"She looks fine to me," MM said with a flashlight pointed directly into my eye. A small dish of tiny glass shards and a set of tweezers sat by my elbow, "You do heal fast, don't you?"
"As long as I've lived," I replied, pulling my head away just enough so I could look somewhere other than a direct beam of light, "Told you I'd be fine by the time we got back," I shot to Butcher who stood nearby with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
"Yeah, alright..." Butcher said in a grumble.
MM set the flash light aside and used a healthy dose of hand sanitizer over his hands, "Any word from the kid?"
Butcher shook his head, "Not yet. Gonna give the kid some time, I ain't looking to blow his cover in the same day as our close call. Just have to wait. He'll be alright."
A few days had passed and I'd basically forgotten about the glass-in-my-eye incident because, of course, I had recovered flawlessly.
I also managed to find myself an apartment. It was no penthouse suite, and Vought would never sign off on such a place, but I found myself happy. This was the first time I'd ever procured something completely on my own. This space was mine; I was beholden to no one.
However, victories were small. When I expressed I was leaving the dungeon cot in favor of a small apartment in the heart of Chinatown, Butcher insisted on accompanying me to be sure it would be "safe for his operation."
At that insistence, I asked that Frenchie join us for I had a few ideas on how to 'Homelander- proof' the apartment, in the best way I thought we could manage. Surprisingly, Butcher had nothing to argue against by that time.
It was only a short walk, so I didn't expect any grumbling on the front of distance. I was not here to cause these boys a headache, but I would not be swayed from finding myself a real bed and a real running shower.
"See? It's not a loose pin waiting to blow up your operation," I told Butcher as he looked around with a perpetually unimpressed look plastered to his face, "Just a bed and some running water."
"We have running water," Butcher answered gruffly and my brows raised towards my hairline.
"Running water that doesn't come straight from the sewers of Chinatown," I continued, my arms crossed firmly over my chest.
Butcher threw me a look but continued to look around, "Frenchie — what do you think?"
Frenchie was tapping on the windowpanes, "It's weak as it stands, but Homelander is not a common enemy, he is more powerful."
"Tell me something I don't know," Butcher replied, in a sour mood over the whole thing.
I rolled my eyes, "I know how to avoid my brother, probably better than anyone. But I also know this will be the one place I'd like to put my guard down..."
"Well, I think if we get our hands on a mass amount of zinc and aluminum sheeting, we can successfully block unwanted transmissions and, god willing, his ability to see through these walls," Frenchie responded, "Much like the room we built with Transluscent — since this is not underground, the exposure is much greater a risk, of of course." He glanced between Butcher and myself.
"Zinc and aluminum, how hard can that be?" I shrug.
Butcher sighed heavily, "We shouldn't be wasting time on this."
"Oh come on," I started on Debbie Downer-Butcher, "Just wait. When we fortify a bit and I give this place a little spruce, you'll be begging me to stay here just to avoid going back to your dungeon cell."
"For the last time, it's not a bloody dungeon," Butcher snapped.
Frenchie and I shared a look before we simultaneously looked back to the broad man, "It's a dungeon," we said in unison in our own way.