, I jump up high in the air in response. I blow a curl out of my face deciding facing Homelander head on is always the safest bet, meeting his stare directly.

“That just wasn’t the plan. You’ll see. It’ll be better if it's organic. Like food.”

“How do you know more about marketing than a marketing manager?” Sarcasm is evident in the quirks of his lips and the swathy tone in his voice.

“I know people better. I don’t understand social media but I know for a fact people will see your interactions with them. That will be what has the biggest impact on your ratings. More than you could imagine.” I put all my soul into what I’m saying, seizing his hands to hold in mine. 

“Alright, alright.” He nods with a sigh. He lets go of my hands walking to the serving area as if the various utensils would obey him with a single look. “This plan of yours better go as planned or we know your job here isn’t going to quite work out. Come on then, Daphne. Help me with this since this was your brilliant idea.” He gripes bitterly, scowling into all the hot pots with tortellini and sauce filled to the brim. He flinches away from the simmering pot of sauce, double checking his cape to see if any got on it. I can’t stop from smiling at his antics and he looks up to see I’ve caught him in the act. He glares at me as his only form of comment.

“Don’t give me all the credit Homelander. You did inspire me to do this after all.” I say loudly and clearly, the on coming flux of people entering the cafeteria can hear my words clearly. As well as the now recording cameras. His singular left eyebrows quirks up as if accusing and questioning at the same time. “You are the one after all who wanted to do more for the refugees when we were last here. You wanted to change things, and now we're trying to change things.” I steer him now to face the growing line of people waiting to be served. 

The volunteers all hover around us, smiling wide and bright for the cameras, but all the nerves frazzle at the edge of my brain like static shock. I inadvertently move to the sauce station, right next to Homelander, and serve the first person in line. A small boy with wild curly brown hair and a wide toothy smile that brought the taste of fruit loop cereal on my lips and the memories of blowing bubbles out the windowsill. The ache in my heart soothes over the gaping bloody wound ever so slightly when I fill his bowl to the top. 

“Thank you, miss!” His smile widens across his cherub face and his dimples appear. So cute.

“You're welcome little mister.” He runs off ahead, settling at a cafeteria table where a woman waited with a patient smile and a warm embrace. I check to my side to see Homelander hasn’t self combusted by being left to his own devices. No but the volunteers seem to be fumbling around him like slobbering idiots, not focused at all on actually helping. 

“Thank you so much Homelander for all that you’ve done for us!” A young woman with her hair wrapped in a beautiful Hijab states before taking the bowl of tortellini. 

“I appreciate what you guys are doing here. It really is helping my family and everyone else here.” A large gruff man who had rad patches all over his skin–probably burns from the look of them, voices to each volunteer he sees.

As each person passes us people are in better spirits than they were when they entered the cafeteria. The atmosphere has shifted to a hopeful tune inspired by the smiling faces all around us. Surprisingly, Homelander’s stiff posturing eases with each smile and adoring comment that comes his way. The line slows to nothing and the whole cafeteria is filled with people eating their home cooked tortellini. The smell was almost as good as it was in my kitchen, making my stomach growl at the thought. 

A boy who could be either ten or twelve who was shyly hiding behind his mother bravely steps forward as the camera men start taking their equipment out of the building. Looking closer the child wore a well worn shirt that had Homelander’s insignia plastered across it. 

“Could I have an a-autograph, p-please? You're my favorite hero in the world!” The smile is so bright and so full of awe it could make anyone drop to their knees and go aww. Homelander gets down to his level and signs his photo and the shirt he is wearing, making the boy squeal with delight. “Thanks so much Homelander!” He runs back to his mom sitting at the cafeteria table in the back corner. 

“You really made that kid’s day, Homelander. He’ll probably remember that for his whole life.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, of course. Those interactions are what make people love you. I thought you knew that?” I ask dumbfounded. No wonder he’s been trying at this for years and not getting any results. He’s like a calf without his mother to guide him from bad decisions, it would be endearing if it wasn’t so sad. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grimaces glaring at me, as if knowing what I’m thinking. Shouldn’t it be the reverse? “He looks kind of like my son, Ryan.” He murmurs under his breath barely able to admit it.

“Well, I’m really good with kids, if you ever want to introduce me. I was actually a child’s therapist before I was hired on for The Seven, so I have some understanding of kids . ” I shrug trying to show any emotions in the admission. Bringing up my old job only made me feel painfully nostalgic, and some bitter madness needled at me, reminding me I failed my attempts to understand my powers at every turn. This job being the final stage in my failure. I push that thought away focusing back on Homelander.

“Let’s see how this goes. You’ll be lucky this doesn’t become a failure and I don’t fire you.” He threatens under his breath, so only the two of us could hear. The volunteers all sat at a table eating their own share of tortellini ignoring us for now. The idea of being fired seems enticing, but impractical at best. A danger to my family at its worst.

“I think this could be really good for you.” I say bringing my hand up to touch his arm, but stop before I make contact. The need to be close to people was something I didn’t feel often, but Homelander felt like a flame and I was the moth that just needed to be a little closer. Before I burn up in flames, of course. He takes my hand in his own, making me flinch from my stupor. 

“I have a meeting with Ashley soon. I’ll need to get over there before ten thirty.” We both glance at the clock on the wall to see it flash ten fifteen at us like a warning. The tick of the small ticking clock grates my migraine. “Do you want me to fly you there?” 

“No, no that’s okay. I’ll help clean up here and I’ll be at Vought in a half an hour. My schedule isn’t filled to the brim like yours is.”

“Didn’t you know?” He couldn’t help the wide smirk growing across his face.

“Know what?”

“You have to be at all of the press junkets with us, not just movie sets and premiers. Looks like your schedule is busier than mine, I’m afraid.” Like the cat getting its cream, Homelander looks too satisfied informing me of this. My little migraine turns into a full blown migraine now. I could feel the mind splitting pressure terrorize itself behind my eyes. 

“Oh, well I’ll be at Vought soon. I promise.” I give his shoulder a squeeze with assurance. The word promise striking into Homelander his aura’s once calm now springs to life once again. Ever turning and hurting those in his vicinity.

“Right, you better Daphne.” He grits out before leaving the cafeteria with a flashy smile towards the refugees. A few people stop him on his way out asking for autographs, he obliges not batting an eyelash at the continuous requests. Finally leaving the scene it feels like I’m not walking on a tightrope anymore, and my heart could rest for a moment.

“You guys look cute together.” Perscilla crones in a too sweet voice for me to stomach. I jump again, surprised for what feels like the millionth time today.

“What! You can’t say that Perscilla. Just implying it would cost me my reputation and license as a therapist. Probably my job too, honestly.”

“Well it's only trending on this one measly subreddit. Nothing to fret over Daphne.”

“O-okay, good. N-nothing to worry about then.” I grit out trying to believe it myself. Nothing to worry about clangors in my head like a bell toll, ringing over and over to a deadly hymn. The cold sweat running down my body and the throbbing headache wouldn’t stop reminding me about the traumatizing events that only happened yesterday. Being in the center of it all didn’t bode well to me in the least. The feelings of foreboding chilled my neck, as if Death himself trails his bony fingers down my back. 

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[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER FOUR: Second Wind

His emotions tumble into me wave after wave and I’m drowning in a memory, lost to the physical realm once again. His mindscape was darkness and nothing else. I was floating amidst the dark waves barely able to keep myself above water.

“Black Noir!” I scream out into the nothingness. The abyss that looked down at me gave me no sign of hearing my pleas. The waves tossed and turned me around, spinning me underneath the depths until I was dizzy. I surface back up, struggling to breathe through the sloshing depths. “Please! Black Noir! Speak to me, Noir!” I scream out into the nothingness once more.

The nothingness doesn’t speak back. It feels like an eternity before a flicker, a sparkle, streaks across the black abyss above me. Memories wash over the sky as if I was watching an old movie in a theater. Sitting in a comfy seat with a bag of popcorn at my side, nice thought, but instead I was drowning in darkness. 

The memories unfold with precise clarity.

“Erving! Erving! Gosh, where are you Erving…” A clear melodic voice yells out across Buster’s Playhouse, the children playing all around her didn’t help the search. Her son is not anywhere to be seen from her perspective. The playhouse setting is exactly what'd you'd expect from a children's playhouse to be. Full of colorful games and mascots that were dancing their own tunes. Cheap pizza and ice-cream cake served at every table. It was a dream location for a child's birthday party. Though for Erving this dream will soon turn into a nightmare.

Erving can hear his mom calling for him. Struggling to find him. When his mom brought Erving to Clint's birthday party--without a direct invitation from said birthday boy, she never thought that would matter. Erving's mom didn't know how cruel children could be. Erving knew the invitation was only given to him because his cousin Benji was invited, and that only made it more awkward for him. He didn’t know anyone but his cousin and the mascots at Buster’s Playhouse. His mom and aunt just wanted shy Erving to break out of his shell.

Erving wanted to introduce himself to the birthday boy, Clint. He was so cool. He had a skateboard and his mom never let him get a skateboard. She always complained about how they were deathtraps on wheels, but Erving just thought his mom's prerogative was to worry about everything . Erving still imagines how cool it would be to be friends with someone who can ride a skateboard. Benji thought he was cool too. Benji talked about Clint all the time and now seeing him in person Erving can see why.

Those happy thoughts of being friends with such a cool kid were bashed into bits the moment he was pinned on the floor of the ball pit by the birthday boy himself.

“Stop! Stop! Please, I can’t breathe!”

“Aww, little baby is going to cry in the baby ball pit!”

His heartbeat grows wild and his breathing slows, time stands still, for little Erving. He feels his body move before his brain can comprehend what’s happening. As if possessed by instinct he grabs the boy's grubby hands and clenches them so tightly he can feel the bones crack beneath the skin. The birthday boy screams so high pitched and full of pain it causes his voice to crack. Erving throws him across the pit and the birthday boy falls head first into a sharp corner of the ledge. His head slams, a resounding crack echoes across the room making Erving go still.

Clint’s body was stuck firmly to the ledge, laying half in the ball pit and half out. His skull fragments and flesh deeply morphed around it. The skin connected to the nape of his neck and head was visibly peeled open, layers of folded skin revealing a gaping bloody hole within. The blood was pooling over, spitting sporadically and splashing wildly covering walls, the colorful ball pit slowly turning a dark shade of red. A blink and the entire room turns the same shade of disgusting red .

Erving’s eyes grow wide and he finally feels like he’s regained his breath. His irises’ blow out  and his nostrils flare, but he makes not a single sound. His instincts take hold of him and he scrambles out of the ball pit and up the twisting red slide. He slips over and over as he climbs up the winding slides, leaving blood smears in his path.

He doesn’t know how but he’s made it to the far back of the tunnels where the window attached to the tube system was. It showcased all of the cast from Buster’s Playhouse. He couldn’t focus on any of those details at this frozen moment in time. He tightly put himself into the fetal position, trying to become as small as possible.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, everything is okay…” Big fat teardrops stream down his face without Erving’s consent. His tiny hands grip his knobby knees so tightly his knuckles grow pale. The blood spackled across his body sang to him. Reminding him of what he’s done. What Erving didn’t know was that it was about to get a whole lot worse.

“It’s okay, Erving. You didn’t mean to hurt Clint. You were just trying to protect yourself.” The recognizable and boisterous voice from the iconic titular character Buster spoke. The voice sounded like it came from right beside him, but as he looked around no one was there. But that wasn’t completely true.

There was a highly detailed mural framed by the window connected to the slide tunnel, and the mural was a cute depiction of Buster with all of his pals. Erving blinked past his tears and stared hard at the mural, not looking away for even a second. Not even when he heard the screams of people down below. Someone found Clint.

“It’s okay Erving, we know you didn’t want to hurt Clint.” Buster’s voice was more clear this time. Looking now straight at the mural he could see that Buster’s mouth was moving. “We all know you wouldn’t do harm to anyone on purpose.” The cartoon character, Buster and all of his animal friends nodded along with that statement. Erving eyes turn into saucers and his mouth drops open not able to hold in his gasp.

“R-Really?” Erving's tears stop as he gently touches the window. Blood smears across it blurring the mural's visage.

“Erving, you're a nice and funny kid. You wouldn’t hurt anyone, would you?” Buster asks him with cheer and happiness radiating from the mural.

“No! No, I didn’t mean to…” His head is shaking back and forth, his tight knuckle grip does not relent.

“There, there Erving. We're here for you no matter what. That's what friends are for, right?”

“We a-are f-friends?”

“Of course!” This time all of the voices of Buster’s Playhouse joined in. The mural was still, and what Erving imagined to be moving wasn’t anymore.

“Erving! Erving, where are you?” His mother’s voice pierced through his skull with striking clarity. Looking through the window he had the perfect vantage point to see the chaos unraveling below him. Because of him.

Parents were running out with their children and others were screaming at employees. A police officer was already on the scene, and it looked like he wasn’t the only one now patrolling. His mother was in the center of it all. She had tears streaming down her face and she was clutching Erving’s bright red baseball cap, it was her only life line. 

He knew what would happen when she figures it out. She would hate him. She would send him away and never talk to him again. That’s exactly what would happen. He was sure of it, and sadly, he was right.

He was found frozen in the slides by one cop, and the blood all over him gave them enough to know what happened. A kid who developed powers and killed another kid by accident. A horrible tragedy that was becoming more frequent these days. Sadly, Erving being black didn’t help his case when the authorities decided he was a public danger if untrained. So, he was to be separated from his family and shipped off to be trained by his sensei.

And he started his career as Black Noir off of the tragedy that was Clint’s murder. The black water washes over me but I can still breathe. My eyes open slowly and all I see is Black Noir.

Are you okay?

“I’ll be fine.” The coughing fits begin and the rattling of my lungs makes breathing feel like I’m being electrocuted from the inside. The blood spills out of my mouth before I can reach for my handkerchief. I lift half my body upright, ignoring the dizzy spell as I reach for my purse. I focus all my energy on finding my medication. I weakly grab the now almost empty bottle laying in an interior purse pocket and pop a pill into my mouth swallowing it dry. “Now, would you like me to call you by your given name or by your superhero title?” I refocus on Black Noir, needing to concentrate on anything but myself. 

He doesn’t answer at first, instead he reaches slowly into my purse, and hands me my handkerchief. I take it numbly, not knowing how to quite fathom or respond to the kind gesture. I hold it dumbly in my hand, not moving to clean my face. He grabs it from me, making me flinch in surprise. He wipes my face with light sweet touches, I could barely fathom how strongly his aura oozed patience. Finishing his cleanup he hands me back the handkerchief placing it delicately in my lap. It was soaked in blood.

You can call me Erving.

“R-right, Erving, I’m sorry about this.” I groan out pathetically, an ache that has been slowly healing is back in full force. I needed to stop getting myself into these situations.

Why are you sorry? You were only trying to help.

“No Erving, I shouldn’t have invaded your mindscape, at least not without permission first! I could have hurt you or myself in the process. I don’t know how…” I couldn’t finish my word vomit before Erving interrupted that train of thought.

No! You didn’t do it on purpose. And I wanted you to see it. What happened right now only makes me more determined to go to therapy. I want to be better.

“R-really? I-I mean that’s great! I just didn’t know how’d you feel…” I move one step forward on wobbly legs like a freshly birthed foal. Black Noir, like a gentleman, grabs my arm and helps to steady me. Someone so isolated is now touching me and showing me attention in a public setting. That feels poignant. A show of trust that was rarely given out by Black Noir.

It was something to treat with utmost care. It's important to nurture rather than stifle these connections and I think  Vought covets to destroy these type of healthy relationships. Not on my watch, not anymore. Black Noir–No Erving, was going to have a friend, a connection no matter what. That’s a promise I will make to myself. He holds my arm with such care, as if he was caressing a baby bird’s broken wing. His gentleness contrasted heavily with his dark figure and intimidating costume. But his bright sparkling aura gave his sweetness away.

I-I hope I didn’t scare you.

“You’d never scare me, Erving.” I whisper back, as quick as a cheetah on the hunt, not wanting him to fret for a second. We were in the elevator within a blur of people and time. Nothing quite felt real, and my powers felt off somehow. It felt muted almost. My extra dosage of medication plus overextending myself has made my powers fire back some odd side effects.

Good, that’s good. I scare most people.

“I know, Erving. You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” I squeeze his supporting arm trying to bring as much warmth as I could into a single touch. His aura flares to life, content with the invasion of my powers.

The elevator finally dings on the 99th floor and we slowly head to my office taking one step at a time.  Passing the masterful portraits was intimidating every time, but the marble busts’ gave me goosebumps.

What you saw in my head was exactly how I remembered it, if not clearer.

“Before you ask, I don’t know how I did that, not exactly at least. I’ve only done it a few times and they have all been accidents.” 

I haven’t remembered that time for so long. I think you somehow unlocked that within me. You are the key to remembering myself.

“I want you to be comfortable and safe when we talk about these things. But that means we can’t do the mindscape nonsense again until I can fully control my powers. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I whisper the last bit more to myself. I shouldn’t have said it at all.

I believe in you.

I stop dead in my tracks, not before fully turning the knob to open the door of my office.

“Really?” The hope dripping from my voice and my eyes didn’t leave his figure for even a second.

I believe in you and nobody, not even you, can change my mind.

“Seems like you have more faith in me than, well, me.” I shrug, self depreciation seeping from my voice. Opening the door to my office in full cheer after Black Noir’s assurance I see Ashley waiting, sitting ramrod straight on the luscious couch. My good mood was dashed at the sight.

“What were you thinking promising those funds for—” Ashley pauses mid rant, her mouth gaping wide like a fish out of water. “Black Noir! Ah, I mean Daphne, why didn’t you tell me you were accompanied by the esteemed Black Noir?” Ashley asks, her tone dripping with venom. Trying to peddle back her planned scream session, I’m sure. Who knew toting around a member of The Seven would come in handy. Strike that from the record brain–do not use the client’s status to get Ashley off your back. That would be selfish of me, but tempting.

“He was just being a gentleman and escorting me back to my office. He also agreed to schedule a session with me,” I elbow Black Noir in the gut not caring if Ashley was staring. “Didn’t you, Black Noir?” I give him one more pointy shove. He nodded aggressively in Ashely’s direction. Her mouth opens and closes over and over for at least a minute.

“Well, okay. I will see you bright and early tomorrow Mrs. Bennett.” She grinds out, just barely able to hold herself together. Her aura flashes red in anger and the embers and sparks flared to life like a wild fire. The taste of burnt toast took over my senses making me wince in disgust. She scampers out of my office as if staying any longer would give her a rash.

“That went better with you around. Thanks!” I place my hand gently on his.  I also wait for any indicator of him not wanting physical contact. He grips my hand tightly back, a sense of yearning for familiarity throbs within him. His strong emotional response flares his usually quiet soul back to life. The stars within his aura twinkles and dances so brightly it makes my head spin.

Anything to help. He gives my hand an awkward pat, not used to giving out affection, before closing the office door behind him. He tries to discreetly check the perimeters without me noticing. Always on high alert, it seems. 

“I knew you’d be a helper. We need to schedule an appointment for you. I didn’t just say that just to get Ashley to drop her mouth on the floor.” I ran over to my planner at my abrasive desk. I grab my inkwell and pen looking back at Noir, who hasn’t moved a muscle since closing the door. “Erving, you can choose whatever time you need. You get first dibs by the way! No one else has set one up yet…” I stammer off, a bright red flush taking over my face for the oversharing. 

Would Friday morning at 8am work? I have to go on a recon mission tomorrow, so I want to push it back to the end of the week.

“If you need to, we can always schedule it on the weekend. My schedule centers around you guys, not the other way around.” I want everyone to know that I’m serious about helping. It seems it’ll be difficult to convince anyone around here of that, other than Erving.

No, I would like Friday morning. 

“Alright, I’ve penned you in and now your first official session is scheduled.” I couldn’t help but cheerfully sing those words. It almost felt like a miracle.

It's late. I should take you home.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Erving! I don’t even live that far from Vought.” I huff a stray curl out of my face as I hurriedly grab my bag and papers from my desk, readying myself to leave. As I scramble around the office, tidying up before leaving, I look up to Erving holding out his arm. Waiting for me patiently, still and silent like a statue. I sight before relenting and grabbing his arm, squeezing it tight, I gently steer him outside my office and towards the elevator.

Entering the lobby with Black Noir on my arms feels rather odd. The few warry employees and random stragglers there also seemed to think it was odd, giving us a wide berth. I can feel all their eyes on us as we slowly walk out of the building, it has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. 

I call for a Taxi ignoring people walking past us with their phones out, not caring to ask for permission to get a photo. People walking by stopped abruptly gawking at the dark shadow standing behind me. I quickly–comically shove Black Noir into the Taxi before we cause an accident from the public spectacle. 

“Where to?” I give him my address and he floors it ignoring the both of us, like a true professional. 

You are uncomfortable.

“I’m not adapting very well to the new job requirements, I guess. You know, all the attention and publicity really isn’t my thing.” I begin to aggressively scratch at my arm as I try to get the goosebumps to go away. 

Understandable. It’s something I always wanted, I think. I can feel it almost. Like I wanted to be seen.

“Do you remember that feeling coming from somewhere specific?” I ask quickly, jumping at the opportunity to discuss his improving mental status. Maybe jarring his root memory helped him unlock parts of his brain he couldn’t previously see before. That's at least one theory. The taxi driver coughs loudly interrupting what seems like a crazy conversation to an intimidating, silent shadow. My face turns bright tomato red.

“Um, you’ve arrived.” The cabbie coughs out gruffly. 

“Thank you!” I give him a large tip and push Erving out of the cab as if he couldn’t get out by himself. On the sidewalk outside the entrance of my building Erving gives me his arm again. We intwine arms like the Wizard of Oz crew-minus the other two and walk up to my floor. Luckily for me it was empty of any prying eyes. The neighbors were either at home asleep or out partying, or maybe doing something illegal. The safest neighborhood it is not, my wrecked furniture and stolen Bose can attest to that. 

Entering my apartment felt like entering the heavens. I’m finally home. I’m sleeping in my bed and taking a shower. I only dropped by quickly to grab some stuff and clean my ruined apartment, but I haven’t been able to sleep at home since I’ve been kidnapped. Two and half weeks ago. It feels longer.

I sigh dreamily, not able to hold it in. I’m just happy to be home.

I turn the switch and my string lights light up the room with a warm glow. The lights intertwine with the plants inside the mason jars, which were repaired and now strung up across my ceiling. The ragged and torn curtains are now replaced with new brightly colored orange drapes. My ruined rugs were now replaced with expensive knitted material of  military green shade. Where the stolen TV was now a fancy new projector screen paired with an already installed projector resides. To put the cherry on top of this Trading Spaces miracle is a large L shaped tangerine colored couch. The couch was flush against the wall of the open floor plan, sitting directly across the projector screen.

I gasp out feeling my heart speed to an unstable pace. From the entrance way I could see a little folded card and a vase of white roses on my kitchen counter. I drop Erving’s arm running to the card not able to focus on anything but the note.

Dear Daph,

Your Father and I have been worried about you and visited your apartment last night. You weren't there, your father and I decided it would be best to check in and we used your extra key. Your Father suggested it! To my astonishment your apartment was a mess. Almost all of your belongings were gone! Did you know about this?!  We knew this area was difficult but we didn’t know it was outright dangerous. 

We did not think further on it and we installed locks and extra security measures for your protection. I thought it would be nice to replace your old belongings as well, we know you have a lot on your plate right now. So, one less thing for you to worry about. But we would prefer if you moved somewhere safer, or just come back home, that's an idea! 

No, wait, sorry! You're an adult; I forget sometimes. Before I write on and on and on I wanted you to know you can always call us. We are always here when you need us and even when you don’t.

Love,

Your Parents

There behind the vase was a bottle of blue pills. Thank goodness, I have been needing a replacement. All of the worries I had resting in the back of my head now were lifted, all thanks to my meddling, caring parents. 

Your place is very inviting. Once we got past the scary stairwell and your eerily silent neighbors. But your apartment is different…more ‘warm.’ I jump in the air forgetting Erving was there, he is standing still as stone not moving an inch from the entrance. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Erving.” I walk across the apartment and stand in front of his silent figure.

I’m glad I did. If I’d known your neighborhood was full of so much crime I would have brought along some security measures. Your alarm system won’t cut it for serious threats.

“Well that’s reassuring. I’m just grateful I have any security at this point. I’m sorry, now I have to kick you out for my own health. I’m desperate for a shower and sleep.” I ramble on, faltering to a stop as Erving shakes his head.

Have a good night Dr. Bennett. 

“You can call me Daphne if you want. Whichever you prefer.” I yap at his back on his way out, he stops, still and silent to the outside world.

Okay, I’ll see you Friday Daphne.

“Goodnight Erving.” I whisper back before he fully makes his exit, he was here and now he’s gone. If someone was listening on the other side of the wall they would think I was talking to myself.

I jumped at my opportunity in what felt like a long time to unwind. I run to the bathroom stripping myself from my clothes and jump into the shower. I needed to scrub the stress sweat away and sense of dread that Vought Corp emits, like a foul stench. 

After turning into a prune from my well earned hot shower I put on my comfy pajama set that was much too large for my small frame. Just how I liked it. The pajama set is a pale pink shade and is fluffy all over. I lazily get out of the steamy bathroom and make a bag of extra butter popcorn. I finally have a chance to look at all of my social media, and it is as I expected. Flooded with messages and followers by the thousands. All from that brief interview, no doubt. I turn my phone back off. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked.

As the microwave does its magic I start to play with my brand new projector. All the streaming services were automatically set up with my accounts, thank god. I put on an old favorite my Dad and I watch every summer together. Red Thunder , a film the Payback crew performed in 1983. Classic cheesy American propaganda at its cheesy gooiest.

I run to my room to grab my large fuzzy pink blanket, wrapping it around myself to keep the night chill away. Grabbing a large glass bowl and throw in my buttery popcorn to munch on for the movie. A breeze chills my back, probably from my open sliding door that connects to the tiny terrace. I need to close it before the temperature drops to freezing.

“Am I interrupting anything?”  I scream automatically dropping my bowl of popcorn, it cracks and shatters on impact and popcorn flies everywhere. I’ll be finding popcorn for months with the way it splattered in every direction. Now I have to deal with bugs! Speaking of nuisances.

“You can’t just barge into my home without asking for permission first. Not even a text? I thought you of all the Superheroes would have some sense of decorum!” I admonished without restraint, my no-nonsense tone clear, not surprised at all really that he would do this. He definitely has an issue with boundaries, honestly I think he loves pushing people to their limits.

“You never gave me your personal number.” He chuckles through his sardonic words, a smirk twist at his lips. He takes confident strides to a whole new level as he glides through my apartment. Each step was accompanied with a poignant and loud crunch, the popcorn now worse off. “Can’t fix everything with a nice shiny coating.” He whistles out as he gives my apartment a derisive once over. 

His eyes were sharp as he took in the surroundings, readying himself for an attack, like a predator on edge. I don’t take my eyes off him, and he finally decides to acknowledge my presence. He gives me this scowl, this dark judgmental look that would strike me to my core if I wasn't such a self assured person. It was a stare that quaked no arguments and it told me he didn't approve.   

“I see you can relate to that.” The insinuation was not lost on me, I would have to be an idiot to not see the insult. I’m not taking the bait, no matter how much he wants me to. He lazily lounges on my couch taking up all of the space by stretching himself across it. His aura was bursting and sparkling with confidence but the red tumultuous sand continues to turn and weave around him. It was so cutting and complex and it felt painful. His eyes don't leave me for a second as I slowly approach him, as if he was a starving mad dog. 

“I’m sorry for not giving you my personal number, here.” I quickly write my number on a sticky note and push it into his hands. He looks stricken, and then like a balloon that has been released, deflates into my couch. That looks of defeat is bashed after a moment and he is suddenly on high alert again. All in a few seconds. His back is ramrod straight and his confident lounging is no more. His glare is as powerful as it was just a moment ago, and instead of provoking him I do something he doesn’t expect.

I turn away from the predator, give him my back and I try to dismiss that he's dangerous. I focus on my breathing while I stroll to my microwave to grab a bag of extra butter popcorn. Slow and steady steps across the kitchen tile.

“If you want you can join me! I just turned on Red Thunder . Do you like that movie?” I put the bag of popcorn in the microwave and let the miracle of modern tech work its thing. I finally look back at Homelander who I left stricken and stuck to the couch.

“ Red Thunder ? Aren’t you a little young to have seen that?” His grumbling revitalizes something that wasn’t there before. The usual angry red aura that clung to him faded to a paler shade for a flicker of moment and stills. The rumbling storm that was his soul quiets to just a murmur. 

“All because I’m not as old as you doesn’t mean I don’t have good taste. I know a classic when I see it. Also, this is a childhood favorite of mine!” The microwave dings at my passionate declaration and I hurriedly grab the fresh popcorn. I choose to completely avoid the mess that was currently on the floor. This time I’m using a plastic bowl too.

Homelander hasn’t moved from the couch, and he didn’t look like he was getting ready to leave. So I’m taking that as some form of reassurance that he wants to be here. In some way or form. Or maybe he’s trying to figure me out by provoking me on my home turf?

“Mine too.” 

The silence between us was not comfortable, but the movie helped. Then at my favorite moment I couldn’t stop myself from bursting out into a full on accent.

“At last, the famous American hero, Soldier Boy. You don't seem like much of a hero to me.” I quote in time with the movie, in a very bad Russian accent, mimicking the Soviet commander’s mannerisms. 

“You wouldn't know a hero if they walked in here and blasted you in the face.” I quote back to myself, giving Homelander a real show. All the weirdness now out in the open. He shouldn’t be here in my apartment in the first place, so no point in getting embarrassed. His body is trembling? I'd bet he's shaking in frustration from my bad performance. I fully commit to the bit now embracing the possibility that just maybe Homelander was laughing at my antics.

“My name is Colonel Yuri Valisivich Kasimov, commander of Soviet forces in this sector. Where will the American weapons be delivered to the Afghan rebels?” My Russian accent has evolved into a derivative and thicker parody of itself. 

That did it. Homelander spiels out in a low timbre of soft chortles. My serious expression and stiff stance falters. I can’t help but stare, eyes bug-eyed wide, in awe. His bright red dust devil of an aura clouded above his head lifts completely, for just one second. The aura shines, shimmers like an emerald, and the green color is so rich I feel lost inside a forest. The smell of fresh pine hints at something I can’t remember. Neither can he, I think. His bright smile transforms into a strained and forced grimace, trying to hide his authentic response.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it's your favorite movie.” He grumbles, crossing his arms and settling further into the corner of my couch placing his feet on top of my new coffee table. I offer him my bowl of popcorn, choosing to ignore his dark scowl. His furrowed brow and tight frown doesn’t waver as he grabs a handful of my delicious buttery popcorn.

“I told you!” I throw one into my mouth without missing. Homelander’s eyes widens a fraction and stares admittedly a second longer than what would be considered appropriate. Before he can say something rude I tune back into the film. “One man against the entire Soviet army. Who do you think you are? God?” My Russian guard caricature was full blown nasal silliness.

“No. God would have mercy. I won't.” Homelander replies through tight closed lips. Unable to stop himself it seems. His usual warm cinnamon flavor of control is now replaced by a bright citrus sweetness that feels happy. On instinct my powers control my body and I’m invading his personal space on the couch. I don’t notice I’m extremely close until his shadow feels like it can swallow me whole. His intense attention now focuses in on me. “Don’t look at me like that.” He grunts not giving me an inch as he stared down at me with derision.

“Looking at you like what?” I sit back quickly, feeling intrusive the more contemptuous his glare grows. His body is stiff ramrod straight again, like he’s back on the press junket and not sitting on my couch watching Red Thunder . 

“There’s no one that understands my struggle. They only think I’m something to be controlled…like you.” He’s now muttering something under his breath but I can’t quite grasp it. His pupils are blown wide and I can feel he’s not here anymore, but deep inside his own head.

“I don’t think that about you.”  I mimic his stance, going ramrod straight, puffing out my chest and tucking my chin in. Staring directly into his vacant eyes as I repeat, “I don’t think that about you. Whoever makes you think that way, yourself or someone else, they're wrong.” I ignore my better judgment on not touching a client without explicit consent and grab both his shoulders. I grip him tight with my bony fingers, forcing him to meet me head on. “I’m on your side.”

A sigh that was trapped deep inside his chasm of a soul releases and his stormy aura flares and shimmers, like it was taking its first breath after holding it for too long. His expression doesn’t give as much away. Still as a marble statue, like he was carved into my couch, but then he blinks.

“Shut up, I’m watching the movie.” He grumbles, and takes my blanket too, just to rub salt in the wound. He’s eating my bowl of popcorn now wrapped tightly in my large fluffy pink blanket. I sneakily put my feet under the little bit of the blanket he isn't hogging and we watch the movie in companionable silence. I snuggle further into the new couch enjoying the pleasant sound of action movie explosions and cheesy one liners lulling me to sleep. 

I woke up with a start, hyperventilating and my heart pounding loudly in my ear, a rhythm that haunts me. The memories of running through a rainforest, the rain beating down on her skin, or was it his skin? The feelings of fear when a large black panther struck Black Noir by surprise and the rush of adrenalin and joy after a victory streamed through my blood like a warm embrace.

His fresh memories of his past were so visceral and survivalist centered. I have nothing to compare it to in my own life, and it all felt so raw . I don’t think entering his mindscape was the best idea, considering all of the side effects that come with it. The roller coaster ride of emotions and memories tumbling like a few loose bolts inside my aching head is the worst part.

Finally taking a real deep breath I take in my surroundings. My blanket sits comfortably on top of my lap and there is no Homelander in sight. No proof of last night other than my memories. The pounding headache throbs at the front of my forehead, reminding me to take my medication before I start the day. I jump from my couch, leaving my projector on as it drones about the local news. 

I stop mid step to see the popcorn and shattered bowl still lay amuck all over my floor. Well, that’s proof of last night.

I jump over the mess pointedly ignoring the obvious hazard on my floor. I grab a bowl, milk, and cheerios as I pop a blue pill dry down my throat. I top it down by throwing a cup of black coffee into my cereal. Olivia calls me down right diabolical for doing this. I just think it cuts the middle man. I bring my bowl to the couch turning up the volume as the news anchors drones on.

“Breaking News has just been released this morning. A whistleblower inside Vought Corporations has documented proof that Superheroes are not born, but made. Vought has made a drug known as Compound-V, which they inject into infants –” The ringing in my ear is so loud I feel like I lost my hearing. The NNC anchor drones on more, and journalists around the panel join in the conversation on occasion.

“Vought needs to come out with a statement!” A reporter is screaming their head off, and others from all sides of the screen are critiquing Vought to some capacity. My body trembles and my cheerios grow soggy. I continue to stare blankly at my Tiffany blue bowl. 

“H-How is this possible?” All my limbs feel numb and cold like I’ve been stuck under cold running water for hours. 

“Guardians have to give permission to have their children undergo this pharmaceutical trial. There are also gag orders involved from what’s implied in the whistleblower’s statement.” The terrifying piece of information felt like I swallowed dark ice shards and the information was stabbing me from the inside. This coldness feels like a bubbling brew of poison inside my stomach, just waiting to burst and froth out of my mouth.  It was too much to bear. I turn the projector off. The apartment is eerily silent.

The buzzing of my phone was loud and shocking in the empty silence. My phone’s sudden vibrating and ringing jingle alert went off for a minute straight without showing any signs of stopping. Finally, I force myself up off the couch and grab my phone from my bag.

Ashley Barrett

Of course. “Yes?”

“You’ve heard about the leak.”

“Yes, I did–”

“Good, I’m required to give you the day off for a ‘mental health’ recovery day,” I can hear her muffled guffaw before continuing. “to recover from this recent information. But, since you are our resident mental health expert I want you to check in on The Seven. Make sure to at least get me a verbal confirmation they’ll be at their scheduled media circuit tomorrow. Remind them they must keep their lines of communication open for Mr. Stan Edgar, if he chooses to address them. Did you get all that?” A mixture of strain and condescension mingling in her vocal cords like the beat of an annoying drum. I swallow the bile rising from my throat and rub the tears out of my bloodshot eyes.

“Y-yes, of course, I’ll call them all right away.” 

“Good, give me a report by the end of the day.” She hangs up before any more words can be exchanged. Breathe, just breathe. I shakily dial the first number I put in my phone, Homelander and call him. I get the dial tone three times before I give up and leave a voicemail simply inquiring about his well being. I thought maybe that bonding moment last night would foster something friendly, but maybe not.

Next I call Erving–labeled as Black Noir in my phone’s contacts. He doesn’t pick up. Damn, was he going out on a retcon mission the night before? He didn’t specify when he was going just when he would be back. Ugh, I knew this would be fruitless but I call Stormfront. 

“Hello, this is Stormfront’s assistant Tammy. How can I help you?” A dull monotone voice I assume to be female actually answered.

“This isn’t Stormfront’s personal number?”

“No, this is Stormfront’s main line if you want to schedule an appointment with her, if it fits in her already very busy schedule.” She says through a bland nasally accent I couldn’t decipher. 

“Ah, well tell her Dr. Bennett called to check in on her. I want her to know if she needs anything or a time to talk–”

“Got it. I will tell her the therapist called to ask about scheduling a counseling appointment.” 

“Don’t you know her schedule? We can workout a–”

“Thank you Dr. Bennett but I have to run all the call-ins by Stormfront. I will contact you again if Stormfront agrees to an appointment.” The audacity of this stonewall of a woman.

“Stormfront told me she wants to schedule—”

“I will tell her about you calling, okay. She will choose to move forward how she likes from there. Have a good day!”

“But–” The dial tone replies back to my weak plea. How pathetic. Stormfront seems to be thinking she can get herself out of therapy by steamrolling me with her team of interns. Well, I’ll find a way. 

I call Queen Maeve next and it goes straight to voicemail. Not surprising. I call A-Train and I’m hung up on in the middle of a ring. I call again and the pattern repeats. These people are more opposed to therapy than cats are to a running bath. Somethings gotta give. I call Starlight, my last hope.

“This is Annie.” 

“Hi, Annie it’s Daphne or Dr. Bennett if you’d prefer.” I clear my throat pushing through any of my ingrained apprehension for forcing therapy. “I’m checking in on everyone. After the recent news, a lot of people who have powers may need a person to talk about such a life changing revelation.”

“You have powers too, Daphne. The news came out only a few hours ago and you're calling us to see how we feel? How can you possibly ask us when you probably don’t even know how you feel!” 

“Y-your right I called at a bad time. I’m so sorry. Please, call me if you need–”

“No, I’m sorry Daphne. I didn’t mean to snap and you're right it's just a bad time right now.” She’s quiet but firm in her interruption. 

“No, no, it’s my fault for not thinking about how hard this could be for all of you. I should have at least worded it more tactfully.” 

“No! Daphne, you have powers too and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You're just doing your job. I'm sorry for my outburst. I think I would like to schedule an appointment, actually.” She softly whispers that last part, sounding like she could hang up any moment if I didn’t word this exactly right.

“When would you be able to come in?”

“Next week will be great. Monday morning at 9am would fit my current schedule. If anything changes I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, please take time for yourself when you can.” I hung up the phone hoping she took my words to heart. Her reminding me of being just as much a part of the people that may need to talk to someone about this–I instead ignore that agonizing thought and keep moving. I move without full control looking over my large portfolio of contacts. I landed on one name I haven’t seen in a long time. My body presses it without my mind letting me second guess.

“Hello?” A shy sweet voice, sounding raspy as if it hasn’t been used often comes from the line.

“Hi, Marie. I know I haven’t called in a while, but with the recent news out I wanted to check in on you.”

“You call me on all my birthdays and send me cards for every Holiday. You do more for me than most adults around here ever do.” Her muttering voice fills with disdain when talking about the Red River Institute, which is valid. I don’t only think that because I was laid off based on budget cuts. There are many factors in why I don’t like the Red River Institute. 

“Well, I think we need to sit and talk in person for once. How about it, kid?”

“As long as you promise me you won’t call me kid.”

“Okay, fine. They grow up so fast. I’ll pick you up and we can take the subway together.”

“Daph, I can meet you at the restaurant without you chaperoning me.”

“Right, right.”

“So, where do you want to go?”

“A Jitter Bean coffee and breakfast sandwich sounds amazing right now.”

“I can go for a coffee.” Marie’s noncommittal affect is still her usual tone of choice.

“Are you free now? We can get brunch before the lunch rush takes all the good seats. The Jitter Bean not too far from the institute would be better for you, right?”

“We can go to any Jitter Bean you’d like. I don’t mind. The Institute doesn’t care how long I’m out. The curriculum around here isn’t strict–they care more about our nightly curfews anyway.”

“Right, I forgot about their strict evening curfew. Let's meet up in thirty then.”

“Alright, see you there.” I hang up the phone and hurry to get ready. I choose to ignore the messages and calls coming from my phone–unless it was work related. Family and Olivia were something I was going to deal with later. 

I throw on a basic white blouse and sheer eggshell colored cardigan to layer on top. My form fitting blue jeans and mauve flats were all I had the remaining energy to pair my top with. Anything else would be too much for me today. I put my hair up in a pink scrunchie to get my messy curls out of my face and I quickly grab my bag before vaulting out the door.

I’m back out in the thrumming city. The crowds of blurring emotions filtering through me felt exhilarating. And horrible. The strong jumble of emotions that were impossible to decipher left a muddy sour film on top of my tongue. The blood rush giving me a quick high also left me winded and light headed. This all struck my body within a few seconds. I stumble leaning outside my apartment building, trying to catch my breath. Cold sweat ran down my brow and I could feel my bouncy curls fizz out from the humidity. Taking a deep breath I call for a cab and the ride there is peaceful. 

My phone buzzed and my family's name flashes on my screen over and over again. I ignore them. I need space before I can even think about talking with mom and dad. The texts from Olivia were only growing by the hour. A decent pace for Olivia. I just don’t know how to talk to Olivia about my powers at all. I barely told her about them yesterday, and now I’m supposed to feel comfortable talking to her about this ? I need space from all of them to think.

“We’re here m’am.” The cab driver piped up cheerfully, not sounding annoyed at all, for once.

“So sorry.” I whisper out desperate to just be away from the small space. I scramble out of the cab and see an old Jitter Box I haven’t been to in years. Not since my first job in the foster system–involving kids who have powers and criminal-records. The idea of a kid with powers at some point discovering my secret was a worry I had every day. The job was also grinding in every sense of the word.

The amount of children that end up in even worse situations was very high, and the statistics haven't changed. It would be amazing if they were given a chance to integrate into society, rather than be imprisoned. It still makes my blood boil thinking of the psych department being one of the first to be eliminated for budget cuts. My internship was out the window and I had to start somewhere brand new. It was also difficult leaving a lot of my patients. 

Marie was always one of my favorites, and has so much potential to do great things. Her lack of faith in my field also always gave me a kick in the butt to try and help her. She is an abstinent one though, that’s for sure.

The more decrepit version of the Jitter Box from my memories seats an older Marie sipping on a cup of black coffee. She sat at a booth at the front with a nice window view. Seeing her in person after all these years feels like I'm traveling back in the past. Seeing her mature growing self in contrast to my memories of the brave preteen has me choking back tears. I quickly wipe them away with my sheer sleeve and push myself to go inside. No one was inside but the cashier, the cook flipping burgers in the back and Marie at a booth. When she sees me enter she waves at me awkwardly as if unsure on how to socially participate at all. Has she grown shier since I last saw her? Her maroon silk like aura that wrapped around her like an ever twisting ribbon was bouncy as ever. Her aura was unique in the way it moved and swayed, but stayed consistent like Marie herself. She is not so withdrawn as to hide her aura, yet.

I throw my arms around her, giving her as much of a bear hug as I can pull off. She holds her breath and her maroon ribbon aura tightens taut around her as if to shield her from my touch. I pull back quickly not wanting to push it.

“How’ve you been Marie?” I ask as I slide into the opposite seat. Her shy smile turns wide and sharp.

“How bout you tell me about your powers first and then we talk about me, hm?” Marie sips her black coffee, looking very pleased by flipping the tables on me.

“Ah right. Guess I couldn't get past that question. Ah, well, I’ve been keeping my powers secret since I was a child. Ever since my powers manifested when I hit puberty they were difficult to understand. My lack of understanding and control eventually led to an accident. That incident cost my family a lot and they had to cover for me in order for us to keep away from the authorities. Luckily, after the incident my family was able to help me control my powers and how to hide them from the public. Nothing more dramatic than that. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before.” I drop my eyes to the floor, twisting my hands together repeatedly. Anything but looking Marie directly in the eyes. 

“I would have done the same thing if I was in your shoes.” A sigh of relief leaves my lips before I can hold it back. Marie chuckles at my obviousness. “I can’t believe you got away with it for so long. You're a terrible liar.”

“I know. I'm impressed with myself if I'm being honest.” I shrug. "So, how has the news affected you?” I ask without restraint, not wanting to divulge any more about my own past.

“It hasn’t affected me.” Marie sips her black coffee, she’s as unflappable as ever.

“The concept of us being made, rather than born hasn’t changed your perspective on anything ? Not your powers? Your parents? Nothing?” I continue to press waiting for any sign of a facial reaction. She was cold, still looking unbothered, and a little bored.

“My goal hasn’t changed.”

“I didn’t ask you if your goal has changed, I asked if the news changed how you felt about anything. Has it?” 

“I don’t feel any differently, like I told you. How does it feel being a part of The Seven? Can you write me a recommendation letter for university?” 

“Of course. You still aiming for Godolkin University, right?” I ask, letting her change the subject.

“I need a full ride to make this at all possible. A recommendation from someone working with The Seven could go a long way.”

“Don’t worry Marie, I'll write you a recommendation letter that will knock the socks off of that admissions office.”

“Thanks, Daph. That means a lot. Now tell me all about being in The Seven. ” She whispers the last part as if scared the empty Jitter Bean was filled with nosy people. I sigh loudly before adding a groan in there too. Marie’s laugh is barely held in by her hands, trying to cover her giggles. The waitress interrupts us, stepping up to our table in a cute blue dress uniform. 

“How can I help you girls?” A thick accent, Jersey if I had to guess, and hips swaggering with every word.

“I would like a black coffee with a bacon egg and cheese crescent, please.” I pipe up quickly wanting that sweet beautiful breakfast sandwich as quickly as possible. The waitress’s dark orange aura fluttered in annoyance at my quick tone. She writes that down with a muttered assurance, waiting and staring pointedly at Marie.

“Could you turn the volume up?” Marie asks, her sharp eyes now focused on the TV in the corner of the small cafe. The waitress sighs loudly before doing so. CNN channel has been non stop filtering through journalists across all sources wanting Vought’s head on spike for the recent revelation. I mean that’s bad press no matter how you look at it. Oddly though CNN wasn’t talking about Superheroes being made not born.

They instead had live footage center focus at a beach. A beach not too far from where we were now. The exploded whale on the beach was a new and horrifying sight I didn't think I'd see in the daily news. 

“Oh my god.” I mutter out gasping at the helicopter debris shown floating in the ocean. Three men confirmed dead from the terrorist attack.

“The attack is being led by a member of the Shining Light Liberation Army. He has destroyed whole city blocks with his telekinesis and has five identified murders attached to his profile. He is wanted on all accounts, and from our current reports The Seven has officially entered the scene.” The blonde news anchor with a deep soothing voice reported over the live footage. The Seven arrive in a dramatic style, all together like an actual team. All the infighting was not visible when all you could see was the colorful suits. The footage was all at a birds eye view.

“I believe the Deep beaching a whale but how’d it explode?”

“Was that the Deep?” I ask dumbfounded, squinting my eyes on the TV screen trying to decipher the pixelated footage.

“Did you know they were on a retcon mission?” Marie’s voice quivered with excitement she couldn’t hold back. She shakes my shoulders from across the table, trying to shake the words out of me.

“Of course not. I’m not nearly as important as you assume I am. I’m barely even a concept to them, an annoyance at most. Definitely not a part of The Seven , don’t let Homelander hear you say that.”

“Homelander’s touchy about you joining The Seven ?”

“I’m not a part of The Seven so there’s nothing to be touchy about. Now where is my coffee?” 

“Fine, if you want to change the subject I will. Tell me what it’s like to work at Vought!”

“Um, it's definitely…impressive.”

“Impressive? That’s all you got to say?” With Marie’s derisive questions the waitress drops two cups of black coffee in front of us.

“How are you expanding your resume by the way? Other than strongmaning your elders, of course.” 

“You will be happy to know I’m still volunteering at the soup kitchen. I kind of gave up on soccer, though. Didn’t want to break the news to you over the phone.” She shrugs, not seeming all that heartbroken over it. But that was Marie for you. If I didn’t have powers I would have a hard time reading her tightly held expressions. Her statements even offer many ways of interpreting, and she did all this on purpose. She holds everyone afar even the people she considers herself close to. I should check in on her more frequently.

“Well, I’m proud of you for taking your volunteer work seriously. If you tell me your schedule I could make some time to go to the soup kitchen with you, if you’d like?” I ask, hope obvious in my voice as I wrap my hands over hers from across the table. She smiles and squeezes my hands back. The warm tingle of content trinkles into my bloodstream, and I feel myself relax in what felt like a long time. Then things change.

I can’t hear anything as the world crashes around me. The Jitter Bean’s barely standing foundation is cracking and crumbling within a blink, plaster is falling from the ceiling and threatening to crush us. Marie grabs her bag and is immediately at my side looking for a safe path towards an exit. I grab her hand and focus every muscle in my body to push us out of this broken building. 

The waitress wails as she is hit with a large beam that was previously attached to the ceiling. As we run past her I can see the waitress wasn’t breathing. Someone screamed from the back–the cook, but Marie held my hand tight not willing to let me go while pushing past the hot steam spilling from the broken pipes. 

“You’re going to be okay, Daph.” Marie doesn’t give me time to respond before wrapping her arms around me and jumping through the steam and out the gaping hole that was the front entrance of the cafe. The steam was hitting Marie square in the back, but didn’t touch me. She yells out in pain as we land hard on the broken concrete. I push myself up from the cracked sidewalk and try to hold Marie as she lays on the ground groaning in pain.

“Oh god, M-Marie.” Her usual warm dark coloring has paled into an ashen shade. I turn her body to the side and she immediately howls out. The sharp guttural moans of pain coming from her lips before she takes in a deep breath. “I’m going to call for an ambulance, Marie. I will be with you the whole time. Don’t you w-worry.” Tears are falling down my face and I’m muttering her assurances as I can’t help but stare at her boiled back. Her back had layers of bubbles in her skin that oozed blood out by abundance, so much so that it was making me woozy. 

The emotional bombs that were surrounding me didn’t help my concentration either. I shakily grab my phone and I’m calling for the nearest hospital, but Marie’s hand grabs my phone before I can dial the final number.

“D-don’t.  Look again Daph, I'm healing.” She gasps out, barely able to grit out each word. She’s still strong even in such a dire situation. Looking once again at the mess of her back I can finally see what she means. The blood now was coagulating around each wound and it was healing at an impossibly fast rate. I didn’t know her blood powers gave her that much of a healing benefit; she must have been working on that for a while. She will be a great student for Godolkin University if I can get her out of this mess without further injury.

Marie’s coloring has returned and she doesn’t look like she was going to pass out anymore. She gets up more smoothly than could have been expected. I stumble to my feet grabbing her hand, making sure to not get separated until she’s safe. Finally looking at our surroundings we can see the whole west avenue street was caved in. A huge crevice that was so deep it led into what looks like the sewer system. Cars were half in the trench and other vehicles were abandoned or completely destroyed by the wreckage. The debris that fell into the entrance of Jitter Bean was not the result of the cave-in. 

People were screaming and running from an apartment building just a few streets across from us. If I squint hard enough I can see someone flying and twisting around the building. Crowds of people were scattered a good distance from the focal point of the ongoing destruction. In a blink a huge hole bursts from the apartment building with a resounding crack of thunder that made the whole street shake. Pieces of the building fall below and crash, making the crowd scream. 

“We need to get out of here.” Marie grips my hand tighter as she mutters this under her breath. I nod silently agreeing, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the building. Marie doesn’t give me much choice as she drags me in a speedy fashion farther away from the destruction. 

Sadly we didn’t get far away fast enough. Through a cloud of dirt and metal propelled itself with a human being attached. Landing not just a few feet from us. A black woman’s limbs were cracked and broken from all angles. Her neck was half decapitated from landing on a piece of shrapnel. Marie freezes at the sight now completely immobile. I stand between her and the dead woman blocking her view.

“Marie, you're not there. You’re not there anymore, Marie. Breathe. In,” I take in a deep breath, and through my powers I loosen her coiled tight aura “and out.” I repeat the loud breathing and she joins in as her shoulders finally release their tension. The screaming and thunder cracks don’t help completely soothe her panic attack, but it has helped her calm down a bit. “Are you feeling okay enough to get out–”

Black.

Everything is black.

Then I hear a voice. A voice I remember. It’s Marie. Her voice sounds far off and as if it was coming from under water.

“Daphne! Please, Daphne get up! I’m just going to get–” 

I can’t hear anything again. It all feels rather fuzzy. The pins and needles sensation across my entire body was the first thing I notice in the numb darkness. Then it was the groggy ache that throbbed a terrible beat inside my skull. That is excruciating. I blurrily open my eyes and I’m laying down in a cot with an IV attached to my arm. Turning my head I could see I was inside a temporary hospital setting, and from what it looks like, was holding a number of homeless people. Lines with food and clothes being handed out is a big give away.  

“I want to know she’s okay before I go but I have to be home before my curfew.”

“I understand miss. Hopefully your friend will be up soon, but she did receive a severe concussion. My advice is she get an MRI as soon as she can. Such injuries as hers shouldn’t be taken lightly.” The feminine and stern voice comes from the lady in the bloody scrubs.

“I’ll tell her.” Marie dismisses the woman completely and hurries to me with quick wobbly feet. “Daph, I’m so glad you’re up and okay. For a second I didn’t know how…” She left her sentence out in the air to be unfinished. “The field nurse says you should get an MRI after this. To make sure you don’t have irreparable damage, you know, the usual checkup.” She shrugs, trying to lighten everything with gallows humor. It helps.

“What time is it?”

“It just turned 5.” She checks her phone with a flicker of worry in her golden eyes.

“Marie, thank you for saving me a million times and hopefully we will be able to hangout under better circumstances,” Marie snorts at that “but go home before you get in trouble.” I lift myself up from the cot taking the IV out myself. Marie’s eyebrows twist up and her mouth turns down as if wanting to say something. I shake my head at her and she gives out a long sigh.

“Okay, just please get home safe. Take a cab as soon as you feel better.”

“I will. Now get going!” I  wave my hands at her trying to push her away. She smiles, a real smile I haven’t seen on her in this entire time we’ve talked today. A smile of relief is better than no smile at all. She gives me a quick hug before running out the doors. She hopefully made it back in time without punishment. Red River Institute was quite harsh with punishments. 

I sigh, and try to get up from my cot on my trembling feet. I grab a crutch that was left for me and can’t help but pat at the bandage wrapped around my head. I flinch back from my gentle prodding and feel pretty dumb for it. Catching my eye was the crowd of news press filming a makeshift stage in the center of the refuge. Center stage was my worst nightmare, Stan Edgar. He was a wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit that looked tailor made for him, which it was, and the fabric looks like it was ported here from Egypt. He looked healthy and pristine as if he didn't have a worry in the world. My blood goes ice cold and I kept stop myself from glaring at him. His polished perfect white smile takes over his face morphing him to look approachable, but I know what he is. A predator who's just got his kill. 

He begins his speech with as much confidence as someone born with a silver tongue.

“I know the news about Compound V is a shock to everyone. As you can imagine, this has been a very difficult day for the Vought family. Our focus now will be to learn the truth. As I said we are conducting a robust investigation into Compound V, but let me be clear; I had no knowledge whatsoever. We believe it was the work of a small, disaffected group of scientists led by former Vought employee Madelyn Stillwell. But sadly, there are more important matters at hand. Everyone at Vought sends their thoughts and prayers to those families that were affected today. Though it is important to acknowledge that this tragic event could have been far worse; today’s attack underscores just how dangerous Super terrorists have become. And, at a time like this, America needs its heroes more than ever. We live in a dangerous world. Our brave heroes were already fighting terrorists overseas, but now, America faces this war on a different front: right here at home. These enemies will stop at nothing to infiltrate our borders and attack our citizens. Our superheroes are the last line of defense. And today, the death toll would have been much higher had it not been for the brave actions of our newest hero, Stormfront, who stopped the terrorist before he could take more innocent lives. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if Stormfront hadn’t been there, but thankfully she was patrolling the border of New York when she heard the destruction taking place . Without hesitation she immediately swooped in and put herself in harm's way to stop this terrorist from harming any more people. America is truly blessed to have you, ladies and gentlemen, Stormfront.” Stan Edgar’s speech is pristine as he gives no leeway for a journalist’s intrusion. Every little loophole Edgar could possibly think to cover within thirty seconds was said. 

He did it all with such a calm demeanor it made me feel ill. Looking at his face made my palms sweat profusely and the pit of my stomach burns with a cold fury I couldn’t bear. Like coals resting still inside my belly and burning through my intestines.

“Thank you. But we all know who the real heroes of this group are, right? The people you see behind you, the people who are struggling every day. So let’s give them all a hand.” She starts the round of applause and the people in the building join in. I clap along politely too trying to mask my inner turmoil. I take in the scene around me trying to ignore the press and Stan Edgar all together. 

I notice Stormfront isn’t the only one of The Seven in the makeshift hospital and refuge for the newly homeless. Starlight is at the booth handing out water, but her shining bright aura that is usually impossible to miss is dim. She’s lost some of her light, but why? Looking to the opposite side at the exit where more people are being gurneyed in and out; Homelander stood at the edge of the scene. His whole soul screamed and raged, so much so the tornado that was his aura spins and twists so fast I can feel the winds whip at my mind. The power of his emotions and soul battered at me with such ferocity I'm lucky I'm still standing. Through pure willpower and one crutch I wobble my way towards the superhero. People gave him a wide berth, so even they could sense he was on edge. 

I drag myself across the makeshift hospital to look him directly in the eyes but he’s hyper focused on the stage. He hasn’t noticed me. I cough. 

“What are you doing here?” His eyes grows wide and his attention is immediately on me, so much power in a stare.

“I didn’t exactly book myself a room here, Homelander. I got in the crosshairs of the destruction and was brought here for immediate medical care.”

“Did you see what she just did?” His intense stare that felt like a natural force when directed towards me were now glaring back up at the stage.

“See what?” I can't help but feel discombobulated by his outright anger.  

“The way she smiled at me, all smug. She knew I had called dibs on him and she still has the audacity to do that .” His hands were gesture energetically and the next moment he’s still as a statue. His writhing aura quivers and shakes, but the tornado was still. I couldn’t decide which was scarier. “ 

“What if I told you I know how to get your numbers to skyrocket by tomorrow.” 

“I’d tell you you're full of shit.” He whispers derisively, glaring down at me with pure hatred I think incorrectly directed towards me.

“Come make pasta with me and I’ll tell you my plan.” This whole idea centers around him actually agreeing. The spur of the moment idea influenced completely around what happened today. Marie's words partly to thank for this brilliant idea. An idea so good it will help me help Homelander, while also letting Homelander think he’s getting what he wants. It’s so good it probably won’t work. But it’s worth a shot.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I got better places to be than listening to your hairbrained schemes.” He scuffs shuffling away from me, inching closer to the exit. 

“The invitation is always open. If you want to hear my proposal, and also make pasta with me, then stop by.” I say before turning my back on him and hobbling away. Not letting him have the last words this time.

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If you want to get my most recent updates for this fic check it out on AO3!

[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER THREE: The Interview

The blurry white figures in visors and masks hunch over her as a united force. They circled around her, gathering more masses of eyes to stare down at her like a spotlight. I can’t be back here again?! Nothing but darkness surrounded them as she was chained to the hospital bed. The chains scraped and bruised against her ankles and wrist painfuly, leaving raw bleeding flesh under the cuffs.

“I need to talk to my family.”

“What family? They've abandoned you after seeing your last session. Don’t you remember?” One of the many faces of white lab coats screams in my face as they inject me with something.

“No, this is a test! That’s not true!” I screamed in their faces, my spit visibly spraying onto the few who had visors. They laugh menacingly around her as their blurry figures danced around her vision. They circled her like a pack of hyenas starving for a morsel, the morsel being me.

“We have your friend in the other room, and we want you to make her sob on the floor until she starts to hyperventilate. We will let her and you go if you succeed.” The menacing voices echoes around me surrounding my whole being. I was glued to the hospital bed, my hands and feet chained, and a hot spot light was directed upon me. Olivia sat in front of me, chained as well and trembled with fright. She appeared from the dark void looking like a pale version of my best friend.

“What did you do to her?!” I screamed out into the void, the doctors all out of view.

“Do as we asked or you will not see her again.” A monotone voice orders; no inflection or emotion attached to the demand. It sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it.

“B-but–”

“It’s okay, Daph. We’ll make it through this…” She shouts, a whimper shudders out of her lips not a second later. She wrenches herself closer into the chair. She looked like she was trying to get as far away from me as possible while saying those hopeful words.

“What?” I ask with a dazed stare in a half-zombie like state.

“J-just do it Daph. They’ll hurt me more if you don’t.” 

“N-n-no, no, stop. This isn’t the real you, you're okay you're okay...” I whimper out, repeating over and over again–scrunching my eyes closed trying to block her out.

“You will do it or Olivia and your parents will be killed in front of you.” The monotone voice drills itself into my ears no matter how much I try to block it all out. I shiver at the threat, still with my eyes closed I force a wave of fear and a deep sadness only few ever feel in their lives–a deep pit that consumes all her thoughts and emotions until you as a person feel like an empty void. The sobs wrack out Olivia’s body with such force my eyes open involuntarily, looking at my friend put through agony few people feel all because of me.

Her cries are so strong and her sobs are so loud her breathing starts to stutter, and before my eyes she’s unconscious–but her body continues to convulse and twitch. 

“Olive?” She stills, and I freeze as well. I wait looking, hoping for her chest to move up and down. But there’s nothing. She’s frozen still in place.

“Olive! Olivia!” I scream at her, trying with all of my willpower to wake her up.

“I’m sorry Ms. Bennett, she’s gone.” The monotone voice echoes around the bare white lab room with not an ounce of remorse.

“Let me see her! Olive, wake up! Olivia!” I scream her name over and over. With what felt like a blink the doctors swarmed me and multiple gloved hands stabbed me with long needles holding a variety of concoctions inside.  

Everything began to blur and darkness took me away from my nightmare.

They began to boil my hands on my eighth birthday. I only knew it was my birthday because that’s what they made me memorize for my Homelander profile. I don’t think it’s my actual birthday, but apparently that didn’t matter. John’s birthday wasn’t his birthday.

They started early in the morning. I woke up from an uncomfortably bare bed, a simple white sheet over a thin mattress and a raggedy white blanket to accompany it–discreetly including his small baby blanket he kept under his frayed pillow. 

The creaky and heavy steel door opened with Dr. Vogelbaum holding a paper plate with a small piece of cake on it. The cake was plain vanilla with simple white frosting on top. A candle with the number eight sat atop of it, light blue in color ,was lit and ready to be blown out. One of the few things they did to celebrate anything for John. Dr. Vogelbaum held it out for me, waiting for me to do something .

“Blow it out, John.” Dr. Vogelbaum grunts out, shoulders tensing as his lips thinned into an angry straight line. Oh yeah , I forgot that's what you did on your birthday. The few times I could remember my birthdays, Dr. Vogelbaum told me so, and the movies I was allowed to watch that featured a birthday were made out as a tradition . I quickly scrunch up my face and blow the candle out as fast as I can, not wanting to keep Dr. Vogelbaum waiting. “What did you wish for?” He asked, his tone was flat, and his eyes looked distant and clouded.

“I was supposed to wish for something?” 

“Yes, John.” He sighs, rolling his eyes at him. I can’t help but fidget under his dark and unflinching stare.

“I-I wished for another piece of cake.” I quickly say to dispel the scrutiny from Dr. Vogelbaum.

“Gluttony is never rewarded, John.” Every time Dr. Vogelbaum says my name in that way I can’t help but shudder. Nothing I did seemed to make him happy, or even proud like in those films he liked to watch. They always showed those fathers that are close with their sons–even though Dr. Vogelbaum wasn’t like the dads on TV. I didn’t have a dad. That’s what Dr. Vogelbaum told me.

“I know.” I mutter back as an automatic response to his usual rebuffing.

“Finish the cake John and we will continue the routine as usual.” That was a lie I wouldn’t see until much later in my day. I didn’t know at the time but my first sessions of torture will start soon. I finished it quickly, it tasted like pure sugar and artificial vanilla.

“John, you're now old enough to test your body’s limits. Are you ready?” Dr. Vogelbaum asks almost as a pretense, not letting John respond back. “Good, now we will start slow. We will progress as you get more comfortable.” John sits on his usual spot in the middle of his room in a cold metal chair they bring in every once in a while. The metal chair didn’t usually mean anything good for John.

“Is it going to be fun? Like, a game?”

“No, John. You're America’s hero and you are being trained as one. You are doing this for your people.”

“My people?”

“Yes, and every time you pass more of these tests the more you will get closer to the goal, which is being America’s hero. Don’t you want to be like Soldier Boy? Like in all of those movies?”

“Yes, yes I want to be like Soldier Boy!” 

“Okay, well let's start then.” With Dr. Vogelbaum’s prompt response at that, two men in white lab coats–similar to Dr. Vogelbaum’s attire entered unceremoniously. The two white lab coats struggle to bring in a large vat of boiling water, rolling it slowly into the center of my room.

“We will have to start now if we want to test his skin against this certain temperature.” One nasally voice quipped out quickly.

“John, withhold from screaming.” In my heart I could hear him saying do it for me. And that’s what I held onto at that moment. Do it for him. Make him proud. Like those dads in those movies. They didn’t give me any further warning as they brought my small, sugar coated hands into the boiling vat. I cried out before shutting my mouth tightly, biting my lips to keep them from screaming. The process lasted what felt like days, but must have been merely hours. The scientist all muttered behind a glass wall, too scared to get closer to the hero at this stage of torture.

“Am I almost done?”

“Yes,” I look up suddenly and my hope is apparent to everyone in the vicinity. “But we have the next stage to move forward with. Are you ready, John?”

Later they will try to boil my whole body. My flesh will fall from my skin like tender meat skewered off the bone. My eyes would turn to jelly and stain the water red. My blood, muscles, and flesh would regrow in seconds, but the process would continue for hours. My eighth birthday lasted for eternity.

I scream myself awake.

Luckily for me my office was soundproof, and I have decided not to think further on why that is. I blankly sit there in the eerie silence. The dream made my body sweaty and my muscles achy. Something warm and wet dripped down my nose. Thick and crusty blood was smeared all over my face–my nose continues to bleed. Without much luck I try wiping it off on my sleeve. I probably do not look interview ready. In my large duffel leather bag I brought with me–including my laptop tote–I had the ability to do a quick change in my office.

Giving myself a whore bath and trying to flatten my slightly wrinkled clothes I couldn’t help but feel less than stellar about this interview. Why does it have to be on TV? And why do I have to be there with The Seven . My job is supposed to be behind the scenes! I didn’t get my PHD so I’d be paraded around by Vought. I’m not very good at public speaking. Never have been. Never had to be good at public speaking when my job was about speaking one on one. So, this is probably going to be a huge trainwreck. No doubt about it. 

I do have to make a call even with the shitstorm heading my way.

“Hello, my dear! How can I help—” In the background I can hear one woman yelling at Olivia in what I decipher as Korean “잠시만요.” Olivia responds fluently back to whoever she is speaking to. “Sorry, about that Daph. What you need from little ol’ me?” She asks in her usual quick cadence.

“Um, could you come to Vought during your lunch? I was hoping to tell you something in person before…well just before…” Struggling to put my words together Olivia caught the desperation coming from my voice.

“Of course sugar snap. I’m having my lunch early this morning–probably eleven. Does that work for your busy famous celebrity self?” I can’t control the loud groan that escapes my lips at her teasing. She laughs, snorts and all.

“Okay, well if you don’t mind we can have it in my brand new office. And I hear the buffet here is really good, so plenty of food.” 

“Sign me up for a free lunch and a date with my favorite person.”

“See you soon.” The phone doesn’t quite hang up before I hear her cursing out one of her clients. I swear if I had her life I would have a heart attack before noon. That accomplished I put away the blanket and tried–and failed to get wrinkles out of my clothes. I clean and organize as a way to help my brain slow down. Helps me stay cool and collected–not the anxious mess that I am right now. Looking in the office mirror I could see the bags under my eyes, and my eyes looked a little red but other than that I looked okay. Not Vought perfect but not homeless. I’ll take it as a win since I haven’t even showered. 

A knock from my office door had me jump out of my skin. I pat my face over and over trying to physically wake myself up. Slowly stumbling for the office door I open it just a crack.

“Hello?” I ask with a question on my lips. How does anyone know I’m here in the first place? Are there secret cameras in my office? I wouldn’t put it past them.

“Hi!” The door bursts open with what felt like embers and ash sparking across Ashley's aura. She had a certain focus and darker edge about her that wasn’t there when I first met her. Or saw her, I guess. Though her personality was tumultuous–she had not been this on edge before my kidnapping. More things have shifted to make her darken and fade. Her personality is morphing into something much worse . All of those thoughts and emotions came tumbling at me like a cannonball being shot straight through my head. The taste of oil and tar lingered on my tongue. “I see you’re here early, good start even though your attire may need some tweaking. First, you have the mandatory employee video you need to attend to. Then you will be at your first public interview. This is very important as we will be aiming for sympathy from the viewership. We want people to see The Seven as empathetic but not pitiful, got it? We need you to sell the mental health bullshit like there is no tomorrow. Mr. Edgar believes in the project, so you have to make everyone else believe in you as much as he does.” Her obvious disbelief in my hiring is not lost on me. Neither is her discomfort at my silent staring. “Do you have any questions?”

“You seem stressed, would you like any milk or cookies, maybe a biscuit? Or some coffee? I don’t have a microwave in here but I do have a fancy coffee machine.” I turn around before she can answer. I think I need some coffee too, actually. I hear her step in quickly, not closing the door behind her. I’m glad I cleaned up the office before she popped in or she would have known of my inappropriate sleepover. Anxiety cleaning for the win!

“No, no I actually have to be at a meeting soon. You also have to head to the HR office on the second floor to watch the mandatory employee video and sign some paperwork.” She reminds me as if I needed another briefing. I huff out a small laugh at her tornado whirlwind of an aura, fluctuating constantly through many powerful emotions. Her force of nature attitude makes me think she is used to being a bull to her employees. 

“Well, I think I can make coffee for the both of us within this five minute margin we have.” I get out my pack of spices I brought with me for this very occasion. I pour the freshly brewed black coffee next, and the smell of the blend of spices and dark rich coffee is heavenly. I offer her a tall portable mug with a black sliding lid on top to make it mobile.

“A-ah, thank you.” She falters, her voice cracking a hint of trepidation as she takes my offered mug. Makes me think no one has offered her anything for free in a long time. “Well I will come get you at eleven forty-five to make sure you are prepared for the interview.” She says quickly speeding out of my office just a moment later. A quick tap-tapping of her red heels as she turns a corner, a woman on a mission.

Well, I guess I better get to the HR office. I put on my mauve colored cardigan to keep the Vought building chill away and cradle my coffee in both hands. I scurry to the elevator being careful not to spill anything–I gave Ashley the only mug I had with a lid.

I wait patiently in the elevator as I try to do some breathing exercises to calm myself down. I need to be on my A game today. I had to tell my best friend, before I tell the whole world, about my powers. I have to go on TV! And I have to wrangle all of these superheroes to get their appointments scheduled–I have a feeling that will be the most difficult task today. Like wrangling cats. This HR video should be a piece of cake in comparison.

The elevator light flashed and I was met with one of the more simple and stale looking floors of the Vought building. There were not many separate departments to look for. HR was front and center and the glass entrance seemed like an odd choice for an HR department. Walking timidly through the glass doors I see a small and elegantly put together woman in a mint condition suit behind a silver desk. The silver desk seemed to be the only nice thing in the HR office, everything else was bare and stale. As if no one was expected to visit HR. Odd.

“Hello, I was told by Ashley that I needed to come here for a customary employee seminar. I think it's a seminar…maybe it's just a video I don’t know.” I mumble out at the end embarrassing myself.

“Yes, of course Ms. Bennett we have been waiting for you.” The woman with dark hair and a smile that blinded my eyes stares straight at me in a glazed hazy state. She gave me a card–thick cardstock and it has rounded edges–that was titled Room B. 

“Thank you, miss.” I awkwardly leave–trying not to be around her zombie-like state any longer than I had to. I head into the room just to the side of the front desk titled  Room B . I quickly enter and pick the first gray foldable chair in sight. 

“We are all here to watch the required video to instruct us on how we are supposed to behave at Vought premises. Waivers will be given at the end of the video. No talking till the end of the video. Now, if there are any questions please wait till the end of the video .” An overweight man with a thick Boston accent stood at the center of the room. His button white shirt has a small red stain on his right cuff, and his jacket looked a size too big for his stature but other than that he seemed like the average office worker. He turns the old TV on, which was barely hanging on the wall by a cable. He turns back to his small desk and takes out a VOUGHT Magazine, ignoring all of us.

There were only five people in the room–not including me. A teenage girl sat to my right with one leg resting on the seat while the other lay flat on the ground. Her black and purple hair matched her dark attire–punk rock vibes if I had to pick a genre. A man to my left resembled a stretched out Flat Stanley that awkwardly curled back into himself. His thinning hair and deep dark bags under his eyes didn’t help this sad impression. A smaller woman sat behind me looking more polished than all of us combined, even her hair looked like it came straight out of a shampoo commercial. I admire her business casual attire that was effortlessly fashionable in a way that I could never achieve. I sniff my armpits and I wince in disgust, not able to hide my reaction. I definitely should've tried harder when I was getting ready this morning. At least Ashley didn’t say anything.

“How long is this video going to take? I got lunch plans.” A boy, who seemed to be no older than sixteen, asked from the back. Another boy of similar age with long curly red hair and a blue bucket hat snorted. The boy who had asked the question, punches his friend. The boys were now in the midst of a punching battle.

“Stop! Stop! If you can’t be quiet and watch the 20 minute video then you can’t work at Vought. Got it? Now stop roughhousing and shut up!”  The large man in charge of this required video training, screams at all of us. He pointedly glares at the two boys in the back the most. They both quieted from reprimand. The video turns on and the Vought Logo flashes on screen. The bored tone of the narrator starts off the video with a boring monologue.

“Welcome, New Employee, to the world’s most admired company: Vought International. You may know us as the home of your favorite heroes, but we’re much more than that. Learn more about your super colleagues and explore the various ways that Vought impacts our lives: from our customer service endeavors, to our new national security tactics. See how Vought International makes the world a safer place.”

“Welcome to Vought! You are a part of the lucky few who are joining our team. The Vought team!” Homelander appears on screen his voice rings out with false happy bravado that makes me shudder. Like nails scraping against a chalkboard. The New Employee Onboarding welcome video droned on as the atmosphere finally settled around the room. The different emotions and auras push into my senses like a tidal wave and I had no life raft to keep me afloat. The emotions and different tastes I’m getting inflicted at f makes me realize one important thing. I forgot to take my meds this morning. I scramble for my bag completely ignoring the conversations ensuing around me.

“Did you hear about Blindspot?” The Flat Stanley stringbean looking man asks with no prompting from anyone.

“The who ?” The fancy woman behind me guffaws as if mentioning said person was beneath her.

“Blindspot! He was an upcoming hero recently auditioning to be a part of The Seven . It was all over his social media pages. He apparently got brutalized by Homelander during his audition. I heard he died in the hospital a few weeks ago.”

“Oh yeah? And where did you hear that from? Was it one of your drinking buddies?”

“Next you're gonna say The Seven killed Madelyn Stillwell…” The punk rock girl put in her two cents with the roll of her green eyes.

“Please quiet down and listen to the video!” The man that was half melted into the office chair barked at the gossipers. He did not look up from his magazine. They moved onto whispering instead.

“No, but my friend who works in the cafeteria told me they saw Blindspot being carried out by the hospital staff on a gurney. Blindspot later being revealed dead is too much of a coincidence!”

“Does your friend have any proof?” Shampoo model interjected, tensing her shoulders and cracking her jaw.

“No, but–”

“Then, there’s nothing more to say on the matter. We're here to be a part of Vought not feed into the rumor mill that is the fake news media!” The woman’s shiny brown hair moved with her erratic shuffling of her chair. The squeaking of said chair seems to frustrate her more. 

“Woah,” One of the boys mutters under his breath, finally looking up from his phone, not adding anything to the conversation. I rummage haphazardly through my bag looking in every small pocket hidden within. Finally, looking through the last pocket I find my small bottle of bright blue miracle pills. I swallow one dry, not caring if it irritates my throat.

“All because you choose to be blind to the news doesn’t mean we have to be!” The string bean of man whispers furtively back at the shiny woman. She looked like she swallowed something vile by being near him.

“Don’t be so gauche.” The shiny woman huffed out her disapproval through her nose. She turns her body away from him, not pretending to watch the video anymore. I tried to calm my heart beat and ignore the ongoing argument unfolding. I push my attention towards the old TV screen. 

“A Vought black credit card is available to you now, as you are a part of our elite team means you get elite deals!” 

I decide maybe it's actually better to tune out Starlight’s midroll ad and focus back on the conversation. A conversation focused on Homelander possibly being a violent person. If all of my brief glimpses into his psyche has anything to tell me, these rumors are certainly true. The young goth girl leaned in close drawing the group towards her as she whispers. A twist of her purple lips and a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

“I heard Madelyn Stillwell is actually alive and that her death is being used as a distraction.” She twists her body around making sure everyone is hanging on her every word.

“A distraction for what?” One of the boys in the back, who finally took off his earbuds, asked dumbfounded.

“So, the supes can take over the world!” She wiggled her fingers at the shampoo model making her flinch back. She scooches her chair–a loud scraping noise follows her–to get even further away from the odd group.

“That’s bs! Where do you kids even come up with this shit?” Stringbean man puffs out as the squeaking of his leather jacket follows his crossing arms.

“I’m not a kid, I'm eighteen.” 

“Start acting like it then and stop pushing this drivel on random strangers.” Stringbean barks.

“Take some of my advice and maybe don’t pick fights with a bunch of strangers.” She sasses back. Stringbean huffs out a dry laugh and smacks the small girl’s shoulders making her stumble out of her chair. 

“Not bad advice, kid.” The girl grumbles as she tries to fix her spiky hair. The girl’s naturally curious eyes lands directly on me. A wave of trepidation hits me in full force. Her sharp eyes give me a once over before her mischievous grin returns.

“Hey, you, your badge is different from ours.” She points her thin pointer finger at me–her nails were decorated all over with the Kuromi character–she scooches her chair close to mine. The scraping against the tile floor made us all shutter. Well, except for the man reading his magazine. He pointedly flips to the next page. “You a fancy upper floor employee or something?” The eyes of the group all turn towards me in unison. 

“I-ah I am, I was hired recently as a psychiatrist for the 99th floor. I’m here on recommendation from Mr. Stan Edgar.” I stutter out not expecting the conversation to turn to me. I didn’t even notice my badge looking any different from anyone else's. 

“ The Stan Edgar!” Shampoo model perked up now focusing back on the inner group’s conversation. “Do you have connections with someone that works here?” Her whole demeanor changes. Once prickly and ready for defense like a cactus she now opens up like a blooming spring flower.

“Sorry, no I got the job by circumstance. I just…happened to be in the right place at the right time.” 

“So, you were at Vought when you got hired! Or did you go to one of the Vought corporate meets?” Shampoo model’s intensity was making my body vibrate from her shared excitement. The taste of lavender candy–sweet and delicate–enveloped my tastebuds. The flavor is wholly unique but still recognizable. Yearning and envy wrapped up in hope. Her emotions tumbled wave after wave distracting me, drowning me in her own feelings. My meds weren’t going to be in effect until a half an hour from now.

“I happened to fit this experimental opening he had planned. I was recommended by colleagues and everything just fell into place.” I stumble out feeling the blood drain from my face. My own downfall in so few words makes my heart grow ice cold.

“Wait, you're working on the 99th floor?” I sigh knowing exactly what was coming

“Yes.” I grit out grinding my jaw.

“Oh god, so you're The Seven’s psychiatrist!” Her mouth was agape, not blinking as she continued to stare at me. “Do you have powers?”

“Yes. And no I will not show you.”

“Oh my god we’re in the presence of a member of The Seven !”

“No, no I’m not a part of The Seven. I’m working for Vought to help members of The Seven when or if they require counseling. I think I am being used as a mental health PR stunt but that’s besides the point.” I mutter that last part more to myself than anyone in the room. 

“You sure know how to talk like one of them.” Goth girl smirks leaning into her chair, like she owned it. “Those executive corpo types.”

“I’m not any of those things. I’m technically only supposed to be a psychologist for the 99th floor but if any of you are in need of my services do not hesitate to ask. We are all employees of Vought now, so I think that means anyone of you could ask for my services. It's not specified that I can’t take more clients  in my contract, at least.” I shrug not trying to push therapy on anyone who doesn’t want it. 

Stan made it seem like The Seven would be enough of a workload to take up all of my time, but that didn’t seem right. I’m so used to working with hundreds of kids and families non-stop. It was my entire life. My sole focus for such a long time. My experience in many different schools–like Duke and the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry kept me on my toes. Even in my grad school program when I was working with convicts that I was helping rehabilitate. Before everything went to hell in a handbasket I was working with a government affiliated program influenced by the TANF act to help foster families in our state. All of this to say is that I’m used to being overworked.

“Woah, can I go to the 99th floor if you're our on-site counselor?” Shampoo model perked up even more getting into my personal space. Her ID clung from a clip on the collar of her eggshell colored suit jacket. It read Perscilla Jones and the sub-category was labeled social media manager. 

“Um, I am technically a psychologist not a counselor.” I add quickly before continuing. "I don’t see the harm as long as you schedule your appointments with me before dropping by.” I give each of them my card; my email and phone number are attached.

“Did that contract also promise you a Vought+ Series?” 

“A Vought what?”

“The streaming service Vought+ ! Jesus Christ, you should get your lawyer to look over the details of your contract. At least get a movie cameo or something!” The string-bean exclaims, belting it out, completely forgetting to whisper. The idea of having a lawyer look over my contract is a pipe dream I can't think about. I don’t want to be wiped off the face of this planet by all of Vought’s bloodthirsty lawyers. Nor do I want my family to be caught in the crosshairs.

“Hey! What’d I say about not talking during the twenty minute video! For fucks sake how can you fucking people not know how to shut your fucking mouths for twenty fucking minutes?” The man’s expletives were growing progressively louder and more jumbles of nonsensical curses. All of us were dead silent as we stared at the large man growing progressively redder with his unending screaming. His burst of rage tastes like jalapeno flavored pop rocks, leaving a fuzzy feeling to surface on my tongue.

“Sir, the video ended a few seconds ago.” I vocalize clearly trying to project not yell. I bring out my powers to adjust his bursting aura, the angry red that resembled heat waves began to whimper and die out. He looks winded, pale even, as he drops into his chair with a resounding thud. 

“Ah, yeah. Okay everyone please sign these forms on your way out.” His face looked resigned going back to his magazine as if there wasn’t an issue in the first place. We all numbly walk towards the man’s desk signing the forms set on the desk. Walking out behind the two young men attached at the hip and shuffling forward I glance through my phone to see Olivia has already texted me. Six times.

I’m in the Vought cafeteria! Security let me in, hall-pass and all. Apparently they knew who I was. I guess life’s good when your friend’s a bonafide celebrity.

Saw two Starlight cosplayers and one Queen Maeve look-alike. Is that the normal crowd these days at Vought co.?

Is something big going on today? I just saw a bunch of press enter the assembly room with a sign that says ‘PRESS CONFERENCE’ in bold red letters. You know anything about that? Give me the deets.

HELLLLOOOO NO ONE TOLD ME Y'ALL HAD A TACO BAR!!!!! 🌮🌮🌮

Okay, I remember why I don’t take jobs at Vought. NOBODY HERE HAS MANNERS! A bitch with a stick up her ass cockblocked my taco bar time! She cut me in line and then stole all the chicken tacos! ALL OF THEM!!!!

Okay, I’m bored and sad. Where are you? 

I quickly start typing out a response while stepping out of the glass office known as HR. I adjust my purse that digs irritatingly deep into my left shoulder. My headache started as a dull ache and crawled its way into being a consistent sharp pain. As I head to the elevator one large spiky black boot stomps in front of me.

“Did you use your powers on that guy?”

“What?”

“Don’t act dumb. Did you use your powers to neutralize the dude?”

“‘Neutralize’ is a strong word.” I try to dismiss her hurrying my steps inside the elevator. Sadly, she follows right behind me.

“So you did it! How do your powers work exactly? Do you just think it, and it is so? Or more complicated? You didn’t even touch the guy and he was plopping in his chair more relaxed than after a good blowie.” She looks at me with a glimmer of worship, her voice coated in admiration. It rang false to me. The blowjob reference didn’t help my growing discomfort with this conversation.

“I actually have somewhere to be right now but if you want to talk further use my contacts on my business card. We can try to schedule a therapy session once I have all of my required clients' schedules worked out.” I try to politely evade any further conversation as I watch the elevator number change ever so slowly. 

“And by required clients you mean The Seven !”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god I’m gonna blow up your phone if you don’t give me all the details.”

“I gave you my business number, not my personal one. You may do as you please but I would prefer it if you did not give me unnecessary work.” The girl was starting to crawl under my skin with her invasiveness and perspective eyes. I just need to keep my cool. 

The elevator dings on the cafeteria floor number and I sprint out not looking back. I’ll feel guilty about the rude doge in conversation later, right now I need to focus on telling my best friend about my years worth of lies. Yeah, this is going to go great. And I have only twenty minutes to tell her this groundbreaking awful news. Just peachy.

The floor with the cafeteria was an unending hall of hangout spots for Vought employees. Most rooms were there to hold social events and business meetings. Not just lunch dates. So, twisting through the people–some already intoxicated before twelve, was more hassle than it should have been. Who knew a cafeteria for people to eat at would be one of the last places people went to. There in the corner is my chic friend poking at her non-chicken taco. 

“Olive!” I wave enthusiastically at her, this renewed sense of relief floods me like a warm hug. Seeing her in person makes all of this worth it. She’s okay. I just need to visit my parents to check in on them and maybe I’ll feel even better about my decision. She looks up quickly and a bright shiny smile drapes across her heart shaped face. She was dressed to nines as usual. 

Her Balenciaga bag complemented her matching argyle skirt and crop jacket. The black turtleneck she wore coexisted perfectly with her black strap heels. It is no surprise she owns her own famous styling company. If its hair, makeup, and fashion affiliated her company took care of it.

“Daph!” She wrapped her long arms around me, lifting me into the air with her too tight hug.

“Okay phh–” I struggle to breathe through her tight snuggle hug. “Please I need to breathe!”

“Oh, you're always so dramatic.” She drops me swiftly just barely catching myself before I twist an ankle. “What's shakin', bacon?” She shook her hips with emphasis, grabbing her taco and taking a large bite out of it.

“Let’s go to my office.” I grab her shoulders pushing her towards the elevator. Quick to move somewhere private and more soundproof.

“On the 99th floor?” She turns around facing me, her eyes bigger than saucers. I press the shiny golden button labeled 99 as an answer to that question. The elevator closes and it slowly begins to rise, elevator music playing in the background. “I can’t believe this honestly. One day your barely making ends meet to keep your apartment and now you're a part of The Seven ! My blood sugar has been going crazy since this sudden change. I’m happy for you of course but it just seems…odd?” Her fast talking out of breath word vomit halted to a dreadful end. The question was left out in the open but I didn’t know how to answer her.

“I have to tell you something, but I would prefer if we did this in my office.” I smile ignoring the painful throb in my forehead reminding me how stupid I am. Stop forgetting to take your meds and this won’t happen. 

“Oh, okay.” Sensing my serious tone she didn’t press me further. Keeping silent is and has always been a struggle for Olivia. She has always been a chatterbox and people flocked to her oversharing nature. She held fast until we finally entered my office and I closed my door. She leapt into the plush couch making herself at home. “Now spill, Daph.”

I stall for as long as I can by placing the platter of cookies at the coffee table before sitting. I adjust my position trying to punch the lump out of one of the cushions. I look up to see her patiently waiting not taking her eyes off me, as if she blinked I would be gone. I close my eyes tightly and force myself to say what needs to be said.

“I have powers.”

“You have powers.”

“Yes.” Olivia stands up from the couch then sits back down, then stands up once again. She paces towards my espresso machine then to my desk, walking back and forth for some time.

“Is this why you have this job?”

“I guess that would be accurate.” I say lamely not willing to tell her the details about my contract. If staying in the dark gives her any chance of getting out of this unscathed I’ll deal with this guilt gnawing at my stomach.

“Tell me before I die already. What’s your power? Do you Mesmer people or something?” Using that Super Hero’s name is very on brand for Olivia. 

“N-no! Olivia I can feel–no see–no I just understand how people feel okay! That’s my power. It’s nothing fancy. I don't have super strength and I can’t fly or anything cool like that.”

“You ‘understand’ people? God, Daph, for such a phenomenal psychologist you’d think you’d be better at using your words.” Olivia sighs looking up at the ceiling, resigned to her fate as my friend, hopefully. 

“I’m not the best at talking about myself or explaining how I feel. A-and I’ve never really told anyone before. Unless you count the people downstairs that just guessed! So, you're the first person I’ve ever told, well first person I wanted to tell. That counts for something, right?”

“It counts for something alright. I presume you're telling me this now in our whole eight year long friendship because of Vought going public with this info. You wanted me to know before the news outlets broke the story, right?” She wiggles her finger at me, teasing and reprimanding all in the one gesture.

“That is correct. I have less than fifteen minutes before Ashley, the newly appointed Senior Vice President–as you may know–comes tearing down my door and quizzing me on how I’m supposed to act for this press release. I’m feeling anxious, scared, and I have a major headache that won’t go away. So, I’m holding on by a thread.” I croak out, clutching my head in my hands, trying to soothe the intense ache residing inside my skull. She grabs my shoulder rubbing them back and forth soothingly. A calm balm like aloe to a burn, smoothing my fried nerves and resetting my emotional state. 

“You’re amazing. Even if I’d prefer if you had told me of your own volition and not because of a job. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t think of you any differently. That’s what you needed to hear, right?” She asks, eyebrow raising and arms opening wide. I throw my arms around her tears welling in my eyes without my consent.

“Thank you and I’m sorry.” 

“You’re welcome. And don’t cry, you'll make your eyes all puffy before the interview. Let me touch you up since we're here.” She places me back on the couch keeping her hands steady on my shoulders. “Don’t get up and let me do this for you, okay.” A note of worry tainted her casual cadence. She takes out her large professional makeup bin from her larger than life Balenciaga bag. Like some sort of fashion forward Mary Poppins.

“Thanks, Olive.” I whimper, not being able to speak, the feelings that start to overwhelm me are my own this time. I’ve been fantasizing about telling her for all of these years, and now I’d finally done it. 

“Like water off a duck's back.” She takes out an even smaller makeup kit from her large makeup organizer. It was labeled Daphne’s 50 Shades of Pink. The involuntary smile crossed my face seeing the frilly pink makeup kit once again. “The usual look you like?”

“Yes, please ma'am.” 

“I’m not your mom. Don't call me ma’am.”

“I don’t call my mom ma’am and you know that.”

“Right, I do that what I called my mom. What a cunt…” She trails off with a hint of nostalgia interlaced in her voice whenever she mentions her mom. Putting the final touches of makeup on my face she gets out her trusty shears. “Just a trim?”

“Please and thank you.”

“I swear you're more polite than all of my clientele put together and they pay me for less.” Olivia sighs, positioning her hip into a different angle muttering expletives as she begins to cut off my dead-ends. “All of my superhero complaining isn’t going to stop either just because you're a supe, got it?” She points her finger in my face looking me directly in the eyes. “I don’t care if you're my favorite person. I’m not quitting my hobby!”

“Complaining?”

“Complaining about Superheroes !”

“Got it, got it. I would never think to take that away from you.”

“Damn right.” A final snip-snip here and snip-snip there and she puts her hand mirror in front of my face. I look effortlessly polished–similar to the social media manager I met earlier, Perscilla Jones. My blond ringlet curls didn’t look like a bird’s nest, instead the individual curls looked like silk. They fell to frame my small face perfectly, rather than hiding it. The light pink blush dusting my cheeks gave me a healthy glow when originally I had a pallor tone. The pink sparkly eyeshadow and little bit of eyeliner is more than what I would usually go for, but it matched my cardigan, so I’m not mad. 

“You always do outstanding work.”

“I know!” The delight was apparent in her voice and the feeling oozed out of her. She sparkles when she is in work/creative mode. A special kind of person rarely has such a creative aura, but she always glows with it. One of many things to admire about her.

Three confident knocks came in quick succession before Ashely burst into my office not bothering to close the door. She stops mid-step, finally seeing I had another person there. She twists her eyebrows up and a sardonic grin graces her bright red lips.

“You got your own makeup girl? I didn’t know you’d be so prepped with my impression of you earlier, but now I’m impressed. We can now skip your makeup and hair. That will help with time. Okay, let’s go, we're still running late.” She turns her heels expecting me to follow her by her coattails.

“Give me one moment.” I turn to Olivia, ignoring Ashely’s incessant heel tapping. “Sorry, about this lunch not being much of a lunch. I mean you worked during your lunch for Pete’s sake…” I trail off, a guilt train hitting me square in the gut.

“Think nothing of it. Just call me your fairy godmother and wish me a good day. I’ll wish you the same, also I’ll be watching you on the Vought network.” She kisses both my cheeks before packing her makeup into her Mary Poppin like designer bag.

“Thank you fairy godmother.” I reply genuinely touched by everything she does and continues to do for me.

“Tootles!” She whirls away, the chaos centered around her always flying out with her. She’s on her phone talking to someone by the time she’s in the elevator. 

“You’ve held up our time long enough, Ms. Bennett.” I wish more people would address me as Dr. Bennett in these professional settings, but that’s what I get for not joining the medical field.

“Right, sorry. Let’s go.” I grab my bag and lock the door behind me. I follow close behind her like the lapdog Vought wants. We silently enter the elevators but she does not stay silent for very long.

“Look, we need to go over what you’ll be saying in this interview. I don’t know if you have been trained on handling this type of attention before–usually people hired for positions like this are more polished. ”

“You mean groomed for the limelight.” I quip back not trying to hide the distaste for this media circus.

“If you want to continue working here you better get ready for the fucking and the sucking required to make these press conferences work. You are not a part of The Seven, but you're close enough where you will be watched and monitored by everyone. Luckily for us people are eating up the mental health/healthy lifestyle bullshit, so we’re pushing that angle.” Her fast talking and clicking of heels continued as the elevator  slowly rises to the designated floor.

“There is no angle, Ashley. I was hired here to help The Seven and that’s it. When they don’t need me anymore I’m perfectly happy to move on to new job opportunities.”

“Wow, so humble,” Ashley turns to me, finally stopping her heel tapping. “Look, Dr. Bennett I read the file Mr. Edgar gave me and you are very qualified. But you have no social media presence and you have zero star power going on. No “it” factor.”

“I’m not doing this to be a star or be on TV. I don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself, but I’m only here to offer therapy for The Seven. That’s it.”

“No, see you are not here to just be the therapist. You are here to sell what you bring to The Seven. You are here to make them look better. And good luck getting even one member of The Seven to go to any sort of therapy.” She laughs, finding the very thought to be hilarious. 

“Mr. Stan Edgar seemed pretty adamant about all of The Seven taking advantage of my counseling. He implied he wasn’t giving any of them, nor me a choice in the matter.” I say this knowing all of this was going in one ear and out the other. Ashley didn’t care one way or another if any of The Seven was going to take therapy seriously. As long as the public takes Vought’s mental health campaign seriously–and that includes boosting their numbers–that’s all that matters to them. I don’t need powers to know that.

“I can tell you have your mind set on this, good. You’re going to need that spirit to keep your head above water when dealing with The Seven . Now lets focus on selling this, okay?” Ashley gave this crazy eye flat face expression that told me everything I needed to know. Drop it.

“Okay, just tell me what I need to know.” 

“You mean what you need to say. ” She hands me a script simultaneously steering me towards an event room down the hall that seems to be bursting with people. Stumbling with her pushing hands she gives me a script as we walk past the front entrance of the event room.

The large crowd gave off this buzzing sound in my head that felt odd, not the usual symptom I would have when in crowds. The flavor of their fervor was the usual cotton candy sweetness that sticks to the roof of my mouth. Stumbling around to the back area I could see a backstage crew all focused on their individual jobs. A stage manager with a headset is running around like a chicken with its head cut off exiting out through the back of the stage. A few makeup artists and hair-stylists were hanging to the side, seeming to be bored out of their minds. Trying to block out all of the sensory overload I force myself to focus on the script.

A list of potential questions the press would ask was listed below, with my written responses:  

Q: “How do you have no record of being a Super until now?”

A: “My file has been kept safe under Vought’s protection of my identity. My powers are very rare and they were considering my safety since I manifested them. That is why my files have been kept out of the public eye.”

Q: “Are you being brought on to The Seven as a scapegoat–like a mental health crisis–if said superhero blew up a building?”

A: “No, of course not. The Seven are strong and are in full control of their powers. I am here to help the exceptional team with the powers I have. Another large part of my job–it was actually Vought's decision to pursue this endeavor. They are focused on helping the future super youth. I will be on a tour later this year–traveling to multiple superpowered colleges–to focus on the super youth’s mental health awareness. To further promote mental health help at every age.”

I paused, re-reading that answer over, and over again. No one told me my job required publicity touring across the country. Though the idea of helping super kids with their mental health–which is rarely explored in our current academia–would be a profound experience. Maybe I could even help kids that are in places like Elmira Adult Rehabilitation Center. 

“Is this part true? Am I going to tour campuses to help with the counseling programs?” I ask aloud, Ashley wasn’t besides me, no, she was on the phone a few paces away. I scurry over to her, and I tap on Ashley’s shoulder not bothering to feel bad about being rude. I repeat the same question as she looks down at me with an arched thin red eyebrow. Her lips were slightly puckered, sharp blue eyes looking me up and down. Her overall assessment and level of respect concludes to measly bug.

“If you survive this job long enough, sure. See what happens maybe you’ll get your own Vought+ series.” I visibly cringe away from the suggestion. A fat load of crap. Also, the idea of being a Mesmer or a Tek Knight made my stomach feel like a pile of writhing, knotting, and twisting snakes. No thank you.

“Uh, no I just wanted to know…” She turned away from me before I could finish what I was saying. Done with me completely as long as she knows I’m doing what she wants. I glance to the stage to see if anyone has arrived yet. 

The spotlights were pointing directly above the set of blue chairs, a long table that had a water pitcher and a glass besides every nametag. The crowd of people below all holding some form of camera or microphone. There were a few television network crews surrounding the stage apron* seeming to set up the Soundsystem. I stopped focusing on what was around me and turn back to read more of my phony script. Hopefully I can memorize some of these lines. 

A warm tingle runs down my back just before a SunnyD sour sweet orange flavor overtakes my pallet, completely wiping away the cotton candy sweetness coming from the crowd. I am leaning against the wall close to the stage exit, but even from my corner I can see Starlight’s aura from here. Similar to her name and her powers, her aura, also shines brighter than most. Full of perseverance and hope that was not easily beaten. Her aura gave her away, she’s inspiring.

She did seem a bit frazzled though. Her long layered golden hair was getting freshly sprayed and quaffed the moment she sat on the tall foldable chair. Should I introduce myself now? Do I interrupt her before these types of things? God, I didn’t know my life would require knowing superhero etiquette.

“Hello, I just wanted to introduce myself before we went up there.” I push my hand straight up awkwardly waiting for her response. “I’m Daphne Bennett, Dr. Daphne Bennett. You can call me whatever really…would you like me to call you Starlight or Annie?” 

“Just Annie is fine. Are you in this press release? ‘ Mental Health Issues and The Seven’s Awareness of It’ is a terrible name, right?” She flashes the front of her script towards me, the title in bold black letters.

“That is terrible. Wait, so you know I’m your appointed on-call therapist then?”

“What? Vought assigned me a therapist? Is this because of The Deep?” Her voice was rising and her body was tensing into firm granite. The flicker around the room did not go unnoticed by some of the makeup artists surrounding us. 

“No, I was given a job here because of Stan Edgar.” Closing my eyes and sucking in a deep breath I try my best to sound happy and appreciative. “He wants The Seven to have access to a professional psychologist in case any of you need my expertise–and with my powers I can understand all of you at a more equal level than other therapists you might have had in the past. He pointed out to me that this was something Vought has been lacking in for a long time, and he says Vought should have the best of everything .” Spiel done, soul gone. 

“Ah, well I don’t need therapy but it is nice talking with you–” 

“Wait, I wanted to figure out some sort of schedule we can set up. At least for one session just to see where you are in life. We could see if you would want a lenient schedule or if you would be coming in twice a week–”

“No, no I don’t need therapy. I’m fine, you can focus your efforts on the others.” She crosses her hands across her chest getting up from the makeup chair. 

“Okay, well the first meeting is highly recommended by me and Stan Edgar, nonetheless we can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But, after the first session you don’t have to keep going if you don't want to, I promise.” I state this while crossing my hand over my heart and handing her my card. She stares at it numbly, I can see her mind working beneath her shiny smile. Her SunnyD orange aura shifts in color and turns into a dark red shade, reminding me of a red sunrise. My hand stays awkwardly stiff like a board, holding my card, waiting for her response.

She finally takes it from me and I let go of my breath. “I’m not making any promises." She turns away from me, skittishly edging close to the stage left exit, seemingly scared off by the arrival of A-Train and Stormfront. The sound crew surround them, getting to work by immediately attaching microphones to their suits. Wait, where was my own mini mic?

“Where is Black Noir? Anyone have eyes on him or do I need to do everything?” Ashley clasps her phone tightly in her hands turning her head aside to address all of us quite loudly . A small intern popped up to her right making Ashley jump a foot in the air. “Don’t do that!” Ashley screams, going off on the small girl like a fire alarm.

“Black Noir is on stage Ashley.” The intern addresses Ashley with more confidence than I would be able to muster under her viscous glare. 

“Okay, well he’ll be fine sitting where he’s at.” Ashley sighs rubbing her temples as she continues on as normal, talking on her cellphone. I catch Stormfront rolling her eyes at Ashley before sashaying confidently to the makeup station. Her superhero name is apt for, gray and thunderous like the eye of the storm in the center of her soul. If anyone got close she would pull into her gravitational pull. 

This feel of trepidation and the cold sweat that travels down my back feels like a warning. The problem is deciphering who or what is the warning. Is the warning a feeling a way to protect myself from her? Or am I supposed to help her somehow? I don’t know but this feeling is cold and unpleasant, cold slime residue took over my senses and it tasted like tar. I can’t ignore this thought; I need to talk to her. She needs to have a session with me. I may be asking for danger here, but that’s my job now, I guess.

“Hey, Stormfront, A-Train; I would love to speak with you both about scheduling a–” Before I can complete my line of questioning Ashley is screaming again.

“Where is Maeve? Is she still off gallivanting on that family emergency?” She questions Stormfront ignoring me in every way. A-Train and Stormfront follow suit and ignore me too. 

“Nope, don’t ask me. I’m not her assistant.” She settles into the makeup artistry while she looks down at her phone. Pointedly ignoring Ashley’s frazzled heavy breathing and intense staring. Ashley finally moves onto her next target–Starlight.

“From what I know she’s still AWOL after the Girls’ Get it Done press release. I texted her half an hour ago and she didn’t respond.” Starlight shows Ashley her phone just to get her to back off. Ashley sighs loudly looking between us all.

“Well, it’s fine we have everyone else.”

“What about Homelander?” Stormfront points out smirking at Ashley’s obvious distress leaking through her confident facade.

“He should be here any moment.” Ashley bites back with an extra wide bright smile. This only makes Stormfront’s crooked smile twist further. Her stress permeated from her and her aura fluctuated with different–darker emotions. I push on instinct really. I go through the emotional veil and metaphysically touch her aura. I feel her emotions more strongly and attune to her frequency. Her emotion station, if you will. I calm her with the feeling of balance, the soothing balm of feeling relaxed. The tumbling rapids of emotions settled into a calm steady current.

The stress on her face fades visibly and all her sharp angles soften just a smidge. Everyone around us notices the obvious change in demeanor. A sigh releases inside of her and across the room.

“Right, sorry, let's get on stage and start. If Homelander doesn’t make it he doesn’t make it.” Starlight heads for the stage first, deciding to ignore everyone in favor of getting this done quickly. Stormfront quickly follows behind, not caring at all. A-Train was withdrawn, but his sharp eyes lingered on Starlight. Starlight was doing a good job of ignoring his obvious staring. A-Train almost steps over me, like I was invisible, and goes on stage without a word. 

I can’t help but look to Ashley for a life-preserver of some kind.

“Stop staring at me like a dumb cow and get on stage.” She grips my shoulder tightly, whispering in my ear as she furiously pushes me onto the stage.

I walk over on wobbly legs to my seat that’s center stage– an empty seat to my left and above a plaque inscribed Homelander, but the rest of the seats were filled. Maeve’s seat was taken off the stage once it was confirmed she would not be here.

Flashes from cameras were going off the moment I sat down. Everyone else seemed unbothered by this, being professionals at this I guess. I start fiddling with my hands unable to stop the nervous tick. The heat of the spotlights was making me sweat.

“Do we start without Homelander? Or should we wait?” A woman behind a camera crew in an expensive looking suit directed the question at Ashley. 

“Start without him. He’ll be here later.” Ashley waved off the woman turning back to her phone call. The woman looked nonplussed–but as Ashley said, got this show on the roll. A-Train and Starlight visibly tense up at the idea of moving forward without Homelander’s approval. I can feel the tension thick in the air, like a wet blanket draped over my face. 

“Starlight, was your recent setback Vought’s reasoning for implementing a new office for counseling into The Seven ?” The first question came from a TMZ reporter who looked as sharp as their question.

“ No . This was completely out of my control and a decision was made, from what Dr. Bennett tells me, by Mr. Stan Edgar who has wanted this expansion in Vought for a long time.” Her face was smiling and unchanged like porcelain, but her aura raged with indignation. The crack and pop of a fire out of control and the taste of bitter lime overtook my tastebuds without abandon.

“Yes, Starlight is correct. My position was a plan in the making for Mr. Edgar’s before Starlight was even hired. Because Vought has been wanting to better our heroes' lives in more ways than just luxury,” I motion my hand pointing to the beautiful room we resided in right now. “Vought wants to make sure their superheroes are taken care of in every way, and we are doing that by adding mental health accessability to Vought’s roster of resources.” I was a door to door saleswoman on a mission to sell as many faulty vacuums as I could. Selling my soul to the Devil–Stan Edgar, and keeping my family safe in exchange.

“A-Train, there have been rumors saying you were sent away on a mission because of the recent passing of your old flame, Popclaw. Is this true? Were you so distressed you had to get away from the country?” They bulldoze forward trying to nick someone for some blood in the water. A free for all bloody frenzy, all so their numbers look good, they have no shame. It's honestly disgusting how personal they are willing to dig.

“What? No! Of course not! That’s a ludicrous rumor and I’m not going to dignify it with an answer.” 

“So, you're not denying these statements?” The reporter pushes further, I can see just from the corner of my view Stormfront’s viscous smile grew wider with every passing second.

“I’m sorry, but those questions have nothing to do with why we are here.” I interrupted the glare-off that was taking place between A-Train and the crowd of journalists. A-Train, for a flash of a second looks relieved, his shoulders drop a notch of tension and his strained eyes settle to his hands.

Though I would never give that slimy reporter any credit, I do sense something off about A-Train’s emotional state. A steady sadness and a deep need for something. The salty awful taste of desperation lingers on my tongue when I focus too hard on him. Definitely something to ask about later.

“Yes, back to you Dr. Bennett.” One of the reporters sounded put off by my intrusion–honestly it didn’t surprise me that they weren’t interested in me, but maybe don’t use therapy as an excuse to prod personal information out of them too. Is that too much to ask for from celebrity journalists? “Were you the one who inspired Stan Edgar to finally employ a mental health expert for such an important cultural phenomenon like The Seven ?”

That question felt loaded, and not in my favor type loaded.

“Well, he wanted me to be the one to fill this experimental–and instrumental role because he believes in me 100%,” I smile directly into the center camera, cheesing it for sure. “He not only thinks my experience and education to be of the highest caliber but also knows my powers to be an asset.” 

“You’re not a clairvoyant nor do you control people with a phrase, so what are your powers, by your own definition?” An NBC reporter asks from the far left dressed in a dazzling red suit.

“Oh, no my powers are quite tame in comparison to most peoples’. I can just sense what people are feeling and can direct said feelings into something else. I only do so when the emotions are causing the person distress, by the way, and even with that it can depend.”

“Your powers seem confusing.” A reporter from the back pipes up, but I can’t see who they are affiliated with.

“Tell me about it. Oh, and I can see everyone’s auras. I would describe an aura as what gives off your spiritual energy that makes you you. Like a fingerprint.”

A cool breeze passes the stage and haunts the scene like a phantom. A violent and uncontrollable chill racks through my body, staying behind as a quiver.

“And how invasive those powers can be, kind of like when the government takes your personal information without you even knowing it and sending it off to the biggest bidder.” Homelander arrives on the scene as dramatically as I last saw him leave. His cape sweeps in with his sudden and jarring movement. The flashes of the cameras were now going off every few seconds. His controlled and relaxed gate embraces the attention like it's his second skin.

“Homelander! Homelander!” Reporters from all around were shouting questions over each other. The cinnamon spicy flavor of satisfaction wafted off of him in waves. The smugness was hidden well behind his too wide and too bright smile. The twist of his cape as he falls into his chair like he owns the whole room makes The Seven hold their breath. Well, except for Stormfront.

“Late again princess. Dawn of The Seven script-reading and now this?” Stormfront snickers, not an ounce of shame coming from her no matter how dangerous his glare was growing. From relaxed and confident he becomes stiff as stone, still and ready to attack if provoked further. The sudden urge to comfort the person beside me–aka Homelander, overcame me. But I squashed that down as soon as it took over. Stormfront’s upfront dismissal of his bravado should be commended, if I’m being honest.

“Late but for a good reason, of course. I was just saving some people from a bank robbery, don’t mind me taking my time with the whole life saving thing.” His words grow harsher with each poisonously sweet word. A lie. 

“Thank you, Homelander!” Someone from the far back screams out giving Homelander the que to smirk at the cameras.

“Now, what were you saying Ms?” I question out loud–awkward in tone, interrupting the debacle brewing. By some miracle the NBC reporter takes my cue and asks me a question. Homelander scuffs at my obvious segway, but I wasn’t hired by Stan Edgar for being charismatic.

“Do you have any social media pages we should be aware of? You're virtually nonexistent online. ” Flashes bright from photographs taken makes me on edge.

“I don’t have any public social media accounts. Oh, wait no I have a LinkedIn page. I can give you my business email as well if that helps you reach me.” The group of journalists laugh, a few flashes click in between, and my fingers twitch instinctively. 

Stormfront drops her glass of water dramatically, giving the cameras a classic spit take. That spit happens to splash all over A-Train and Starlight. A-Train scoots his chair away from Stormfront as he dab himself dry, choosing to ignore the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Starlight was still and smiled at the camera, playing it as if she was in on it. All with a practiced grace with the masking ability of a child star. 

“Woah, woah, woah my god twinkle-toes! How are you even real? Take half my social media marketing nerds and save yourself from complete irrelevancy.” Stormfront was giggling into her now half empty glass, almost punch drunk giddy about my social-media ignorance. 

The premise of not having a social media presence, which I didn’t think was that weird…was it? No, no it’s a personal choice made out of me liking my privacy, that’s it, so don’t over analyze it. Homelander’s chuckle was very quiet. His smile is now broader and sharper, reminding me of the big bad wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

His bloody red tornado of an aura was as consistently chaotic as before. His face rarely gave him away. Though if he was prodded more by Stormfront who knows what dam would break in that skull of his. 

“Thank you, Stormfront. I will need their guidance, apparently.” I shrug, another thousand flashes bright from the thousands of cameras go off in a blink, and my heart stops. I take a deep breath–in and out over and over again.

“Dr. Bennett, as of recently there have been a lot of tragedies happening within Vought,” So many things to decipher with that statement. “Would you say you were hired as a PR cleanup? Some form of rebranding for Vought?” A skinny man, decked in a dramatic color-block suit of varying blues and pinks, asks with a deep voice. 

I can see just from the corner of my eye is Ashley stage left waving her hands back and forth like a madwoman, as if she was trying to push her thoughts into my head with her fervent movement. Too bad for her I’m not a telepath. 

“I’m here because I can help people. The people in this room, who are incredible heroes who fight for us every day, and the people who are watching right now. Vought cannot fix the past, nor completely mend the harm they have caused. What Vought has chosen to do moving forward is give the esteemed Seven access to mental health care. They are not only providing this to our Vought tower but also adding a therapist facility to Godolkin University as an added showing of Vought moving forward!” I state with conviction that the whole crowd of journalists eat it up. The colorfully dressed man nods at my statement, seeming to get what he wanted out of me. From stage left I could see Ashley frothing from the mouth, and having what looked like a panic attack. Ashley pops quick as a whip on stage, finally done with not interfering.

“You’re not planning on playing the long game, are ya?” Stormfront appears from out of nowhere and suddenly is in front of me. She places her hands on her hips with an avoidant gaze lingering on my clothes. She screamed cocky and aggressive in an almost charismatic way, from a glance. She held her cards close and her aura didn’t show itself to me, someone capable of hiding themselves even at their most vulnerable. I’ve only met a few people who could do that. Meeting another person as recently as being introduced to Stan Edgar seems too weird of a coincidence. Or maybe this is the world I live in now?

“What?” Her avoidant gaze finally beelines straight and direct to me. She twists her lips slightly more to the right and she just barely adjusts her head up to look down at me. The shadow of her aura flickers for just a second, beckoning me to see.

“You have a doctorate? Jesus…here’s my card. I recommend using that if you want to stay relevant enough to keep your job. Also, maybe clean up a bit.” She gives me a thin vanilla card where her social media nerds’ info resides. I take it on instinct standing up trying to level my gaze with hers. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before turning away. 

“I would actually love to talk about scheduling a therapy session with you this week or even–” I’m not finished with my sentence before she is halfway off the stage.

“Contact me via my assistant okay, schedule through her!” She’s texting as she’s walking away. 

“Okay…” I mumble to the air, twisting the handle of my leather purse, over and over. A nervous tick. The camera crew were grabbing their equipment and leaving, sadly, Ashley is hot on some poor journalist’s trail. Wrangling them in whatever way so Vought can edit the footage however they see fit, I’m sure.

Looking around, A-Train had already left and Starlight was gone too. Homelander was talking to Black Noir in a whisper, so obviously not meant to be overheard. So, I made it very obvious when I confidently stepped over towards the two.

“Interrupting the real superheroes?” His tight closed smile and dark stare glued me to the spot on the stage. Freezing on instinct like prey. His stare is cold and steely ready to cut me down if I make a single wrong move. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt–”

“Yet you did.” He takes over my peripheral view making sure to make me feel small. The cinnamon flavor residing on my lips makes me shudder. The bitter aftertaste reminds me where the emotions stem from. A need to control.

“I do think it is important to talk to you. To talk to each of you.” I hold his stare not looking away for one moment. My previous work with kids that are incarcerated have taught me not to take it-as they’d word it–like a bitch. “You would agree that your mental health is of utmost importance.” 

“I don’t buy any of the crap you're selling little miss sunshine. Stan Edgar can’t force me-or any of us to do this.”

“Homelander, I know you don’t want to do this. But going to just one session, just to try it would get Stan Edgar off your back and you might get something out of it!”

“What could I possibly get out of going to a therapy session with you?”

“Well, one,” I lift one finger in the air. “It could help having an unbiased, and possible friend you could talk to about anything without judgment.”  I move forward on instinct, not daring to think twice on it. I grab both his forearms with both of my hands, stopping him from invading my personal space further. I put up a second finger, my hand now close to his face. “Two, Stan Edgar would be out of your hair.” Finally putting my third finger up, I have Homelander oddly hypnotized at this point. Though, it could be that he is stunned to silence at my audacity. “And three, this could boost your numbers from all angles fanbase wise. You told me you were worried about your numbers dropping because of Stormfront. Well, now that you have this you can work it to your advantage.” He swipes my fingers away with the back of his gloved hand, a gentle swat as if I was a fly. His dead stare flickered alight, the upturn of his lips gives him away.

“How would your therapy sessions boost my numbers?”

“You become layered to the masses, someone people can see themselves in. A person you can empathize with and relate to. You become more than just some symbol.”  His amusement dies and his tight lipped flat grimace expression returns making me think I overstepped. 

“Will you be reporting to Stan Edgar after every session? Or do you wipe his ass in between working hours?” He crosses his arms, jutting his chin out as he grinded his jaw through his rhetorical question. 

“I told you I cannot report anything you say to Stan Edgar. All of what we talk about is confidential. My office is soundproof too, even from you.”

“What, how?” He steps back almost jumping at the information.

“It’s lined with this new tech where there are bugs ingrained in the wires inside the walls that give off an audio wave that disrupts super hearing. Really cool, right?” I wave off hyper focused on his microexpressions. “We could schedule something short, twenty minutes? If you come to the first session I will tell Stan Edgar you are going to all scheduled appointments. All you have to do is come to one real session, okay?” 

“You’d lie to him to cover for me?”

“I promise.” Flashes of his childhood, his memories overflow within me. Reminding me of something I can’t quite grasp. Certain things I’ve seen from his mind are still blocked from me. If only I could control my powers properly then I would be able to see it all. Maybe I would be able to understand where he was coming from if I remembered it all. Though, the idea of seeing Homelander as a child being tortured by his caregivers wasn’t something I wanted to see again. Never again.

“If you don’t make do with that promise I will know.” He says with an amount of confidence very few people had. I try to shake the haunting memories away, just try and focus.

“I know.”

“Okay, good now that’s decided,” He walks away and levitates off the stage. I follow clumsily behind stumbling over the stage.

“Wait, you didn’t say when you want to have the session?”

“I’ll let you know!” He’s gone flying away and escaping through the dining area that was also a balcony view. 

“Damnit.” I sigh, losing all the energy I had left with that interaction. Homelander was a whirlwind of a person, that’s for sure. And another person I didn’t get a firm appointment with. 

The scuffing and scratching sound came from my left, Black Noir was still there. He was sitting still and silent in his spot. He was writing in what looked like a large notepad. I retrace my steps back towards the stage, and notice he wasn’t writing anything. I clamber back up to see he was doodling characters in a large sketch pad. As I walk closer I can see the varying details of each character, and it was quite remarkable.

“You're really good.” I whisper, not knowing why but feeling it was necessary not to spook him. He was one of the few people she guessed she wouldn’t see his aura. It made her sadder to realize her assumptions were correct. Communication with him would be difficult, but still not impossible.

“Do you know sign language?” I ask verbally, pairing it with sign language. He shakes his head, and looks back down to draw, clearly dismissing me. I place my card gently beside his drawing hand. “I’m available whenever you want to talk. We can do so by writing on a notepad or even if you don’t want to that's okay. If you just need somewhere safe to just be , my office is always open.” I sigh, not wanting to push any harder I turn around and begin my walk of shame to my office. Probably to be yelled at by Ashley. My body stills, Black Noir grabs my wrist, I stiffen instinctively at the contact. 

I don’t know how to talk to you. I want to but I can’t, but can she figure out a way with her powers?

I gasp, stumbling away from his touch and he lets me go. His body was still and silent, not giving anything away. Did I just read his thoughts?

“D-did you just think that you wanted to figure out a way to talk with me by using my powers? W-were you trying to communicate with me telepathically?!” I could feel my breathing grow more erratic and my heartbeat was racing so fast I could hear it. His sudden movement was so fast it felt like he teleported as he now grabs both of my arms with his own.

I can talk with you! Please, I need someone to talk to. The desperation seeping from his thoughts was unraveling his aura around me. His newfound way of communicating makes his guard drop. His aura bursts out of him, almost yearning to be seen, and sparkles around us. Like a dazzling Night Sky painted by Vincent Van Gogh, it unravels before me in beautiful detail.  It reveals itself as a deep royal blue with a spattering of sparkling yellow mingled within. The aura flares to life and the yellows sparkles dance with joy, its so profound tears start to involuntarily fall down my face. His emotions slam into me like a tidal wave, and I let it.

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[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER TWO: Feeling Too Much

I awoke with pain throbbing in my head and my body felt like it had been beaten to a bleeding pulp. I blurrily look down at myself to see I had been dressed in a hospital gown, and the IVs were jutting out of my arms like a horror show. That was only a minor nuisance in comparison to the group of doctors looking at me through a viewing window. I jerk away from my intruders’ stares trying to pull my IVs out, only to finally notice my arms and legs were chained to the bed.

“Where am I?” I yell out trying to sound strong, but my wispy voice comes more as a strained whimper. The doctors keep jotting their notes down only inciting my ire. I scream at them as they leave the window–the only sight I can see from the outside world now. The empty dark window keeps me company as I wait in my hospitable bed for the entire night.

The interchangeable white lab coats flicker in my life for what felt like a blur. Endless and not distinguishable from day and night. The drugs that were injected into me, the endless tests that drained me to near exhaustion, and the torture to test my endurance were all done by indistinguishable white coats that drained my humanity every day.

“Where am I?” I ask one doctor another day when I'm more lucid. She does not bat an eyelash as she injects me with a green liquid substance I couldn't name. I faint, my instant reaction to the drug. I don’t know if that is what was intended when given to me.

A blur of time passes by me that I cannot decipher. The same pattern of torture continues as I succumb to the reactions of being a lab rat to these so called “doctors.” One shot of mysterious liquid had me breakout in hives and hear a murmuring buzz in my ears. A lab doctor asked me to manipulate his current mood another day. Without thinking properly on what would be the repercussions, and the drug cocktail they’ve been injecting me with everyday might have had a hand in what happened next. But maybe that was all an excuse  to lash out, I don't know.

He burst out into a fit of giggle dropping his clipboard abruptly and falling, face flat on the hard shiny floor. He wouldn’t stop laughing even as the guards dragged him off to who knew where. An inkling of guilt itched at the edge of my brain. Without enough time to think on it a nurse scurries in to quickly drug me. I don’t know if that was a blessing or not.

More days blurred past and more tests were given to me. It felt like my life was someone else's and this current existence was all I knew. Tests were given sporadically to me throughout my time in this zombie-like state. I manipulated emotions, thoughts, and memories. The more they make me experiment on people the more I fear my own powers. My parents’ faint whispers of worry have morphed into disdain and judgment in my mind. Throughout it all I did not ponder enough on who was holding me captive in the first place. Which, thinking like a normal functioning human you would presume I would have. But, on a more coherent night I finally gained enough to think on it. Having that in mind my curiosity and pain fuels me to take my life back. To come up with an escape plan.

So, I decided to fight by measuring the time I was the least loopy and then I would strike. They were giving me drugs between night and morning, and I struck at the brisk hour that was 4am. When the first doctor appears that morning to give me my breakfast of a drug cocktail. All different from the last. The first scientist to go down convulses on the floor in uncontrollable sobs, the sobs echoing into the halls. They did not relent until I forced every single person who entered the room to shake into sobs so hard they were coughing up blood. I would not stop until someone took me seriously or no one was left to stop me from leaving.

“I will speak to whoever has me captive here and bargain for my freedom.” I dryly rasp out looking directly at the camera in the corner. The doctors’ sobs echo in my bare bones of a hospital room, a concert of human pained echoed everywhere around me. It made my stomach twist painfully into knots, but I held my glare on the camera. Determined to not show them any weakness.

“Let my doctors go and I will speak with you about your…predicament.” A dry, serious voice I could not recognize comes through the speakers. I let the scientists go all at once, staggering slightly from the over usage of my powers.

“You have five minutes before I mind control someone you love to murder you.” I bluff, not caring if I sounded heartless, as long as I sounded believable.

A few minutes of silence later; a tall lanky black man in an impeccable pinstriped gray suit gracefully strolls into the bare white room. The convulsing doctors writhing on the floor sobbing in pain seemed to not phase him a bit. His piercing eyes pinning me down like a creepy portrait in those mystery novels. I gulp loudly, nervously moving back and forth, not taking my eyes off the unknown enemy. But recognition came suddenly and with abandon.

“Wait, your Stan Edgar. The Stan Edgar, Ceo of Vought Co!” I exclaim loudly, confusion laces in my voice and expression.

“Your family is being closely monitored at this very moment, Miss Bennett. So, I would be careful with whom you threaten your powers with, as I have much bigger fish than you to worry about.” He does not beat around the bush. My face freezes with surprise before I glare at him, not holding back my disdain. He looks cool as a cucumber. The rumors about him seem to be true.

“What you don’t understand is that I can make you kill yourself at any moment if you don’t do what I say.” I threaten harshly, not recognizing myself in those my words.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I have stated before; I have your family and friends in the palm of my hands. They will be killed if you do something to me, you understand?” He states giving me no real room to bargain anything. He thinks I’m no monster.

“O-okay, don’t hurt them. How about this, I will do something for you anytime, anywhere. Just let me go.” I could feel his cold stare travel across my body judging every movement I made like a puzzle trying to fit all the pieces together.

“No, you have much more potential than that deal grants. What I have decided is that you will be my guard dog.”

“Guard dog?”

“Publicly, you will be The Seven’s super therapist. But to Vought you will be the leash that tethers all these heroes’ sanity back to the company, and reminding them of their best interests.” He stated, not batting a single eyelash. He was stiff as a board not moving an inch and his hard cobalt stare did not deter anytime he spoke. This was no bluff.

“In my contract I want, with my compliance, to be written as a requirement that my family and friends will be unharmed." I firmly state trying to hide my trembling hands behind my back.

“You will be given a contract with those stipulations included; first, you will get cleaned up before coming upstairs to sign.” He leaves with a quick turn, turning his back to me as if there still wasn’t a sobbing doctor laying in the corner of the room. How exactly do I get ‘cleaned up’ in this rotten white empty space of a torture chamber? With that thought a dozen more doctors in white lab coats surrounded me all coming in with an assortment of different weapons pointed towards me.

“We will escort you to the bathroom, miss.” One of a dozen told me, but for the life of me I could not figure out who said it.

I haven’t seen a bathroom for what felt like years, finally I can clean myself like an actual human being. No more bedpan and no more whore baths. I was pushed out of my white jail cell and forced to twist around a bunch of white halls that purposely disoriented the senses. No specific person from what I could tell was directing me. We passed so many white doors before one of the doctors forced me to a stop with a shove. I hurriedly bask in the cleaning process, first throwing myself into the cold little shower.

They all stood outside, waiting with bated breath for the end of it. Cleaning my body and hair for what felt like the first time in months I rejoiced, taking my sweet time. I got out after my fingers began to turn pruny. Getting out I see they left me with my old white blouse that had blood on it and my pencil skirt that looked torn on the sink’s countertop. I guess it was better than a hospital gown. I braided my hair to get it out of the way, but the cold damp wet strands laying on the nape of my neck only chilled me further.

The army of white lab coats swarmed me, pushing me towards our destination. I didn’t brace myself for their rough handling of my person as they dragged me to an elevator. I continued forward in a blur not feeling in control of my body. As if I was disassociating, something I've never experienced before.

The halls were large and I'd even call it ostentatious were it not for some of the more elegant choices in the furniture. The large wooden door, the only one to be on this floor it seems, was opened for me by a petite woman that wore a similar outfit to myself, only obviously clean and polished. The doctors left one by one like ant armies marching off in a uniform line to their queen. I gulped loudly, my dry throat feeling even drier as I was left alone with one of the most important men in the world.

“Come in, Ms. Bennett.” A simple welcome never made my heart stop before, and without my powers I would be able to presume this dangerous man is used to affecting people this way. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. I try to casually sit with some grace, with as much grace anyone could when you previously threatened their loved ones. Stan Edgar smiled at me as if he didn’t just threaten my loved ones as well. I stumble slightly as I sit center on the velvet blue loveseat across his desk.

“Now that you're fit for the company we can discuss our negotiations further.”

“Negotiations? This would be a negotiation if I wasn’t being held hostage.”

“I digress, because of your current predicament I hold most, if not all the power in this dynamic. You should know this by now. So, here is your contract and you have not much more say in the matter.”

“Bullying me into submitting? Probably has worked for you from the beginning of your career, but I’m no victim.”

“But your family, friends, and precious reputation as a reputable therapist is at jeopardy here, Miss Bennett.”

“Well, I see these so-called “negotiations” are over. I will sign but the contract must include my end of the bargain. I will not cooperate further if this is not agreed upon.”

“Of course, read your contract thoroughly and you will see this is included.” I glare daggers at him as I try to decipher his emotions and thoughts. His aura did not show itself nor did any of his emotions, and pushing any further was out of the question. He was not an easy person to read.

"I don't have much of a choice." I spit out.

“Everyone has a choice.” He smiles down at me smugly. I bite my tongue from insulting the man as I sign my name away to a corporation that could destroy me and everything I love. Without further fanfare he called his secretary in  to walk me out.

“Wait, before I go you have to tell me how long I’ve been here?” I asked before the secretary could shove me out, and she looked like she really wanted to.

“A week and three days.” I freeze in place as my thoughts scramble all over the place, reacting like an old broken computer. Error. Error. Before I could ask more the assistant pushed me out of Mr. Edgar’s office.

I enter the fancy elevator feeling numb from head to toe. The ice queen of an assistant was still as a statue beside me, not giving me a glance. If I couldn’t sense her trepidation like a thick fog I would think she was a robot. The aftertaste of lukewarm tap water bubbled up my throat, an annoying reminder of my powers. The drugs have kept my powers from me for so long, it's actually kinda nice to feel like myself again. Wanting to mute and control my powers didn’t equate to me wanting to be in a constant state of fogginess. So, the experience did help me realize one thing; having my powers was a better option than becoming a zombie.

I make this realization as the secretary with no name or introductions walks me out into the lobby. People are everywhere and my senses go haywire. I push myself to gain control and use my standard methods. I stand still completely and begin my breathing exercises. The secretary’s pointy hands dig into my shoulders to get my attention, but I ignore it.

I look up suddenly to a confident Homelander marching towards me with a graceful strut. The presence of his chaotic and tumultuous energy thrums loudly in my ears like a drum with an odd beat. A rhythm I can’t seem to get out of my head. I try to suppress the feeling as I step behind the ice statue that is Stan Edgar’s assistant.

“And what do we have here in our midst?” Homelander’s voice booms across the lobby, presenting himself as playful. His act didn’t feel genuine in the slightest. Those crystal blue eyes crinkled in a way that only further showcased his charming dimples, which all his posters displayed proudly. The uncanniness of it made goosebumps run down my arms and the hair on my neck stand straight up. The chill that ran down my spine did not evade his sharp eyes, and his glaringly white smile grew even wider and more sharp with the long pause of silence that settled between us. “Running away without my permission?” His sudden question within our mutual silence made me flinch back, his amusement only grew more apparent on his face. The assistant interrupted our odd battle of wills, our coup d'etat, if you had to surmise.

“Under Sir Edgar’s direct orders Mrs. Bennett will be escorted out to get her bearings straight, and will return not too long after.” The ice in her tone did not go unnoticed between either one of us. Homelander glared daggers at the petite blonde as she pushed me gently towards the exit. “I will be seeing you early in the morning, won’t I Ms. Bennett?” Her smile is sharp as it is bright.

“Of course Ms…?”

“Good.” She does a quick turn back from where we came from, Edgar’s office, without another word. I quickly turn all of my hyper focus onto Homelander, his body language screams immediate discomfort and annoyance, obvious in the way his body holds himself tight and upright. He noticed my prolonged stare and this seemed to push his edgy and defensive feelings into my brain harder. His discomfort made me want to scratch my tongue off. What I need to focus on is bringing him to my side--not his mood swings, which includes all the other supes I interact with from here on. I can’t have these superheroes see me as anything other than helpful–if an annoying–option to  destress in a healthy way. If that was even possible for some of these people. I can’t be their enemy, cause if I am that means I’m as good as dead. Including the possibility of them targeting my family.

“So, you already have Edgar under your thumb, don’t you?” He gets into my personal space, no one looks my way to see my obvious discomfort nor his threatening tone. A work environment used to abuse if I ever did see one.

“Mr. Edgar has hired me under extreme circumstances, from what you can already guess. I think you will eventually see this as a benefit to The Seven, Sir, if I do say so myself.” I gently try to say without irritating him further. He growls under his breath as his eyebrows scrunch further up creating an extremely fierce scowl that would haunt my dreams.

“To the benefit of Stan Edgar more like. Stealing our secrets in the disguise of “self-help,” makes me want to vomit.” His burning whisper of threat chillingly crawls down my spine and takes hold of my heart, and it won't stop aggressively beating. I know he can hear every quickening thump in my chest, but I can't look away from his cold stare. He wouldn't look away, and in my stubborn childishness I didn't look away either. Trying miserably to calm myself down--as if to win some sort of competition between us, but I don't know when it became this way. I could just decipher a hint of something other than bravado and cold hate from Homelander, something that tasted like yearning.

“You may not like that I invaded your headspace–and by accident might I add–but I saw that you needed my help. And probably everyone else on this superhero team does too, and I don’t think anyone, like your fanbase, would be mad publicly knowing that. It could even help grow your personal outlooks on certain situations–” Homelander cuts me off with a firm hand abruptly thrust near my face, palm open. A strike if just a few inches closer.

“Thank you Ms. Walt-fucking-Disney I really needed a pep talk about how much I fucking needed therapy. Thank you, you’ve won best therapist of the year award! Do you want to know what you’ve won?”

“I understand it will be hard to earn your trust after the way we first met, but I promise I take my job very seriously.” I try to put all my sincerity in my voice as I could.

“You’ve won my ‘Me Not Giving a Shit Award,’ Ms. Bennett.” He pushes his face close in my space looking me straight in the eyes. Him hunched over me with his large body was a threat between the two of us, unsaid but heard.

“I’m sorry Mr. Homelander for invading your personal space without your consent and I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I will work hard in helping you and your team to redeem myself in your eyes.” I bow my head looking back up to see if there was any hint of approval beneath his icy blue stare. They only reflect back an empty coolness I could not quite decipher, but it tasted bitter.

“We will see how long you will last.” He huffs, a snort of derision blowing heatedly in my face as if he was some kind of bull.

“Homelander!” Queen Maeve appears at his side out of nowhere. Not even a hint of her usual stormy aurora gave away her presence, only making me nervously pick at my nails not knowing what to do with my hands. “We have to get to the shoot for the Saving America campaign at 10, or did you forget?” She drapes her arm across his shoulders, seeming to get a thrill of adrenaline from irritating Homelander. Her closeness was causing a storminess to take over his thoughts, or maybe it was from interrupting his line of questioning. Either way I was thankful for the distraction.

“I know Maeve. I’ll be there in a bit, I have more to discuss with our newly appointed “therapist.”

“What? Therapist?” Maeve asked out loud, confusion written all over her face. Homelander’s glare was intense and seemed to emanate heat. With that intense stare down Maeve turns away with a shrug and leaves me to my demise. Who knew Queen Maeve, known for her helpfulness and bravery, wasn’t so helpful. Probably all marketing.

“Now, when we come back from set I want you back in this building so we can discuss this whole therapy session thing. If you're not back here by the time my shoot is over I will find you...” He trails off as his eyes flicker about watching his surroundings. The sweet spicy taste of excitement tingled on my tongue, his thrill by his demands given to me gave him a sense of dark pleasure. The thought and feeling made me freeze in place like a rabbit caught in a trap, right before its unwitting end. I won’t bend to it, I already have to bend for Stan Edgar, I’m not bending for Homelander too.

“I have an official document given to me by your boss himself. I will be returning tomorrow early in the morning to be briefed for the public and the team, no earlier no later. Ergo, my contract does not include bowing to the whims of any superhero, that includes you.”

“It’s in the smallprint, you just gotta read between the lines Ms. Bennett. Be here or I will find you, got it?” He threatened with his usual charming voice. I could hear the charm being replicated dozens of times in his commercials, usually selling something sugary, unhealthy, and overpriced.

“It’s not in my contract.” I weakly state unknowingly, shaking my head defending my stance, my bouncy golden curls finally dry enough to spring hitting my cheeks without realizing it. His smirk just grows aggressively wider, taunting me with his too sharp canines.

“I guess we will see.” With that he turns away with a dramatic twist in his cape, making me think he so with such flare on purpose. Prone to dramatics then. Meaning if I didn’t show up he may be making good on what he promised, in a dramatic fashion, might I add.

Something to worry about, but before I fret over that I need to try and contact my family...No matter how life threatening it seemed to be I needed to reassure them that I was alright. The lobby was silent, a rush hour dispersed including the heroes themselves. I finally had the energy to leave the extravagant lobby in my well worn and now shoddy clothes. Stumbling out into the city feeling like a stranger in a place I once called home.

I hold my bag’s leather straps in a tight white knuckle grip, and my heart sped up to a degree I couldn’t control. I felt like I couldn’t get enough air, as if I was drowning in a sea of people. The pushing crowd threw me around as I stumbled across sidewalks and store fronts. I trip near a wooden and well worn bench in middle of a busy sidewalk, finally forcing myself to sit. Looking back and forth I find myself far away from the Vought headquarters, at least far enough away for me to not see any visual signs of them.

I force my shoulders to relax and force my breathing to a slow, normal pace. I decide, finally, to look through my non-expensive leather bag. There all of my things lay as if I wasn’t kidnapped not just a minute ago, nothing different to showcase what I went through. I look through each of my inner pockets to find my slick new phone intact with its cute blue glittery case sparkling innocently back at me.

I see over a hundred messages and voicemail notifications on my phone’s home page pop up with a blearing light. The most coming from my parents, Olivia, and my workplace. I start with the most recent voicemail from my mom’s cell phone, my hands start to shake with anticipation.

“Hey, honey I wish you got back to us instead of your new employer THE STAN EDGAR, CEO for The Vought Corporations. The company that establishes super heroes, honey! You know that you can’t be involved in that community, for your own sake. They are dangerous and your powers cannot be used for their gain. Mr. Edgar called us personally to tell us of your new “employment.” That this radio silence is because of an extreme vetting practice that Vought is widely known for. Mr. Edgar even enthused about how valuable you would be as superhero therapist for The Seven. As I’ve surmised, this situation you're in is not an easy trap to escape. But sweety, please come back home and we can escape town together. We know people, okay we can figure it out! You don’t have to do what they’re saying because they have big fancy lawyers, okay? Honey, I don’t want you mixed up in that…” Mom’s voice quivered and stuttered out before continuing. “Please call me back once you can. Love you.” She finishes not mentioning anything about Dad, and that only made me worry more. I move on to Olivia’s most recent message trying not to dwell on my mom’s fear filled voicemail.

“I know I got you those tickets, Daph; I saw you faint in the middle of idle! You’re lucky you scared me only half to death with worry. I was just glad I was contacted by Vought. You getting this job is a huge win for you, even if you have to deal with that superhero nonsense, it'll be worth the paycheck. Call me when you're done with your “super serious company vetting.” Love you, bye!” Olivia’s chirpy voice coming through the speaker gave me an instant dose of calmness. The millions of texts spanning the timeframe of me disappearing to the Morning Cup of Joey showing gave me an example of their wide range of emotions that Olivia and my parents went through. The amount of texts in my phone were more than I’ve ever had before, makes sense, with the doom of it all. I’m glad that at least's Vought’s excuses of “extreme vetting” helped calm them down. And apparently a personal call from the Stan Edgar was good as gold, the bastard.

“Hello, Dr. Bennett, we are glad to hear about your recent successful career promotion in your field. We are sad to see you leave but are happy for you and your future. Your severance and insurance package will be sent to you in the mail. Your families have been assigned another therapist and have been given notice since your sudden departure. We are sorry again to see you leave but happy to see you thrive, good day Dr. Bennett.” The sweet as syrup voice rang from the phone with a bland tone only an A.I. could replicate. I realize it's my assistant’s nasally voice Ms. Sydney Regis’s. I stuff my phone back in my bag glad to never hear that lady’s voice again, trying to look on the positive side of things.

To look on the positive side of things after being held against my will for over a week, to be forcibly removed from a job I loved, and be anxious for the safety of my family and friends at all times cause now I’m the therapist of a bunch of superhero brats! But I’m going to try and stay positive. Cause that’s what a Bennett does, stay positive while in the middle of a shitstorm. That’s what my father always said, so I’m going to do that, things could always get worse.

“Honey, I’m so glad you called. I was worried sick for you! Tell me everything and please honey for god’s sake tell me the truth.”

“Hey mom.” Is the only thing I can think to say, just happy to know she’s okay

“Gosh, it is so good to hear your voice. Mr. Edgar’s call was enough to tell us you are in deep doo-doo, sweety. I mean so deep that we might have to dig you up and scram out of here, if you get what I’m saying?” She not so subtly implies over the phone and silence held between us for just a moment. I can’t help but roll my eyes and give a deep sigh, this was no school board she could talk her way out of. I can’t let them get into the middle of this because of me and my problems. My powers and actions are already targeting them. I can’t have it get any worse for them.

“No, mom. I-I am doing great…the job offer they gave is generous. So generous I couldn’t pass up the job right then and there. So, everything is...great.”

“Honey, I know when you're lying to me. Even on the phone.”

“I’m excited to be a part of this public campaign for promoting therapy and making it more acceptable for people to pursue. I will not only be helping The Seven but also people all around the world.” I say with as much passion as I possibly can out of my already drained being.

“Just promise us to make time for family once in a while, okay?” I can hear in her voice a sense of resignation.

“I promise.”

“Oh, and your dad wanted to say hi,” She chirps before I can threaten to hang up. I can't help but lovingly roll my eyes at their usual routine. I focus on the receiver as I hear my father’s voice grumble what I barely decipher as a hello. “Okay honey. Just remember we're always here for you. Love you.” The receiver dies and the call ends with a final note that makes my heart skip. I hope I keep my promise to see them soon. Before second guessing myself I call Olivia next.

“Oh my god how are you doing Daph? Are you okay? Say something only I would be able to decipher as SOS?” The last bit sounded like a joke but I couldn’t help but latch onto that thought, but not even strong Olivia can fight against Vought.

“I’m just tired from all of the conferences I’ve been through. They make every new Vought employee jump through a million hoops. I guess that’s why we get paid the big bucks.” I fake a happy voice, sounding too cheery and high pitched in my ears, but I hope nonetheless that she goes along with it.

“Wow, I’m so happy for you Daph! A dream job falling right into your lap after such a dramatic exit with Homelander. It’s gotta be one of the most interesting job interviews ever! Have you talked to any of them? Are they all like how they are on TV?”

“I haven’t really talked to any of them yet. I also can’t really discuss any of them anymore because now they're my clients.” I awkwardly remind her of that bit about my job.

“Ugh, somehow Daph you always take the fun out of any situation you're in. I swear I’m glad something interesting is finally happening to you to spice up your life.” If only she knew how much my life took a nosedive.

“Uh, yeah I definitely needed a change in routine.” Just not this type of change.

“Yeah, I’m happy for you. And since I got you this job through my amazing connections, you owe me a lunch date. Since you can afford it now, big boss lady, you can pay for the fancy dinner!”

“Alright it's a date, how does Friday night sound?”

“Perfect, 8:30 and I will send you the google map location. I have better taste than you when it comes to dining out, so my pick.” She huffs that last bit. I swear I could hear her hair flip through the phone.

“I don’t mind. I’ll call you later when I’m more settled into my new job.”

“That better be soon.” She demanded.

“Promise. Bye!” I hang up before she can get me to break down and spill all my feelings at her. I sigh through my nose in a very unattractive huff before I force myself to stand up straight, wobbly more like–but firm against the crowd of rushing people; and decide finally to leave the solace that was that bench. Getting up and walking across the busy streets; I blurrily walk all the way to my dingy apartments.

As I walk up the gray stair in my stale surroundings I can’t help but start to break down. I very quickly fixate on my current life threatening predicament. Not my future threat, no, no, my current threat. Which is the, motherfucking Homelander, superhero to all of America! I weakly open my apartment door only to see an even worse disaster at my feet. A complete mess. Precious photos strewn throughout my apartment were shattered on the floor, but not unsaveable. All of my furniture collected with devotion throughout the years were broken and thrown across the open floor plan. All of my flowers and plants strung across the ceiling with fairy lights were thrown all over the floor with no care.

My absence was noted in my neighborhood, obviously. Looking around I could see my door was bashed into and my lock decimated. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that sooner! Some things were missing from my apartment, but most of it was completely trashed. I guess it wouldn’t be a usual break-in without a few missing heirlooms, right? Luckily I kept all my prized family heirlooms in a safety deposit box linked to my family's bank. A few pieces of art were missing including my TV and BlueTooth Bose Radio, luckily I had my laptop on me when I got kidnapped. I’m still trying to look on the positive side here, somehow.

I start cleaning up the debris one piece of ruined wood at a time, trying not to ponder on the unique pieces of furniture lost forever. Because if I do I think I will start to cry, but I won't. I will not be beaten by this, and I still need to be on my A-Game from now on. Knowing this is going to be a big endeavor in cleaning up, I decide to turn on my laptop, laying nice and snug in my leather purse. I place it on the end of my bed–one of the only pieces of furniture that wasn’t broken, and keep my attention to the screen as I start to clean. I put on the news randomly, not thinking too hard about it.

“A Recent news report has broken out about our newest member in the Seven, and for the first time in history, revealed through an Instagram live! Our new member is none other than Stormfront herself. For the first time ever the team will have an equal number of men and women. Today is a great day for womankind." The cut quickly goes into an edit of a cute spunky woman with a short brown bob gloating over none other than Homelander himself. The background seemed to be at a working set from the brief angle I can see in the Instagram Live.

“Hi. I'm in The Seven. Replacing Translucent. God bless his soul. Ink's barely dry but, yeah, reporting for duty. f*ck, yeah!” The chirpy voice of Stormfront casually reveals this sensitive info to Homelander and Queen Maeve. Queen’s Maeve’s mouth dropped, not able to form a response.

“No, I don't think that this is... It's not true. I don't know anything about this.” The red head I briefly saw yelling at the receptionist what felt like years ago stammered out. She reached her shaky hands out as if to shield Homelander from the information. His facial expression was obvious to everyone, including Stormfront. He looked like he could burst from the seams and split into a million pieces. A sharp smile and dead stare gave all who were viewing it a good idea that he wasn’t happy. Including her Livestream’s chat.

“Wow. Well, Stormfront? Who delivered the good news?” He grinded his jaw as he delivered that question, masking it with a painful looking grin.

“Oh, uh... Mr. Edgar, the big guy?” She holds the camera on his face, knowing a reaction was brewing underneath the surface. Stormfront wanted to rile him up for some reason and I couldn’t fathom why.

“Wonderful. Great. All right!” He turns around abruptly, walking away. “Great!” He shouts back out one more time as if trying to console himself.

Stormfront points the camera back at herself, a smug turn of her lip and the pleasure twinkling in her eyes told me enough. She was a troublemaker. Trouble for me if that was the end of his shoot and expecting me to deal with his tornado of feelings. Or worse, threaten my family and friends because he couldn’t trust me and wasn’t willing to listen.

“Well, I think this is going great.” She chuckles lightly before the feed ends and the news hosts are back on screen.

“Announced just this afternoon, isn’t that exciting Matthew?”

“I know I’m excited Diane.”

I tune out the news hosts and start gathering all my collected garbage to be thrown out through the trash chute, and for some of the bigger boxes I throw them out back in the sketchy alley. I do all of this in pilot-mode. I have no fucking idea how I’m going to win over a super hero who has plenty of reasons to make my situation worse. After that reveal on Stormfront’s Instagram Live he is now more angry than where he left me. His anger is violent and a visual red cloud resided above the surface and fogged his thoughts, and I know I can't read his mind but there is a brokenness to it that most individuals didn’t have. An imprint of pain that even someone as weak as me can see.

I stop dead in my tracks, standing alone in the dark scary alley a brilliant idea bursts from within me. A miracle of an idea that might save me if I act on it fast enough. I saw into his mind so I have an edge over him and he may want to get rid of me because of that, but that’s also to my advantage. I saw a brief snippet of memories between him and Ms. Stillwell. At the time I chose to try and ignore everything that spewed forth from his mind as I blurrily traveled through his mindscape, but some of it leaked through my well trained mental walls.

The conglomeration of his memories that stemmed from Madelyn Stillwell’s presence in his life, the root issue I barely touched on in his mind, was blurrily still stuck in the back of my head. The memory of him stealing her breast milk out of her fridge was one of the first that I found looking deeper in my head. One image of him arguing with her about not being true to himself and being forced to spew out lies about his past. More images blurrily come to me giving me a migraine that had me physically shaking. Consciously unaware my eyes were rolled over and my nose was bleeding as I writhed violently on the dirty alley floor. Just away from sight from the everyday person passing by, behind the dumpster just a few feet away from my apartment. A horrible memory vividly took over my mind like a tidal wave I’ve never experienced before.

Homelander pondered a baseball in his hands before throwing it so far he could not possibly fathom the consequences of how fast and far the ball is going. Watching it fade in the distance Madelyn as always walks onto the scene thinking she can fix everything. Or so he's always experienced.

“That is gonna kill somebody when it lands in Boston.” Madelyn steps up into the barn entrance taking her jacket off casually. As if this was a casual conversation with him.

“Look, I heard what happened. I am so, so sorry.” She quickly stepped closer to him, touching his arm. He turns away taking a few steps to distance himself away from her.

“What kind of place did you grow up in?” He asked, stone faced.

“Well, I moved around a lot, so, uh, it was a bunch of condos.” She huffed, putting her hands on her hips, seeming to steel herself for what he was about to say. He slowly walks back beside her decidedly staring at the beautiful field beyond them.

“So, what if I took you to a house you'd never seen before, full of photos of parents you never met, toys you never played with, Hardy Boy books that you never read? And then I asked you how much all that fake fսcking bullshit meant to you? How would that make you feel?” At that last question he finally looks back at her, and not to her surprise the stare is full of bitter resentment. Cold and unabashed in his cruelety.

“I wouldn't like that.” Without any prompting Madelyn stands closer beside him, shoulder to shoulder. She reaches out once more and takes his arm in both her hands. “I'm really sorry about the blanket. It never should have been there, and Randy Set-Dec has already been terminated. But right now... we need to finish that tour and to show how down-to-earth and ready to serve you are. And I need you to tell the mother story. Please.” She places her head on his chest invading his personal space as well as using her body to tempt him with the right answer. An obvious move Homelander understands, but can’t seem to shake anyway. “Please do it for me.” She begs and slowly starts to rub his crotch back and forth. He takes one weak exhale; that was that.

“It was actually my mom who dragged me along to my first Little League practice, and, uh, pretty soon after that, I-I just loved the game more than anything else in the world. So every year she would bake me a birthday cake in the shape of a baseball diamond. And... oh, I got to tell you, it was perfect. Perfect. Everything, down to the last minute details. Just like her.” He was standing what felt awkward to him, but on camera it made him look authentic. At least that’s what the director said before the end of the shoot.

“Cut. Perfect. So great.”

“So we're done?” He’s asked tight jawed with piercing eyes that seemed to communicate a yearning to murder.

“Uh, yes.”

“Great.” He says with a grimace, walking away from the others trying to get some space away from the crew’s prying eyes. A moment away to recuperate and hopefully through the utmost effort be truly appreciated by Madelyn for once. Anger just rising above the surface he walks across the beautiful fake porch of his fake childhood home to cool off, and he sees something in the corner of his eyes.

There is a bin to the side of the house with a bunch of other props, and there was his blanket. The thing that started it all. He instinctively, without realizing it, reaches his hand out towards the insipid object. Slowly unwrapping the blanket with meticulous precision a memory that he held back for years came to the surface.

He was stuck back in that awful room. Isolated in that bare white empty space with only this blanket and a human shaped target to keep him company. Mr.Vogelbaum would visit, sometimes with another scientist, and sometimes without–to play peekaboo with him.

He’d use this very blanket to play with them. The only hint of warmth he would receive, well other than his female handlers. But that was not something he wanted to reminisce on, nor does he want to remember that room or his blanket. Homelander, no John at the time loved Vogelbaum like a father, but he was no father. He would make Madelyn repay him for doing this commercial, that’s for sure. Homelander’s memories start to fade away as I come back to reality on the dirty alley floor. I feel empty and alone trying to recover my muscle spasms, pain in places I’ve never experienced before. Including my bitten tongue that was bleeding profusely. My mouth tasted of my own blood and I wobbly turned my body over so as not to choke, before puking all over the alley. The putrid puke lay steaming in the alley way just nearby my discarded and broken furniture.

A few tears fall down my face before I clumsily try to wipe them away, forcing myself to stop crying. Stop thinking.

Homelander’s memories still swirl around my brain like a chaotic blender, with no buttons to press to make it stop. They are dark and are filled with hate that my body shakes with my own resigning anger. As if I could start throwing things at anyone who even took one weird look at me. This anger and bitterness tasted cold and hot as if burning coals were shoved down my throat. A form of torture that could not be described made me wither and shake in pain. I get up wobbly and lean against the grimy garbage bin just to stay on my feet.

I’ve never experienced such a vivid vision of another’s memories before. Just like I can’t really read people’s thoughts, only an impression of what they're thinking. I can’t really see people’s memories, well not until now. This has never happened before, well until my power’s rapid increase in fluctuations and my bump in with the Seven. Or at least two of the seven. The threat of being The Seven’s therapist not only comes with the disadvantage of dealing with super powered people with emotional problems, but also the effect of it. These super powered people with personal issues has the powers to make my life a living hell--my family and friend's lives a living hell, and I couldn't bare the thought of that happening at all!

That decision made and promised to myself in the dark alley on a nice summer evening I stumbled back in my creaky gray apartment building and back up to my floor. Where my broken and trashed apartment lay clean clothes and soap. Looking at the time on my broken Victorian clock I see it's already 5pm and my heart stops. Homelander is possibly already back at Vought hunting me down.

I don’t know if the hunt would entail him firing me, hurting me, or my family and covering it up by Vought. Stan Edgar was the master of the operation, but from my memories and impressions I have of the situation, Homelander is my shock-collar. He may also be the reason why I have this and put in this circumstance, for all I know! It didn’t matter in the end, because my family and friends were at risk of a superpower corporation willing to do anything to get what they want. I am not going to get crushed under them like a bug.

I run to my bathroom’s medicine cabinet and take some meds for my powers, not dampening completely like the drugs did in the Vought Labs, but kept me from feeling unhinged when without them. The meds that’s helped me survive in the modern world and will help me out in dealing with Homelander too. I quickly spruce myself up longingly looking at the shower before deciding to ignore it. I don’t have enough time so I for-go what I want and quickly put on a pencil skirt and blouse. I grab my bag and phone before locking my doors and rushing out, more like limping out, but I was trying my best.

I get a cab and get to Vought in record time running through a still busy lobby. The young receptionist was watching videos on her phone of the hero Stormfront from what it looked like, ignoring the people walking by.

“Um, excuse me?”

“Yes?” She takes one dismissive glance at me before continuing to watch Stormfront on her phone.

“My name is Daphne Bennett. I’m the therapist assigned to The Seven and I wanted to know where my office was placed?”

“Sign in here and I was told by Donna you wouldn’t be needing that space till tomorrow?” She watches videos while talking to me and handing me a clipboard to sign-in, seeming to not need an actual answer to her question. She chews her gum obnoxiously as she does this all and gives me a tiny note that shows my office number and floor level as I give her back the clipboard.

“Thanks, Ms?” She ignores my attempt for a name and continues to watch her videos. I sigh before I trudge inside the elevator. Looking back at the small paper I realize something that makes me freeze in place. That the number written down was the same as the level famously known around the world to be where the Seven’s meeting room lies. Great, immediate access to their emotional chew toy, that’s me! That was a harsh thought and I try to compartmentalize that to deal with later.

I reach the top floor and begin my journey down the intimidating halls. The paintings depicting the heroes are dramatic and looked like they were hand painted by a master oil painter. The busts sculpted for each of the seven were so life-like their pores were visible on the surface of the marble. Nothing was left not wanting, so to speak, when it came to decor. I always preferred a little more nuance but I still appreciated the work that was put into it. Even if it is a bit ostentatious.

I walk into my new office–my name on a plaque of this large door and the wooden ornate furniture makes my heart sing, it almost makes up for my trashed apartment I walked into earlier. I take out my grandmother’s tin full of cookies I made before I was kidnapped, just a tad stale. But I preheated them in the oven before rushing off, and not forgetting my milk and cream. I set up my few pieces of china I still had left in my home and filled the cup half with milk and cream. Sadly, there was no place to heat it up unlike my old office.

A let down for sure. I place the warm cookies on my china platter as well as placing the cup of milk to where Homelander would be facing my desk. The scene set up hopefully for him to willingly accept my help and my apology. The more memories that surface from our shared connection makes me think he is not as forgiving as the media portrays him. My mother’s scared voice on the voicemail rings back in my head, a chilling warning.

I cough uncontrollably, grabbing my father’s old handkerchief from my purse. Blood drops stain the eggshell colored cloth, something hard to clean out. I dazedly place it back in my purse out of view, wiping my mouth and hiding any evidence. Just as I shoved my purse under my large wooden desk a woosh sound and breeze brushed past my back.

“I’m surprised you didn’t run.” He sounds bored not seeming up for the conversation even though he’s the one who asked me to be here.

“Did you want me to run?”

“That feels like a question a shrink would ask.” He bites back, setting his hands on the desk, standing over me. I was sitting in my too big office chair in my too big and too fancy desk while Homelander was thrilled to make my space feel even more claustrophobic. I can taste the spicy sweet taste of excitement running through him. An unusually pleasant aftertaste for such a threatening situation, unfair really.

“Hah, well I am one if you want to get down to the nitty-gritty of it.” I reply back forcing myself to sit up straight and stare him dead in the eyes. He smiles and I can’t tell if it's genuine or not.

“You’d think I would trust you after your oh-so-charming introductions. No, I would have every right to melt you down to your bare bone for what you did. But instead you're a Stan Edgar spy!” He growls, his voice growing more erratically loud as he rants. The red storm clouded him and his aura and not even my medication and abuse could make me not see it. The anger and humiliation was evident in his storm filled cloud of despair. So many different emotions flash on my pallet I can’t grasp them all. The taste makes me want to puke but I force myself to swallow my bile down.

“I’m sorry. I have some milk cookies here if you would like any by the way. I made them from my great-grandmother’s recipe, passed down generations on my father’s side.” I push my china platter towards him. He looks dumbfounded at the cookies and small china glass filled with milk and cream. He decides to sit and pointedly only takes the small glass of milk. He doesn’t touch the cookies. The storm starts to quell and his face slowly relaxes, not as tight and wound up as it was from the get-go. So much anger bottled up is an explosion always waiting to happen.

“You smell like blood.” He states, not looking at me but his head turned as if watching the view outside my window.

“What? It’s not polite to point something like that out–wait, how do you know that?” I ask, stupefied and a large smirk crinkles across his face before he leans in slowly towards me. “Wait, no nevermind I don’t care how you know that. If you must know, I'm on my period.” I fumble with an excuse

“No you're not.”

“How do you know that? Ugh, wait no, don't explain! I fell, I’m clumsy, okay!” I exclaimed quickly, again not wanting to know how his weird intrusive powers work.

“You fell?”

“Yeah, it was a bad fall. Still have scrapes and bruises to show off to my superhero co-workers.” A small quirk of an actual smile flickered before falling back to a blank face.

“You don’t have super healing?”

“No, I didn’t really win the superpower lottery when it came to its coolness factor.”

“Or a usefulness factor.”

“Ah, yes, I used to think like that too. When I was younger I felt the burden of my powers were too much and I didn’t want to be around anyone for a long time. I was an angsty teenager who couldn’t see the benefit of it and only saw the pain. To put it shortly I learned through getting past my own barriers and reaching out to people was a bonus not a burden. My powers may not be flashy or be able to save a whole city from an active nuclear bomb, but I can help take a panic attack away.” I shrug nonchalantly as he dismissively plays with one of the hand puzzles laying at my desk.

“Are you done yet?”

“Well, no, I am also a licensed therapist hired to help you guys. I know this is some kind of test and I'm willing to show you that I’m here to help?”

“You were hired here to dismantle my authority over The Seven and control us if we ever get “out of character.” He dismisses glaring daggers at me, a dark cloud almost thundered over him, to cloud his thoughts with anger. He shoves himself farther into the back of the sofa chair, a grimace stretching across his face.

“My notes are coded in a way that only I could decipher them, something I’ve developed when studying for my doctorate. Stan Edgar doesn’t know I code all my notes–and he will never have the cipher because it is not written down. It was written in my contract that I as a Doctor who promised to withhold my client’s best interest cannot converse about my clients outside of our sessions.So, with all of that in mind can we start now?” He gulps not blinking as he directly stares back at me, I do not look away.

“What would I even talk about?”

“Anything you want to talk about.”

“With you? No, not really.”

“What about the transition of a new member on your team, how is that going?” His body goes very still, as if paused in real time. His cold stare gives me chills.

“That media whore can go to fucking hell. She is not one of the seven.” Homelander’s chilling emotions rattle my bones and his emotional tidal wave tastes cold and bitter.

“Is it because she was hired on without your permission?”

“Partly.”

“Did you feel embarrassed for the way she told the world, including you and your team?” I asked another question, more pointed, his eyebrow twitched. He snorts and then huffs anger tensing his shoulders.

“Yes.” He bites out staring me down, not willing to look away. I do instead by taking one of my own cookies on a platter, enjoying the familiar taste.

“I’m sorry she did that to you and the team. Did it feel horrible to not have control over something so important to you?” I ask another question, maybe not delicately enough with the way he squeezed the wooden puzzle in his hands. It looked like it was ready to explode in a million wooden slivers ready to slice our skin to ribbons.

“She did it to provoke me and boost her numbers. And my number took a hit because of it!” His need to be in control of his image and not being seemed to set him off just from talking about it, and that is concerning on a lot of levels. Specifically to the people around him. He lets go of the puzzle and to my surprise takes a cookie and eats it in one bite. Delight clear on my face he pointed glare. Heat vision is almost a threat if I look too closely into his thoughts.

“Well I know what it's like when mucking up introductions–meaning our situation,” I point between us smiling shyly at his still present icy glare. “And wanting to move forward in helping each other. She might want to help you in her own way. She just may not have started that best way. You might just make an ally, or two.” I say with an eyebrow raised as he continues to scarf the cookies, not willing to be shamed it seemed.

“Interesting thought, but to ally with her would require her to not ruin my reputation.”

“Like I said, first introduction flops happen. Her being on The Seven because of Stan Edgar could also mean she could be a strong superhero. And a strong superhero is always a good ally to have.” I shrug at that, not willing to divulge my opinion–or my own agenda–any more.

“You know what?” He stands up abruptly walking towards the door as if to leave on that question, but he stops.

“What?”

“You're not as dumb as you seem.” He turned back towards me with a wide smile that seemed to just break from his stony exsterior.

“I’m a doctor, Homelander.” I say not able to hide my exasperation in my voice. He smirks, getting a kick out of my obvious annoyance.

“Oh, and by the way doctor, your cookies were quite stale.” I sigh even louder and more pointed at that, actually getting a chuckle out of him.

“So, are you going to give me a–ah I mean Stormfront a chance?” I ask as he turns the knob of the office door to leave.

“I’ll give her a trial run.” He does not turn to see my relief evident on my face. “Oh, and good luck with the social media frenzy that will be your day tomorrow. Have a great night.” He yells out as he leaves the office and the halls my door swinging back and forth from his dramatic exit. The tension in my muscles finally released and my heart even out, finally. Being in the same room as him has begun to feel like walking on tightrope, and no net underneath to catch me if I fall.

The reminder about tomorrow has my blood go cold and my body starts to sweat profusely. I never signed up for this. I don’t want to be on TV and I don’t want to be known around the world as some superhero psychologist. I don’t want people to know about my powers. I haven’t even told Olivia yet. I slump in my too large office not feeling up to walking to my trashed apartment. Looking longingly at the large white sofa in the corner of my office and a chair blanket I combine the two to make my makeshift bed. It may look desperate and sad but I don’t care.

I also might just be a bit desperate and sad.

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[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER ONE: I Can't Breathe

Despite explaining his nostalgia for his child piano I could feel his resentment through the screen. The way he blinked rapidly, his smile stretching a little too wide across his face made me flinch back. Homelander describing his mom's delicate smile rang false to me like a church bell. I physically felt and saw the lie within his glassy blue eyes. The advertisement switched to live TV showcasing the same heroes talking about their new movie, I would assume. They look as radiant and overly polished as they did in their advertisement clips. My eyes roll involuntarily at the production value. 

"Could you turn that up, Daphne? They should be talking about the current political climate in D.C about now." My father Mr. Dan Bennett surmised, smoking a cigar while resting his bum on his creaky velvet recliner. I turn the volume up to a deafening degree and approach the kitchen to get a cup of tea from the family's heirloom of a china pot.

“Do you really think they’ll be talking about anything important during one of those?” I yelled back, grabbing the tea-set and platter with as much grace as I could muster. I distractedly glance out the window towards the back yard. It was idyllic if it weren’t for the towering skyscrapers invading the view.

“Bah!” My father croaked, swinging his hand about dismissively. That’s when my mother Jessica Bennett, a retired school teacher, strolled in taking off her gardening gloves and work boots at the entryway. She plopped down on the old couch that's turned an off tan from its years of service with the Bennett family. My mother took the cup of tea I offered her with a smile.

“Thank you sweety.” She hummed happily sipping her chamomile tea, her favorite. My father took his without a glance. I try to relax into our lumpy couch forcing myself to focus back on the TV. My knees start to shake up and down without my knowledge. My mother grabs my knees with a swiftly tightening grip. 

“Honey, this is a time to relax, not to fret about what we can’t change.” My mother’s shrug to my questioning stare is answer enough. “You're an open book, dear.” I sigh, my body further burrowing itself into the couch. If I could dissolve into it the better.

“Sorry, mom, I know I shouldn’t bring work home with me but...” My shoulders sag at the admission. I curl my pointer finger around one of my golden ringlet curls. 

“Sometimes it's impossible, but some times its good for us to try to forget for a while.” My father piped up wearing a dark expression I didn’t wish to decipher.

I turn the volume up on the TV, my father grunts in appreciation, as I turn my eyes back towards the screen. It’s as I thought, the Superheroes were discussing their personal history as if they were talking about their groceries. The headache from earlier slowly crawls back up my neck to stab the front of my cranium.

“My home life with my family is what gave me the strength to protect the millions of American kids from threats like the super terrorists everyday,” Homelander trails off in the middle of his speech, faltering. His wide smile in all of his promotional ads was plastered on his face now. “And we need to fight as a united country to make a safe place to call home for our future generation. So, my proposal is for the Seven to be fully implemented into our great American troops by the end of this term."

The emotions of Homelander came rushing inside my head without any restraint. A gushing volcano; the emotions of rage and inner turmoil surfaced on the roof of my mouth and out like leaking lava and tar. The emotions were so vivid and enveloping that without my conscious knowledge I turned the TV off. 

“Hey! He was going to talk about the super terrorist group that targeted flight 37!” My father yelled, raising himself from the recliner standing stiff and straight. My mother pinned me down with a hard knowing look. It dawns on my father a moment later. “Honey, are you alright? Is it your headaches ?” He whispers the word “headache,” with a trembling lip. His stern big brown eyes pin me to where I am, frozen into the couch. 

My family has called me sensitive for a very long time and once I reached puberty my powers grew strong enough to become too much. They decided it best for me to control and mute it as much as possible. This being a decision we all agreed upon unanimously after my fainting spells grew worse in high school. 

“I’m fine now…” I whisper faintly looking back at the black screen, goosebumps crawl across my skin. My hand clenches and unclenches around the remote without me realizing it. I pry my clammy hands away from it. The same thought keeps running through my head over and over again. I have never felt such a strong emotional impression from someone at such a long distance.

I couldn’t have felt that from the live conference, could I? Did I feel that from Homelander? Or was it someone else–I don’t think so, but maybe? I never felt pain and contempt so violently through a screen before. Maybe it was the feelings of the Seven conglomerating itself through the TV? I was theorizing down an unending rabbit hole, with all the info I have now, this is all just theories. 

“So, you think we could put the TV back on?” My father huffed sliding back in his recliner with more grace than expected. His experience in combat has made him oddly graceful. 

“Daniel!” My mother crowed standing up in indignation and hurriedly strutting to the kitchen. To cook I think. She cooks whenever stressed out…so ergo when I have any sign of my power fluctuations she heads straight into the kitchen. I think it’s a way for her to take action without suffocating me. The whole neighborhood–meaning the apartment buildings surrounding them, loves her baked goods. They appreciate them so much she’s invited to all of the building parties, as long as the baked goods are included. She enjoys being a social butterfly counter to my father–the isolated shut in.   

“It's okay Dad, I need to make a call anyway.” I murmured on my way outside to the back porch, my mother's eyes followed my every move. I dialed my best friend’s number quickly, on instinct. My fingers did not feel like they were in my full control as they quickly typed away.

“Hey Daph! What’s up, in a hurry and currently doing the hair of a super-diva right now?” Olivia spoke, words falling out of the phone like the rushing rapids. I could hear a lot of chattering in the background, her usual hectic life. It seemed no matter how busy Olivia was she always answered her phone. 

“I wanted to know if there were any available seats on the next Morning Cup of Joey when he interviews with the Seven next Tuesday?” I quickly turn my body away from my mother’s prying, curious eyes peaking through the yellow curtains of the kitchen window. My heart races as the silence continues on the other end.

“Ahh! You told me you didn’t care about superheroes, or the superculture in general! When did it change? Did you look at A-Train’s ass and see the error of your ways?” Olivia spewed excitedly curious, not stopping for a breath of air. 

“Olivia, I am just curious about the current superhero law! It's being enacted so they can legally be integrated into the military. You know my father's been specifically asking me about it.”  He has not. When in doubt, use my father’s veteran status to get my friend to stop questioning me. Not a great thing to do but I will do chores for my dad and make a donation to The Fisher House Foundation to make up for it.

“So, he wants a ticket too?” Olivia did not buy the bait. 

“No, um no my dad has just got me interested is all.” I falter lamely not buying it completely myself. I adjust my overalls nervously, trying to ignore the heat of the sun beaming down at me from my parent’s patio.

“Well, sure but Joey never can get the whole Seven to come. No morning news has since Black Noir doesn’t do public showings unless it's Vought sponsored. Usually those are just after successful missions too now that I think about it…” Olivia trails off and I sense her conspiracies brewing in that crazy brain of hers. Though she has more access than most civilians to superheroes she has never liked the pompous attitudes that seem to be included with the super powers. She told me enough horror stories to get me off the love-supes-blindly train early into our friendship. “Either way, I can get you in next Tuesday with Queen Maeve. They're trying to get Starlight but with the recent bad press surrounding her means it's unlikely. She’s on her own publicity tour to recover from the Deep. The Deep’s in fucking nowheresville Ohio where he belongs." Olivia’s candor turns angry with derision at the mention of the scandal.

I cringed hating myself for forgetting about the recent news. One of the Seven recently admitting to sexually assaulting Starlight–a new member, was big news and came out only a few weeks ago. I felt bad for asking to see them in person after these accusations against the Deep, ergo the Seven, but I had an inkling my powers weren’t going to stop escalating. The Seven were the only clue I had at this point. My powers were not only controlling my choices but affecting my work. If I can’t sit at home and enjoy time with my family then what kind of life am I living?

“Want to meet me for dinner and give me the tickets then? My treat!” I force out a strained laugh. 

“Please Daph, I’m not letting you pay on your federally funded salary.” She joked, making me genuinely laugh for what felt like a first in years. “See you at 7:30 at the studio. Hopefully no Supe makes me stay late to put their extensions back in...” She trailed off hanging up the phone incidentally not needing my vocal confirmation. I hastily walk back inside ignoring my mom’s continued worried stare and grab my bag. I pat my Dad’s shoulders before ducking for the front door, he continues to stare dead straight at the television.

“Bye guys love you! I'm going back to the apartment before it gets any later.” I croaked before my mother could protest and rush out with a quick wave. 

My heart starts to race in apprehension. Though that may be the posters of Homelander smiling down at me in his signature red, white, and blue costume with an inspiring pose to boot. The posters were sprawled all across the train almost taking over the subway walls. The loud colors of his uniform were gaudy, especially in the advertisement, he almost blended into the American flag as if he was our very own American symbol. The goosebumps across my skin crawls its away up to my neck, the whole thing unnerved me.

I get off at the correct station and hurry out of the crowd with my earbuds jammed in my ears. They were blaring out one of my favorite Frank Sinatra songs, New York, New York. When I have to be surrounded by all of these people I have to focus on one thing and numb myself to the rest. Focusing on music, a specific accessory on someone’s outfit, or even an unusual detail in the environment around me could help calm my symptoms. Sometimes nothing helps.   

Why live in a big city? Well, this has always been my home and though I crave the silence I could never see myself leaving. The city is where I grew up and the streets and the buildings, though I resent them at times, gave me comfort I don’t think a cabin in the woods could give me. There are certain moments while walking on the sidewalk barely dodging people rushing to get somewhere as the sounds from the city fill my ears, it gave me a sense of peace, sometimes.

Most of the time it's just a struggle to get to one location from the next. I swallow another pill dry and drudge it to my dingy apartment building, which was not as nice as the neighboring ones near my family home. The missed job opportunities and my graveyard resume doesn’t make me a prime candidate for my chosen field. Luckily I can get by with little and I’m content. There are downsides like loud pipes and a slanted floor with questionable neighbor activities, but besides that I’m living in luxury.

I laugh quietly to myself–looking half mad as I skip up the narrow steps of the cramped stairwell. Entering my damp, dingy apartment I am greeted with an assortment of succulents of varying colors in strung up glass jars. I collected the odd jars over the years through my jam making hobby. Jam making was one of my many varying hobbies that I was not very good at. Clothes were haphazardly laying across the old gray wooden floor with little care. The bright fuzzy area rugs were the only things I could add to the flooring, according to the contract my landlord gave me. My apartment’s walls were a robin blue I painted the first day I moved in. The original color being a sad tan that made me think of overused khakis. That had to go immediately, and the walls were not excluded in my housing contract like the floors. My furniture was a mixture of old and very used, all coming from secondhand shops and auction houses. They screamed eclectic and beautiful, if a bit worn. Furniture with any wooden carvings or handcrafted wooden ornamental features are what I hunted for in my rare shopping sprees. 

I rushed to my bedroom catching myself from falling over on a random shoe in the middle of the open floor space. I dressed quickly making sure not to pick anything too casual or unfashionable, trying not to embarrass my friend. My fashion style stemmed between tight stick up her ass pants suits ranging to jeans with holes and logo adorned T-shirts. There was no in-between with my sad wardrobe. I grab a professional looking pencil skirt and throw on my only non-stained white blouse as a compromise. I leave just as quickly as I came, not forgetting to water my plants and lock my doors before making my exit. 

I arrived at the location where Cup of Morning Joey was being filmed after a long bumpy ride out of the city. It was placed on a large lot of land with five different filming studios sponsored by varying TV networks. It was a dry deserted desert of a location and anyone outside of the small town five minutes away would agree. The place was a little ways off outside of the New York suburbs, and I’m sure it's because the land space is more available in these rural parts. 

Oddly enough, going inside the studio always felt like I was intruding on a space for the rich, famous, and/or god. Meaning not me. Olivia herself can’t help but feel self-conscious around the superhero and celebrity alike, but she has always claimed it was because of big egos. I never felt like I got the whole story for her distaste for supes but I never felt okay to approach it. It was awkward waiting outside in the middle of nowhere at the end of shoots. It gave me the shivers and that spike of adrenaline hurried my steps to the correct building–3A. 

Inside were various halls and open lounging space, a coffee shop not just a foot away from the secretary. In the center sits the secretary working tirelessly on her computer. She was simultaneously dealing with someone on the phone in a large desk chair behind an even larger abrasive desk. A person was already waiting to get her attention and she looked irritated. She was a small woman in a stylish but colorful suit that complemented her red curls. Her voice took on a tone that did not bode well for the person on the receiving end. 

“I’ll have you know Queen Maeve and Homelander will be on the property in one week, a day, at 8:30 am on the dot! The trailers available are not in the conditions Vought contract requires and the food being served here is abysmal, to put it politely. We will need a whole new catering crew during their time here Tuesday. If you cannot get this done I want to speak with the manager in charge of the Morning Cup of Joey productions pronto.” Her speech was fierce and full of indignation. I could feel her heated anger just a few feet from where I was standing. I can surmise from her attitude that she liked the power she held over people. The flavor of smugness coming off of her sticking to the roof of my mouth, like a thick black goo. I looked away from the woman not able to stomach any more of my powers right now. I quickly put in my earbuds ignoring the redheaded woman causing a scene. 

Not a song or two later Olivia came rushing out of the right hall looking uncharacteristically frazzled. Olivia has a long lean tanned body, from her weekly palates, and a great fashion sense adding to her charm. She's the full package. Her hazel eyes catch sight of me awkwardly waiting and scrambles past the tornado at the front desk. Her perfectly pedicured nails dug into my shoulders as she hurried us out the exit.  

The stars were twinkling bright out at this time, a lot darker than I expected it to be when I arrived. Olivia didn’t give me a chance to ask where we were going before she steered us into a cab, confidently giving the cab driver some vague directions he apparently understood. The middle of Manhattan. Somewhere fancy, meaning nowhere I could afford. I slump into the lumpy cab seat and give Olivia my best sassy eyebrow raise. 

She sighs looking more defeated than when she was fired from a gig with Vogue. In that case the photographer was her ex and they had a bad break up not that long before the shoot. She was fired after it was discovered and as she wasn’t the client’s first pick, and she wasn't famous like her ex either. 

“I don’t know, work has been getting extra stressful since Morning Cup of Joey 's been taking off. I feel like I’m drowning under the workload.” She huffed picking at her baby pink nail polish. 

“I’m sorry if asking this is inconvenient or bad for you at work. You don’t have to get me a ticket.” I profusely exclaim, upset at the thought. Would they think she was asking for special treatment? Maybe they would resent her for asking?

“Stop! Stop, no that is not a problem and I have a twenty ticket a year limit. I have only given three out since last fall,” Olivia put her hands on my knees trying to calm my shaking legs. “Don’t fret so much, Daph!” Olivia cheered happily.

We arrive in the middle of Manhattan across from us, a restaurant with long golden encrusted windows showcasing a fancy interior. The lighting inside was dazzlingly atmospheric with the hanging chandeliers adding to the atmosphere. The title in golden encrusted lettering read Ocean Prime , which I could only assume meant they have great fish. 

Olivia nods to the hostess and we are quickly given a seat at a table near the front windows. It would be enchanting if my medicine was working properly at the moment. I don’t think I’ll be able to taste the food with all the conflicting emotions flashing in my head and sticking to the roof of my mouth. I forced my face to go slack focusing on the diamond necklace Olivia was wearing, a gift given to her by her late mom, she rarely takes it off anymore.

My vision came back into focus as Olivia continued to gossip about who could be on the next episode. From what I heard earlier in the lobby, that woman named Ashley said it’d be Homelander. That's not confirmed, so I decided to hold my tongue. I needed to understand why my powers were fluctuating so badly, and why it was triggered by the Seven.

“I don’t care who, as long as it's a member of the Seven.” I look off to the side as my hands start to twitch. I counteract my obnoxious shaking by obnoxiously tapping my fork against my crystal glass. 

“You don’t have a favorite? I know your mom loves Queen Maeve and your Dad is obsessed with Black Noir, but what about you?” She questioned playfully pointing at me with a breadstick. The breadstick probably cost more than the groceries in my cabinet but I tried not to hyper focus on that.

“I guess Homelander.” I shrug picking the first name that came to my mind.

“So boring! He’s like not even a person? He’s like a fucking symbol of patriotism or fucking America itself!” Olivia was always vocal and loud when she disagreed. That was another reason why I found her so lovable. I always backed down when it came to any form of conflict, and Olivia is just the opposite, always willing to face conflict head-on. I snorted water up my nose at the comparison. It's exactly what I thought back on the subway.

“I like that he represents what we need to strive for. I want to be able to give that sort of inspiration to the kids I see.” I admit shyly, not fully realizing the truth behind my statement.

“You sound so cheesy. Maybe you really are a Homelander fan, and I thought this was a ruse to get me out.” Olivia teased ruthlessly.

“You are usually the one trying to trick me into going out!” I retorted, ignoring the subtle question behind her hazel gaze. No one outside my parents knows about my powers. Nothing good comes from telling people about them.

“Well, now the roles are reversed.” She hums, eating her lobster with gusto. My scallops were excellent. I couldn’t bear to look at the bill after the dishes were taken away. My leftovers were secure in their container laying protectively under my arm. Olivia had no leftovers to speak of. “Now, don’t tell anyone I don't do anything for ya.” Olivia gives her one sparkling silver backstage pass with a center row seat. I quickly grab the ticket from her grasp with obvious glee. Olivia looks at me with a frown knowing something fishy was afoot. 

Luckily dodging questions is my specialty.

“You sure you don’t have any other reason for wanting to see the show?” 

“Of course!” I force a chipper voice and pair it with a too wide smile. I don’t think she's buying it. “I swear I’m excited and will be there just to see how big their heads are as a live audience member.” 

“They don’t act like that on TV Daph!” Olivia puffed out her cheeks, scuffing her snake-skin stiletto heel against the sidewalk. 

“I meant their actual heads, Olive.”

“Oh,” She snorted, rolling her eyes at me. “I think TV usually makes you seem taller, not make your head look bigger.” She gestures with her hands as if widening her own head, a smile grows on my face at her silly antics. 

“Well I’m no showbiz professional like you. It’s getting late, so I’ll head back to my apartment.” My smile is drowned out by me yawning out my words in a slur. We were standing at the exit of Ocean Prime and I couldn’t help but regret staying out so late. I have a long work day ahead of me starting at five in the morning. Hopefully my medicine’s side effects won’t make me call off. There's one specific case I need to focus on before it implodes on me from lack of attention.

“Hey, you're dozing off again? I got you a cab. Just get yourself into bed alright, Daph?” She pushes me into the cab unceremoniously as I stumble into the cab.

“Yeah, I’m fine, see you Tuesday.” I mutter, clutching my head as Olivia gently closes the cab door. Olivia didn’t seem to buy the “I’m fine” line but she didn’t push it.  I was happily surprised that I arrived at my apartment not too long after ten thirty. I got inside, put my leftovers in the fridge, and went straight to my bed falling into a deep peaceful sleep.

The birds started chirping outside my window–an unusual alarm for New York. This wakes me up enough to blurrily glance at my phone. It glared back at me in bold letters: 4:30 am. Ugh, I woke up a whole half an hour earlier than my alarm. I sigh, knowing my headache won't let me get any more sleep. I dragged my feet to my bathroom readying myself for a hard day. Scrubbing my blond curls with my favorite lilac shampoo under the hot shower water is what my head needed. I chant over and over in my head as I wash the stress away for this upcoming day. 

My powers won't make me look crazy nor go crazy. I won't faint and I won't give anyone depression nor will I mask their emotions with mine. I'm normal. I'm not a super. I am a therapist for kids in need.

I chanted this over and over in my head until I arrived at my office building. A normal routine of mine that I have used since middle school. My parents and I figured out that technique after I had to be removed from school for causing great "emotional distress" to a fellow classmate. They had to go to the hospital to be detained for public self harm. 

Ignoring everything around me I step forward past the revolving doors and into my office space. My golden plaque read Daphne Bennett Therapeutic Carer beside my door. Plugging my ears with some classical music I start to file paperwork that I have been holding off for ages. I run through my emails skimming everything from workplace parties to important notices from my case workers. This past half an hour was more productive than this entire month combined.

"The Burgesens are here for you, M'am." The office assistant Ms. Sydney Regis poked her red curly head in without a knock, of course.

"Please, send them to the therapy room Ms. Regis." I wave her off gathering my files and throwing it half-hazard into my left drawer, not a thought for real organization. 

A kid hiding some interesting quirks is currently under the care of a new foster family, the Burgesens. They have a clean record and started fostering kids at the beginning of this spring. Being a new family in the system meant records and recordings done by their case worker are abysmally small. Sadly, this makes my job a lot harder. Understanding the kids' mental state is dependent on understanding their environment. 

I grab Stevie Lawsen's file scurrying off in my practical black heels towards the therapy room's lounging area. Standing awkwardly between the Burgesens was gangly Stevie Lawsen. He was a preteen that looked too skinny for his age and the way he glanced between his two foster parents apprehensively didn’t bode well for his current mental state. 

"Hello Mr. Burgesen and Ms. Burgesen, how are you doing today Stevie?" I ask hyper focusing on his emotional wavelength. Focusing hard I could see his emotional fluctuating bright like the northern lights above his head, an aura full of color. My powers usually only work when I'm hyper focused–and sometimes touching–the individual but on rare occasions, especially without my medicine, I don't need to.

"I'm fine, M'am." He mutters looking down to the ground. A bitter scowl breaks through the facade. His thin mouth twisted down into a small frown. His emotions are currently in a state of flux. Mostly anger and deep sadness emanated from the small preteen. His emotions tasted like salty fizz, a bad aftertaste residing on the back of my tongue. 

I contorted my face into a neutral mask. I open the door into the therapy room with no preamble. It was to the side of the lounging area connected to the therapy room by a glass wall and door. I calmly sit in the chair across the soft plush couch residing in the center. I watch with a furrowed brow as Stevie places himself at the corner of the couch, farthest away from me. Putting my notepad down I cross my legs deciding then and there to wait for Stevie to lead the session.

“I have my assignment Ms. Bennett.” Stevie quietly mutters, taking a quick glance at the glass walls separating us from his guardians. 

“Good, do continue to use it this week until the end of summer. This is not something that needs to be shown to me nor talked about in our sessions if you don’t want to. That journal is for you to express yourself without anyone butting in or judging you. It's for you to express yourself.” I smile warmly trying to focus that feeling onto Stevie. The familiar headache that comes with invading someone’s psyche persists annoyingly. 

“So you won’t look inside it?” Stevie questions looking up at me with those big blue doe eyes. The innocent expression makes me fidget with the hem of my collar. I always felt a sense of deep guilt when using my powers during sessions. The thought of not fully explaining my method before doing so is innately wrong. But, my methods make the process smoother. My powers help me make a hundred percent correct diagnoses. 

“Of course not. For your eyes only.” I whisper the last part conspiratorially, adding a wink for the fun of it. He flashes me a brief small smile before his signature blank expression takes over once again. “How about we start from where we left off last time? The anxiety and paralysis you felt when you were asleep.” 

“I never sleep well…” Stevie wandered off, his voice barely a raspy whisper. 

“Do you remember your dreams?”

“Sometimes.”

“When we discuss your dreams you sound like you remember them clearly. Do you remember the ones that bother you most?” I ask while trying to decipher his emotional state. The thick dark fog appeared in plain sight, through my powers I could see it surrounding him. 

“The one I had last night is the same one from before.” He says clearly looking directly in the eyes for the first time since he came into this office. 

“The one with the dark figures?”

“Yeah, the dark figures…hurt people in my dreams.” He whispers, hands shaking as he quickly covers his mouth in fright. “I wake up and I can’t move and they’re still there standing over me.” He admits twisting his little hands together. His dirty white sneaker squeaking across the shiny clean floor. The echo of his squeaking shoes were the only sound to be heard.

“That does sound scary Stevie. Can you tell me what you do before bed?”  I ask, preparing to jot down anything Stevie is willing to tell me.

“I brush my teeth and put on my pajamas before I go to bed every night.”

“Do you go to bed at the same time?” 

“No, It's hard for me to fall asleep. I have nightmares.”

“Do you always have nightmares?”

“N-n-nightmares are all I r-remember.” I can feel his emotional wavelength tightening within himself, becoming closed off. I reach over and gently pat his shoulder getting up to get some of my famous chocolate chip cookies. The only recipe I’ve bettered from my mom’s repertoire. The touch on the boy’s shoulder gives me an inkling into his dreams. 

The images flash in a quick blur of dark murky colors. The figures surrounding a street in the middle of what looked like Park Avenue and a crowd surrounding something. The point of view looks up and there are figures flying in the sky. 

The quick flash melts away to leave a taste of bile in my mouth. The memories and dreams blurring together gives me a headache. I try to be a good hostess and not drop my platter of cookies. I shakily place the platter of warm cookies and milk on the coffee table with a sigh of relief. I sit back down into my cushy chair waiting for Stevie to continue.

“I can deal with the nightmares–I'm grown up, but being awake and also not then not being able to move…” Stevie nibbles on the end of his cookie.

“Stevie, it's okay to be afraid of nightmares. I get scared by mine all the time. Dreams are a way for our subconscious to process our thoughts and memories from the day before. Sometimes these thoughts and memories can reflect how we felt in our dreams too.” 

“What do you get scared of, Ms. Bennett?” Stevie turns towards me, eyes widening just a fraction. 

“I get scared of a lot of things Stevie. Heights, dark alleys, and loss of family or friends are just to name a few. Have you been feeling scared or anxious when awake?” Stevie’s face shifts subtly into a blank slate.

“No, Mr. and Ms. Burgesen are really nice. They have two dogs and a pool so that’s cool.” He turns his head towards the window, his brown curls bouncing with the movement. I turn my eyes to the beautiful city view trying  to see what he sees in those far off eyes. All I see are bright lights and moving cars.

A flier for Jitter Bean speedily sweeps across the window causing Stevie to flinch back. He brings his hands inwards and his pupils are blown wide. His whole body starts to shake uncontrollably and his breathing grows erratic. I kneel before him, giving him direct eye contact.

“Everything is okay, Stevie. You’re having a panic attack. It will be over soon,” I reassure in a calming tone. “I’m going to count backwards from ten to one. Count back with me if you can.” I start the count off lifting my arms in the air with each deep breath. 

“Ten.”

“Ten.” He breathily follows the count. Stevie’s pale thin face recovers some of its color as he regains his breath. I delicately put my arm around the boy and he leans into it pointedly staring into the far off corner. I shiver involuntarily, shrugging away from his touch and emotional influence. Stevie does not notice the abruptness, so I allow myself to swallow down the guilt and continue the session as if nothing happened.

“Would you like me to warm your milk?” I ask, standing up and adjusting the wrinkles out of my sharp pantsuit. Stevie shrugged his pointy shoulders and I took that as a sign to double the cookie serving as well. I place my rose embellished china tea cup–a gift from my grandmother–back on the coffee table once officially warmed, also not so subtly placing a blue notebook beside his second serving of cookies. He looks up at me, his left brow raises up in confusion. 

“That's another assignment for you,” I point to the notebook. Stevie’s eyes slowly trail down, looking at the notebook as if it was a double headed snake ready to bite. Maybe homework wasn’t the best choice of words for a thirteen year old boy on summer vacation. “A notebook to write your dreams down in. It's called dream journaling. It can help you decipher your dreams. If you get good at it you can learn to wake yourself up when you're having nightmares.” I pat the notebook gently with a sense of fondness that I couldn't shake. The fondness stemming from my own dream journaling habit–an angel kitten on the cover was nestled in my leather tote bag.

This technique is not considered a valid option for practicing therapists in most cases with sleep paralysis. My intuition makes me wonder if it's something deeper than that, though. My intuition and powers don’t ever steer me wrong. He continues to glare at the notebook with a furrow in his tiny brows, pursing his lips as if he licked a lemon. 

“Don’t look at it like that. Don’t forget to put it beside your bed every night. I hope it won't be too much homework added to your summer vacation.” I tease him walking out towards the connected waiting room. "You still have to write in your separate journal to process all your thoughts." He grunts, unashamed in showing his distaste.

“Wait, Dr. Bennett, you asked me what I was scared of, remember?” Stevie’s voice grows more quiet with each word said. He stopped just before the glass door where his foster parents waited. I bend down to his eye level looking him directly in the eyes. 

“Yes, I remember.” He shivers, turning his head back towards the window. Dread hits my stomach like a freight train, my heart starts to pick up speed, and the sour familiar taste of fear drenches my tongue. I ignore the encompassing fear and focus on him instead.

“Superheroes scare me…” He whispers so softly that if I had blinked I would have missed it. My eyes grow wide ever so slowly as the cogs in my brain start to turn. If any of the fears and trauma stems from a superhero then he must have a past relationship with one, or an incident of some kind. I need to look more into his past parentage. “Please don’t tell.” His trembling hands shoot out to mine gripping them tightly. 

“Stevie, I won’t tell a single person. I promise.” I whisper, zipping up my lips and throwing away the key. He smiles faintly, looking like it pained him just to show genuine happiness. “Now let's get you back to the Burgesens.” I walk with him to the waiting room, my arm resting on his shoulder to give him some sort of comfort. I ignore the boy's emotions and faded memories barraging my senses by focusing on the repetitive sound of my heels tapping on the hard tile floors. 

“See you next week Stevie. Have a good rest of your day Mr. and Ms. Burgesen.” I wave them off to the exit floor sluggishly walking back up to my office. The stairs are one of the only exercises I get in a week and I’m sticking to it even if my feet are swelling up every night from my uncomfortable heels. 

Closing my office door I relax into my cushy chair with an embroidered kitten pillow added for emotional support. I went to my email to find three hundred unread emails categorized as IMPORTANT received just an hour ago. Great. It seems clearing my email box is an impossible task, but worth the effort nonetheless. Ms. Regis pokes her head in through my door without knocking, again.

“You have another appointment, mam.”

“I didn’t get assigned another session nor pick up another assignment. So, am I getting my days wrong or am I mistaken? I thought I was free for the rest of the afternoon.” I twist my left pointer finger’s moonstone ring back and forth over and over until I feel an irritated rash appear. 

“Sorry, Ms. Bennett but Mr. Larsen approved a few more families for you. I can tell them to wait, but I think that would make the case worker and Mr. Larsen upset." She side-eyes me, judgment written clearly all over her face. I sigh a little too loudly, I can hear my mother right now admonishing me for the behavior, and gesture with my hand for the files. She throws them at me with little care. "I'll let Mr. Thomas know that you will be available for a session with Lydia in fifteen minutes." If I hadn't been listening closely I would not have caught the aggression in Ms. Regis's voice. She hurriedly leaves my office. The sound of her quick tap tapping of her stiletto heels not far behind. 

She needs to be reprimanded for her attitude but being related to our boss gives her certain perks no one else has. But that's life in modern America. The work day dragged on, repeating the same pattern across the week. With the show being a closer reality the dread builds over time in the pit of my stomach. My meds were starting to wane again and with no sick days available I was shit out of luck. 

Coming into work has become increasingly more painful. My nice suits weren't taking my profuse sweating well and I was starting to look more and more like a gaunt ghoul. My coworkers gossip loudly about my possible withdrawal symptoms. I laugh the jibes off though I can sense their intentions to be malicious. I've grown used to people's rude thoughts invading my headspace, but it's increased to an insurmountable degree this week.

My day off finally rolls in with traffic noise blaring through my closed, but cracked window. It also happens to be the day that I get to test my theory in a live studio audience. Sad that it happens to be after the big media frenzy that was Transluscent's funeral.  Starlight’s song now number one on the music charts and Homelander’s speech was being put into the record books as “most poignant and heartbreaking” to ever be recorded. I didn't tune in. From what I heard the whole thing sounded like a bit much .

The bed creaked loudly as I rolled over for the millionth time that morning. I rubbed my eyes trying to see beyond the bright light streaming through my windows transparent curtains. I hurriedly grab my blue sparkly bedazzled phone from my bedside clumsily. My heart plummets into my stomach. I missed two calls and a text from Olivia. My fingers fumbles for her number.

"Where are you? I thought we were going to take a subway to Rockaway and then catch a cab?" Olivia's voice was an extra octave higher than usual. "I waited thirty minutes for you!"

"I'm sorry Olive, I'll make it up to you I promise! I've been switching my medicine dosages and that's been affecting my sleep, but that's no excuse. I'm so sorry. Especially since you're doing me such a huge favor." My voice cracks at the mention of my medication. I twist the ends of my hair curling it around my finger over and over.

"It's okay Daph I know you've been dealing with a lot. I forgive you, for now. Just let me take you out more and I will call it even. As long as you get to the show on time!" Olivia admonishes me. I glance at the clock again.

"Shit, okay Olive I'll be there in thirty, don't worry."

"Sounds reassuring." Olivia's sarcasm is palpable through the phone.

I leap out of my bed, my knees cracking painfully on impact. I push myself forward out of my bedroom, not willing to look back at the mess. I brush my teeth and quickly wash my face. The only thing I do to my hair is pull it in a high ponytail. I throw on a white blouse with a small flower pattern embroidered throughout the top. I wear light blue jeans that have daisies embroidered on the sides and I pair the look with a pearl bracelet with matching earrings. I add my second hand white kitten heels to pull the whole look together. Now you got something not so embarrassing. 

The early morning sunshine hits the robin blue walls in my apartment perfectly. The color reflected off the vases and jars holding the succulents still in the air as if by magic. The hanging fairy lights paired with the jars strung up reminded me to appreciate the small things in the morning. Too bad the clothes scattered all over the floor and the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink dampened the beauty. A buzz vibrating aggressively in my back pocket shakes me from my daze. I glance at my phone and it lights up in response. A text message alert stares threateningly back at me.

Olivia:

You better be in the cab and on your way here.

I ran out of my apartment like a bat out of hell, not forgetting to water my plants and lock my doors, of course. The cab was an easy haggle as usual in the bustle and hustle of New York on a Tuesday morning. Taking a cab straight to the distant set might not be the best move financially, but It’ll make up time and it'll be easier on my head. Rushing out of my apartment I throw my hand in the air at the edge of the sidewalk waiting only a second before a cab parked poorly before me.

The cab had a damp smell–like old subway wrappers mixed with cigarette butts that permeated from the seats. Sadly, the cab somehow held inside an even grosser cab driver. His beady eyed stare through the rearview mirror sent chills down my spine. His aurora writhed in his predatorial thoughts. The gross delusions permeated my mind and his emotions tasted like the way his cab smells. Vile. 

My fingers start to twitch and fiddle with my rings over and over. I force my right hand to stop the other. My fingers' twitch transferred to my legs. I plug my ears with my earbuds and let Meatloaf’s lyrics help me forget the cab driver’s intrusive thoughts. Specifically the ones about young women entering his cab, young ones like me. I gulp loudly, my clammy hands drench my jeans as I wipe them off. 

The cab ride to the far off studio set in the suburbs of New Jersey had not arrived soon enough. I get there within the thirty minute range and I feel almost proud of my time management. The line for the studio audience was long and continued out the door of the sub-building 3A-1. 3A-1 was connected only by the trailers that were all parked in uniform by the set. Probably placed specifically for the Superheroes visiting. I dive into building 3A’s front doors and I could still see the line for the studio audience visible through the windows. Luckily I didn’t need to get to the secretary at the intimidating desk. She looked even more busy than the last time I saw her.  

“Come on, Daph! Over here come through here,” Olivia appears from the corner waving her arms towards herself trying to mime something indecipherable. I walked inconspicuously her way not trying to seem like a line cutter–which I was. She grabs my shoulders looking over me like a mother hen pecking and hawing at her baby chick. “You seem fine. Don’t be late for the pre-show announcements. Everyone should be in their seats by that time.” She gives me a pat on the shoulder before running to the exit.

“Where do I go again?” I ask, puffing a stray blond curl off my forehead. I point my toes inwards, feeling something deep within me grow still. The air changes and I feel my powers shift. Everything became off kilter for just a moment, vertigo overtaking my senses. I paled visibly, so much so Olivia’s face pinched up and her perfect eyebrows curved upwards in concern.

“You okay, Daph?”

“I..I just feel a bit faint. It’s okay, I probably just need some water.” I mutter shooing her concerns away as I wobble into her arms. That feeling of the dark abyss encroaching upon my senses came back as suddenly as it did during the live TV broadcast last week. 

The strong connection started to fade, but I could tell the person or people who held these emotions were not far away.  My shoulders tense as Olivia starts to drag me through the employee-only halls connecting to the set. 

"I-I-I don't know if I should be going through here. Am I allowed back here?" 

"Of course you are! You have the pass on your neck, don't ya?" She waves my concerns off dragging me into a more private lounging area with a buffet table in the center. A small kitchen with a fridge the price of my apartment building stands in the corner, intimidating me with its fanciness. Olivia grabs a bottle of cold Fiji Water . Expensive water, of course. "They always get the best stuff I swear." She huffs pushing the water into my clammy hands. 

"Thanks," I take a large gulp to placate her. Olivia nods, apparently satisfied, looking me over once more before turning towards the exit. "Wait, this room isn't for the celebrities and superheroes, is it?"

"Why ask me when you already know the answer." She crosses her tan toned arms quirking one eyebrow up at me. 

"I can't be here! I should get to my seat." The nape of my neck suddenly grew goosebumps and a continuous cold sweat trailed down my back. My audience neighbors will probably smell the fear and stress wafting from me when I get to my seat. Great. 

"Relax, the super heroes got their own trailers with a catering service serving them on their hands and feet. They won't even come into this side of the building." Olivia waves my worries away–seeming to not care about the possible doom if caught. She visibly pales, her hand freezing in midair. Her irises blew out and her nonchalant confidence left her body like a soul being exercised from the possessed. 

I shiver compulsively at someone else’s emotions shoving itself into my mind. The emotions are dark and full of self loathing--the flavor of strong tang of vodka resides like a film on my tongue. The bitter emotions catch in my throat. I've never felt such an extreme push of violent emotions thrusted at me with no forewarning before. I guess my powers are growing stronger with every day that passes. Not good. Olivia's eyes grow wide like saucers. For the first time since I've met her she is dead silent.

"Well I didn't know the "optional" lounging room was going to be so crowded." Dry frank resignation dripped from Queen Maeve's voice. Tall, pale, and mysterious vibes oozed off of her aura. By choice or not I don't know. Queen Maeve's armor shimmers with distinction--the little armor there is, and her long brown waves did not move an inch nor frizz out of place. She glared at the two of us with her piercing stormy eyes. Her emotional void called to my powers like a moth to a flame. 

My left hand shot from my side reaching towards her as if trying to stop a wound from bleeding out, only it wasn’t physical pain I was trying to soothe. She raised her eyebrow at me. Her first reaction was not to kick my back in half like a chainsaw, a plus. 

"I'm sorry for your loss. I'll be leaving right now. Sorry again for invading your space." I patted her shoulder infusing warm emotions and thoughts of safety into my physical touch. The pull and tug of her aurora grew dark and twisted like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz. Her face did not change from its stormy disposition, but as an intense headache intruded my mind. From what I can see the darkness of her mood faded to a more manageable fog from my power’s influence. The wrinkle between her eyes soothed, looking relaxed for the first time in a while. I try to push Olivia and myself out of the room--with my water in tow–without gaining Queen Maeve's further attention.

"Why are you here?" She focused on me. Her irises grew small and pinned me to my spot like a lion hunting her prey.

"She's my guest. Sorry, her blood sugar was low and she needed some  water. I'm taking her to her seat now, so if you don't mind Ms. Maeve?" Olivia swoops in before I can make a bigger fool of myself. Her ability to maneuver out of an uncomfortable situation has always been her super power. 

Queen Maeve's eyebrows furrowed as she grinded her teeth, cracking her jaw in the process. Olivia gulped and I stood still between the two feeling like the last rack of lamb at the end of a holiday supper. She looked between the two of us trying to decide if we were worth her time.

"Well, get the hell out then." Evidently not. I take a glance back to see Queen Maeve take a swig from a flask that was hidden beneath her skirt. 

We maneuver between the numerous halls to find ourselves entering the audience seats. Olivia pushed me quickly to my seat amidst a bunch of fans dressed up either in superhero logos or full on cosplay. A lot wore the new T-shirt " Out of Sight, Never out of Mind '' from Transparent's funeral flash sale all over the city. I don't think I personally would have chosen that to memorialize him but I'm not a superhero marketing team. 

I stuck out like a sore thumb, no logo on any of my items, not even an American flag as a form of pretense. People were chatting around me; their general excitement and giddiness to see their heroes in person was clear. I didn't need powers to see that, but a large amount of glee forms into an almost mob-like mentality, a cloud of glee permeating the air making my senses go crazy. 

The amount of unanimous glee in the air infiltrates my taste-buds; all I could taste was cotton candy. For once a pleasant flavor. The loud emotions dulled all my senses making me feel like I was riding on a cloud. I started my breathing exercises, one large inhale in and a slow breath out. Focusing on the details of someone's Homelander cup was the next step. The details of his suit was intricately designed across the cup. I counted each star on his cape over and over hoping the high would subside.

"Did you hear who Queen Maeve is coming with in this interview?" A young girl with a shrill voice asked her friend from a seat behind me.

"I thought Starlight was supposed to be here? Isn't it supposed to be girl power themed?"

"No, I heard from a backstage crew member that Homelander was going to be here!"

"Oh my god! These tickets were totally worth the money." The girls obsessed over the Seven's looks after that. Especially Homelander's. The idea of a stranger analyzing every facet of me in order to gauge how attractive I was made me feel all sorts of queasy. Anyone constantly under the limelight must thrive on it, if not I didn't know how they would survive it.

The lights dimmed slowly until it was pitch black in the studio audience. The stage lights for the set slowly faded back in focusing on the stage. A spot light beamed from a high rafter directly on the colorful large wooden sign. The added 3D coffee cup on the sign was a nice touch. 

"Hello, my early birds. I'm hoping you're having a sunshiny morning to start off your day. Oh, and don't forget your cup of morning Joey." He winks to the audience taking a sip from his show's merchandise, the show's logo plastered on the mug. The cup looks bigger in person oddly enough. Probably for sales reasons. "Now let's introduce our two favorite superheroes, Homelander and Queen Maeve from our favorite superhero team, the Seven."

Homelander and Queen Maeve walk onto the studio floor; two new bold spotlights follow their trail. A loud roar of applause and cries of "I love you!"s  infiltrate my ears making me wince in pain. The intense wave of hero worship clouds my vision and my body grows slack in my seat. The taste of sugary sweet cotton candy glee is on the tip of my tongue. I shake my head back and forth, trying to jostle people's invasive sexual thoughts out of my mind. I need to focus on the heroes and hope my powers are triggered by one of them…or something different to explain what’s happening to me.

"So, how've you two been holding up since the loss of your dear friend, Translucent?" The host turns towards the two with a cheerful smile. A little tactless of the host to smile so brightly after such a dark question, but Joey has never been known for having tact.

"Thanks for asking Joey. We are in a lot of pain right now and trying to recover together as a team. The only thing that has made us see any light behind this dark tunnel is Transluscent's sacrifice not being in vain. The mission was successful because of Translucent." Homelander spoke to the talk show host with fervent passion thick in his voice. He puts his fist to his face as if trying to hide his emotions, but nothing about those words rang true. I hyper focused my attention to his aurora seeing the lies twist within it. 

"These are some of the requirements to being a part of the Seven. We risk our life to save the people we swore to protect." Queen Maeve says plainly, it seemed to her it was a matter of fact when taking the job on as a superhero. 

"That's a lot for the Seven to deal with, especially with a new member joining soon. How's that going?"

“We are excited for our team to grow, we just don’t know who yet.” Homelander replied with a shrug throwing a large winning smile at the crowd. “Whoever joins our team will also join in the mission to stop the super terrorist group Shining Light Liberation Army .” 

“I heard from a little birdie that the next superhero joining will be a woman. How do you feel about this, Queen Maeve?” Joey does not take the bait to discuss this political hot topic. Homelander's emotions fluctuate to anger briefly and quickly. That anger does not subside like most people's, and instead sits above his head haunting him. More emotionally stable people can usually summon enough control to shelve these feelings away, especially in a public situation,  but it does not seem so with Homelander.

“I’m here to accept any new members on the team, be it a woman or man. They’ll be a great asset no matter what gender they are; that is a guarantee.” Queen Maeve’s tone and inflection was dry and straightforward. Her thoughts if poked were a bit more jumbled. These lines were given to her before she went out on set. I wonder if Homelander has certain lines he’s required to say by Vought too?

  “As long as we get to vet them beforehand.” Homelander adds with a wink and a dashing smile to the cameras. Queen Maeve gives Homelander a quick glare, a warning if I ever saw one. If I was not in tune with their mental and emotional wavelengths I didn't think I would have seen the tension hovering between them. 

Queen Maeve's general dark cloud of inner frustration and bitterness was still present in her aurora. I switch my focus to Homelander, a sense of foreboding creeping up my neck like a wraith's cold fingers brushing down my spine. His domineering smile and arm wrapped tightly around Queen Maeve did not come from pure warmth. No, a need to control was obvious in his actions. I scrunch up my eyebrows sticking my tongue to the side of my mouth pushing myself to look within the superhero. Something isn’t right in Homelander’s current mental state. I could feel a dam of emotions ready to burst from within him. 

“Let’s stop thinking about the future and remember who we’ve lost. Not just Transluscent but Madelyn Stillwell’s recent murder by Billy Butcher leaving that poor baby orphaned, its just horrible, isn’t it?” Joey leads with an annoyingly loud sip from his mug. He pointedly looks back and forth between the two supes. “We have heard through the little rumor mill that you were quite close with Ms. Stillwell, how are you holding up?" Joey bravely asks, his smile looking like a cat lapping up a silver platter of warm milk.

"What are you trying to imply Joey?" Homelander chuckles, sounding strained, his eyes turn distant and hazy. You don't have to have powers to see an uncomfortable anger rising to the surface. Queen Maeve's shoulders tense and her eyes flicker between Homelander and the host. Joey did not seem phased, which only makes Homelander's simmering aura more tumultuous. The heat from the connection between Homelander and I shouldn't feel this intense and hazardous, but the longer I hold onto the connection, the more it grows stronger. I'm quickly learning that my powers and this hero has a lot of untold nuances that I haven't fully unraveled yet.

"Nothing, Homelander. We, as fans, are simply curious about the rumors that say you had a deeper connection with Madylin Stillwell than the rest of the Seven." Joey's wording helps him appear more innocent than any of his questioning actually was. Instead of the usual cheer and good humor Joey is known for in his interviews he's throwing hard curveball questions to America's God. His strategy might get him ten times the views, but was it worth irritating Homelander? 

"Do you think asking this would get you the extra millions of views that you want? Do you think it’s worth it?" Homelander's malicious tone intensifies as he leans towards Joey. Joey gulps loudly enough for the surrounding audience members to hear. Homelander ignores Queen Maeve's hand tightening on his shoulder. His emotions were opening up to me the more intense he was on stage. His aura swirled aggressively over his head clouding his cognitive thoughts like a red fog. His thoughts were loud and chaotic, and if I pushed too hard to see more I think I would be cut asunder. 

At that thought and without realizing it, I do just that. I lose consciousness as a result.

I am laying in the midst of what appears to be a red desert and a dark night sky void of any stars. The winds were harsh and the sand scraped my face at a harsh pace, I felt as if I was in real pain, even though I knew it wasn’t real. This must be Homelander’s visual representation for his mental landscape at the moment. The mental landscape can fluctuate and change depending on the situation and person. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from the little time I’ve spent in someone else’s head. 

There has to be a way to get out of a mind without damaging either of us. Not getting caught is also high on the priority list. I could feel my eyelids open but my vision and hearing was gone, meaning I’m officially stuck. I knew I should have been more careful. I look like a barely comatose zombie sitting in the middle of the audience in real time. I have no physical control of what's going on outside of his mind's landscape. I'm fucked if I don't figure something out quickly.

Instead of focusing on leaving his mental state I decide then and there to find a root issue to soothe. This method has helped me once before, but it comes with major risks. Relaxing and soothing his mind through an issue can leave me an opening to escape, if done properly. 

Luckily his tumultuous state of emotions will lead me straight to an issue he’s fretting over. And it did. Traveling his mindscape feels like being a fly in the middle of a chaotic storm. Thrown about with the winds having what felt like no real sense of direction. I was a flying wraith in metaphysical form, moving too quickly to comprehend the memories and thoughts thrown my way. I tried to ignore the intrusive memories that flashed above the night sky. A woman, Madylin Stillwell, flashed across the night sky so much I couldn’t help but notice.

An issue he was currently talking about–in real time might not be the best idea to approach, but I wasn't left with much of a choice. I found Homelander himself floating around a female figure, over and over again. His thoughts all centered on this female shaped figure, whom I assume to be his memories of Madylin Stillwell.

"Do you think bringing her up in the conversation is okay to do while some of us are still grieving? We were all close to her and we appreciated everything she did for the Seven. The rumors are based on that and nothing more." Homelander's voice echoed across the mental mindscape with abandon. He continues to ignore me, the invasive species that I was, I tried to sneak over by his flying figure.

Sadly, I was immediately noticed. Homelander did not waver in directing all his personal defenses towards me, his glowing red eyes an obvious warning. He didn’t understand the situation he was in. He could hurt himself if he was not careful. Me being in here and if injured or kicked out improperly could cause irreparable damage to both of us. Red clouds approached slowly beyond the horizon, lightning thundered across his mindscape. His mind was warning me to approach lightly.

No one would believe me if I said Homelander has a twisted, broken mind. I wouldn't believe it either if I didn't see it with my own eyes. No amount of denial is going to get me out of here though, so I need to think fast. Ignoring my sporadic heart rate; I approach the angry superhero. Going by instinct, I grab Homelander's cape with my shaky hand and ignore his glowing red glare. His eyes glow brighter.

He stared down at me as if I was an ant crawling across his shoe. Before he could decide who and what I was--an invader, I rushed to grab his arm with my other hand. My warm physical touch echoes across his mind's red skies turning it instantly into a calm blue and the harsh winds circling around us stops. His red eyes fade and his feet lightly fall back down to the red sands. 

"Who are you?" He ask his face contorting into a confused state, brows furrowed up to his hairline and his shoulders tensed up readying himself for a fight. I can't imagine my cover not being blown at this point. I'll just have to be honest.

"I'm Daphne, I wanted to make sure you were okay." I try to calmly, pushing down my own personal panic attack. I wasn't planning on giving any more personal information away if I could help it.

"Okay? How are you here? Are you a figment of my imagination? Wait, no you must be someone with powers. You're threatening the leader of the Seven just by being in here." The more he talked the more he seemed to be processing, which only meant I was in more shit.

"Maybe I’m a part of your consciousness trying to help you through an issue, hmm?” Maybe a bit of manipulation of feelings and thoughts could make him believe me, but I had no idea how to do that. I have only been through a similar situation once, and nothing this intense. His eyes were stormy blue and glared directly at me with a piercing sense of mad paranoia.

“What kind of trick is this? Are you trying to control me?” His panic was rising with every quick angry breath he blew in my face. His stare was increasing in intensity with every second, a faint red glow emanating slowly back from his eyes. 

“No, I just wanted to check if you were doing okay." I rushed to say, shaking my head back and forth. "My powers instinctively do this without any forethought.” I spew out shoving the words out of my mouth before I can regret it.

“I don’t care if you can’t control it. Going inside my head without my permission is a fate sealed with death.” His intense laser stare was growing brighter, a warning.

I guess it didn’t matter if I was here with good intentions. They were purely selfish. I thought if I could connect with one of the seven using my powers I would be able to understand them better, but that backfired. It was naïve to think so. No matter what I did to seem nonthreatening I was still inside his head without consent. He wont believe I did it by accident either.

"What if I show you instead," Without him attacking me on the spot I force him into a sense of calm. I wrap my arms around his waist trying to spare myself some time to get out of his head and into my body. He grows slack and without his knowledge he leans into my hug. "Do you feel better?"

“Y-Yes, I do.” He doesn’t verbally question me nor try to push me out of his head. For once in a long time it seems he’s at peace. But I can still hear storms on the horizon. The unpleasant emotions and thoughts buried further in his mind I wouldn’t be able to reach without his permission. My powers aren’t developed enough for me to not to hurt him by accident if I tried. So, that’s a no on that idea.

“Well, then I did what I came here to do.” I mutter under my breath clinging to what feels like a strong warm man, but it's just all in our heads, a projection of what we think we would feel. I try to force myself to consciousness, my powers only allowing me after calming his mental state. I leave his mind hoping to not leave irreparable damage in my wake. 

I woke up with a start, my body trembling all over and my outfit was covered in cold sweat. No one around me seemed to notice my unconsciousness nor my sudden outburst. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the studio set watching their favorite heroes in adoration. The two heroes were calmly sitting side by side and Joey was laughing at something Queen Maeve said. My brain started to replay the things that were said when I was not in my body. The joke Maeve said was a bit too honest but the host ate it up all the same. Homelander has been silent for the past five minute ignoring the host’s pointed questions. Queen Maeve has been elbowing him and pinching his arm to get his attention, to no avail. Blood spilled from my nose, a few drips falling onto the front of my white blouse. I stood up rushing to the exit not barely six feet away. I stumbled over people’s feet and weaved through the seats, ignoring the angry mutterings from the people sitting around me. 

“Hey, stop!” Homelander’s voice boomed echoing across the crowd and straight into my bones. A chill ran down my back like a snake slithering down my vertebrates. I fumble my way to the exit as everyone in the audience stood up to attention. I look down at the red carpet focusing on each step. I exhale and inhale over and over in order to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest. I was moving forward one wobbly step at a time, and the next thing I knew; I was standing before a glaring Homelander with a piercing gaze. Only the rush of sudden wind warned me of his movement. “You will stop when I command it.” Homelander’s voice boomed, people were chatting and rushing to record everything on their phones. I felt nauseous at the sight of it all.

My body spasms before falling to the ground unceremoniously. I faintly felt warm hands rush to grab me, a hard grip was the last thing I felt before everything faded to black.

_______________________

The cameras focused on the woman’s dramatic fall as Homelander catches her just before her head could crack on the floor. The cameramen close in on the two as Queen Maeve rushes in on the scene, uncaringly throwing fans alike away from the situation. The crowd surrounds the three, even with Queen Maeve’s glare to deter them, as a spotlight shines itself on the three in a Hollywood moment that Vaught always craved to film. Joey adjusts himself awkwardly in his seat, not moving from the set.

“We have to take her to the hospital.” Queen Maeve declares boldly stepping beside him. Queen Maeve stares down at the woman, it takes only a second for her to recognize Daphne. She grabs the unconscious woman’s arms instinctively ready to help. Homelander curls his arms tighter around Daphne, glaring metaphorical daggers at Maeve.

“I’ll be taking her there immediately.” He turns away from Queen Maeve dismissively before placating towards the audience. His smile is too wide and it shines a bright shimmering white under the flash of photography. Queen Maeve nods but quickly looks through the woman’s pockets, taking her wallet. She rifles through her identifications and contacts before throwing it back into her pocket, Homelander none the wiser. His distraction from the press is Queen Maeve’s boon.  

“I saw her before going on set with an employee. I will contact the family if you are so keen on taking her to the hospital?” She states her plans as a question to abide Homelander’s ego, it's  easier this way, Queen Maeve thinks. Tension clear in the air, her shoulders tensing, readying herself for Homelander’s reply. He knuckles tighten around Daphne’s form before nodding to the crowd with a big smile pasted back on his too perfect face.

“Good luck, Queen Maeve. I’m sorry everyone, but we will have to retire early, as you can all see.” He pointedly stares between the damsel in distress in his arms before looking back dramatically at the cameras. “Hero business, as usual.” Homelander waves his arm towards Joey, the spotlights following Homelander’s cue, the lights focus back on the host. "Thank you, Joey, for being such a gracious host.” The word dripped with bitterness, his shining smile turning into a hard grimace before flying out of the studio in a blink of an eye. The audience gasps in amazement before applauding the dramatic exit.

 Queen Maeve rolls her eyes before storming out of the studio set, no dramatic speech before leaving necessary. She walked out towards the main building knowing Daphne Bennett was with an employee when she saw her in the guestroom–and from what she recalled from glancing at her friend’s ID–her friend is a makeup artist for the studio. Meaning she would be where makeup and hair was done before all airing shows. Queen Maeve stomped through the back entrance of building 3A, stopping suddenly, she focused her energy on listening to her surroundings. There, a specific voice she remembers not too long ago who accompanied Daphne Bennett. 

“I’m sorry Ms. Bennett I don’t know where Homelander took her.” The familiar voice that accompanied Daphne Bennett consoled the distressed women on the other side of the line.

“He must have taken her to a hospital closest to the studio. I’ll be there in a half an hour. Olivia, please if you find any new information please call me as soon as you can!” A distressed voice replied in a hurry before hanging up abruptly. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” The friend, Olivia, was muttering into her phone typing away at it before storming out of what looked like a janitor's closet. Queen Maeve did not care to ask and instead forced her arm in front of her stopping Olivia mid step. Her hazel eyes stare back at Queen Maeve with a sense of dread. 

“Homelander didn’t take your friend to the closest hospital.” Queen Maeve’s matter of fact tone only made Olivia pause longer on the super hero. Her eyebrows twist up in confusion before she throws her expensive phone into her too large purse hanging by her side. 

“Then where did he take her?”

“To Vought’s hospital, I would surmise. He doesn’t really need to worry about time when it only takes him a few seconds to arrive anywhere he’d like.” Maeve shrugs dismissing Olivia’s obvious growing anxiety. “Call her mom back and tell her what I said. Here’s your friend’s wallet by the way.” Maeve shoves the wallet into Olivia’s arms, not waiting for her to respond before spinning into the opposite direction. Reporters and audience members swallowed her whole as she walked away, no wave goodbye or heroic pose, to Olivia’s great disappointment. 

“Shit.” Olivia muttered just one more time before doing as Queen Maeve instructed.

Homelander arrived at the Vought building with little fanfare with what looked like a dead woman in his arms. Daphne was her name, and he would find out just exactly how and why she forced herself into his mind. The only one allowed to be inside his head and torture the daylights out of him was himself. Then again, reflecting on it all, all she did was make him feel better. 

Finally getting to the seventy-eighth floor he steps out of the elevator to be ambushed by the medical personnel. A first in a long time when the medical staff don’t react in instant fear. Homelander was never a good patient to the doctors and nurses who had to deal with him at the miniscule chance he was injured. They pull her away from Homelander, some looking nervously between the hero and woman. They all unanimously held their breath waiting for a dangerous outbursts from Homelander, but none came.

“Don’t let her leave when she regains consciousness. Hold her until I say you can release her, got it?” Homelander directs glaring down at the nervous personnel. They all nod fearfully, most hunching their shoulders in and others shaking just from the sight of him. They gurney her away not glancing back at the glaring superhero. 

Homelander enters the elevator hitting the floor where Stan Edgar resides in his larger than life office. It resembles a more refined Seven meeting room all built for one man. Homelander gave Stan Edgar no pomp or respect and walked through the door without a single glance to his secretary. To Homelander’s annoyance Stan Edgar looked up from his paperwork just for one cold moment before resuming what he was doing.

“Why have you graced my office today, Homelander?” Stan Edgar���s heart rate continued to beat at a calm leisurely pace, its consistency grated on Homelander’s nerves. 

“During a morning show my mind was infiltrated by an unknown supe in the audience." Homelander huffed indignantly. "She didn’t get far before collapsing, so I took her to the hospital wing to be detained. I think she may be one of Butcher’s terrorist.” Stan Edgar’s withering stare made Homelander shrink inwards, like the sniveling child he once was. Was he crazy thinking this was one of Butcher’s harebrained schemes? He didn’t think so, with all of the moles--Starlight specifically, that were popping in and out of their security as of late.

“Interesting. We will question her further and see if she will be an asset or not. You may go now.” Stan Edgar did not look up from his papers as he dismisses him. Homelander’s jaw grinded, his fists tightened by his side, a feeling of inadequacy filling the air. “Homelander, you brought this potential threat to Vought, so you are responsible for any future damages she brings us. If she is an asset for us, well we will hold off to wait and see.” He says with a smirk that only meant one thing, check mate. Waving his arm towards his secretary as an official dismissal, Mr. Edgar gives Homelander no more of his time.

His secretary, a short cute blond that contained the most robotic of smiles, smiled coldly at Homelander. She was still as a statue, waiting patiently for Homelander to leave Edgar’s office. He left with a twist in his cape swooping in the air and stomps out.

“Did you see the show Mr. Edgar?” She asks, but seems to know the answer.

“Of course, Donna. I see it, and just for a second...everything was under control.” Stan's eyes clouds over into deep thought as he looks over the city dwellings through his expensive cityscape view. He thinks on the beauty and hideousness of its current state, a grotesque monster ready to attack whenever to whoever, from his personal experience. A city he compares to his unmanageable superheroes. Now who will be cleaning up the messes this city leaves in its wake, why Stan Edgar, of course.

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If you guys are interested in checking out the story on AO3 where I mainly post I would appreciate it a whole lot!