9: The Gamble

It didn't take too long before the looks and infuriating smiles from Frenchie and the rest of the guys became insufferable. With a roll of his eyes, Butcher led Becca to one of the back rooms in the pawnshop basement that now passed for a bedroom. When he didn't have money for a motel (all too fucking often as that was lately), he shared this one with M.M., evidenced by the shitty twin beds lined up against either wall of the otherwise drab and cramped space.

Becca's gaze flitted over her surroundings, a sad frown pulling at her lips. Butcher didn't want to upset her with where his shit choices had led him, but he'd never been able to lie to Becca. At least, not well.

"Think this's shit, wait 'til you see the bathroom," he joked (and that really wasn't a lie).

It didn't even get a smile from her. Becca turned to him, tentatively reaching for his hand. He squeezed her fingers within his.

"I really am sorry," she said quietly. "What I said—"

Again, he interrupted her third apology in the past half hour.

"Stop it, all right? Can't be mad at ya for being honest," he said. Still...it had fucking hurt though, hadn't it?

The thought in the back of his mind was stubborn, reminding him of the hell he'd been in after he was forced to leave her at that house.

But, Butcher calmed her anyway, by taking his wife into his arms where she fit just right. Even though holding her again soothed the demon in him, he couldn't let the fact that she sought him out give him too much hope for their future.

There was a twisted, bitter part of himself that whispered harshly: she had only come here, to him, because she had no other choice. Because he was her best bet at getting Ryan back. That didn't mean she wanted him to stay in the picture once mother and son were reunited.

"Maybe," Becca said eventually. She looked up at him, her gray eyes shining. "I'm still sorry I hurt you."

Ahh, there it is. The thrumming ache in his heart that crumbled most of that bitterness away when he looked at her. Butcher brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, the one she didn't hold with both of hers.

He was trying so hard not to put her back up on that pedestal. The one she claimed I put her on.

But the more he thought about it, it was true. He'd only decided to be less of a bastard for her. When she swept into his life and somehow slipped into his heart, she'd challenged him to be a better man. Being with someone like Becca, so beautiful and good, made him want to be better too. So how could he not find that special?

How could he not see her as someone special?

Was that so fuckin' horrible? he thought.

Or...

Until, his anger led back to doubt, and self-loathing. The same thought he'd been avoiding for days circled back and finally gripped him by the throat.

Or…

Or had he just made her feel trapped, like she always had to be the perfect one. The one who didn't get to fuck up, or have a bad day. Like she couldn't lean on him when she needed to.

"Anyway," Becca added, when he was too drowned in his thoughts to say anything. She wiped at her eyes and grinned a little. "I knew you and Helena would get along someday."

Butcher's already tumultuous mood soured. It wasn't like he wanted to keep the two women apart. He just didn't think it was a good idea for Helena to risk their safety, and hers, if she was being traced. He knew he had swept her car and apartment himself for bugs, but anything could and would happen in this shithole city, and that woman was too fucking stubborn for her own good.

"She's a pain in the ass," he said, more gruffly than he meant to.

Becca's amusement grew with her smile, but the longer she watched her husband try to shake off the mention of her friend, changing the subject with talk of safety precautions and where Homelander might've taken Ryan, the more thoughtful she became.

As much as it pained her, Helena was forced to put Gordo in a kennel until she got back. She didn't know or trust her neighbors well enough to give them a spare key to her apartment, and despite her confidence with Becca on the phone, Helena had no fucking clue what was about to happen next. She only expected to be gone a couple of days, but when Butcher was involved, you really couldn't (or shouldn't) predict anything.

So she donned an old college shirt and a pair of jeans, packed a "just in case" bag with a few days' worth of clothes, got a rental car, and proceeded to find what must have been the seediest pawnshop in all five boroughs of New York City.

Helena felt strangely nervous knocking on the door. She had met most of the group, of course, but she had never officially been to their hideout, nor had she met Frenchie or Kimiko in person.

As it turned out though, she didn't have to be nervous. Frenchie opened the door, waving off a couple of sketchy, dangerous-looking men to his left.

"She is also with us," he said to them, but to Helena, he offered a charmingly boyish smile and a welcoming hand on her shoulder. "Come in, chérie. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"In person, at least," she offered with a smile of her own. Frenchie was a lean man, attractive with the 5 o'clock shadow of stubble paired with that smile of his. He was also shorter than she expected, just a couple more inches taller than her. But his hand was steady and sure as he led her down the flight of stairs, which he admitted could be rickety in places if she wasn't careful. She thought he was being a little over-chivalrous, but it was hard not to find it endearing.

"We have another guest," Frenchie announced, once they reached the basement. Hughie was the first one there to greet her with a familiar smile, also boyish and kind. Helena pulled him into a hug.

"Good to see you're in one peace," she remarked, and they both laughed.

"You know me," he agreed. Annie January looked over from where she shared the couch with Kimiko, who offered Helena a silent, but friendly enough smile. Helena returned it.

"Not for lack of trying," Annie said dryly.

Helena then turned to Hughie, raising a suspicious brow. "Gotten into some more trouble, have you?"

"You gotta ask?" said M.M. from the kitchen. He wiped his hands on a towel and left what appeared to be a large turkey sandwich, halved diagonally into perfect triangles, to greet her. "You're takin' a big fuckin' risk, coming here. Your job, for one, and a hell of a lot more than that."

"I took that gamble from the beginning, remember?" Helena smiled ruefully. She didn't regret it. Yet.

M.M. seemed to accept this, nodding. "How was the drive?"

"Better not have come in that prissy sedan. Even if it ain't got a tracer, that shiny paint's got Vought written all over it," Butcher snarked. He entered the main room from somewhere in the back that Helena couldn't quite see from the kitchen, and her face tightened in annoyance at the sight of him.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm a complete fucking idiot," she mocked. "Of course, I got a rental car!"

Butcher had that glint in his eye, smirking like he wanted to press his luck (and some more of her buttons), until a wry voice behind him interjected.

"Somehow, this is just about what I expected."

Butcher wisely stepped aside, and immediately Helena's eyes filled with tears. Because suddenly her best friend since high school—her sister in every way that mattered—was there. Alive, and only a little worse for wear. Both of them were smiling from the very middle of themselves, until they were hugging and laughing and most definitely crying.

"I know you've been trying to help Billy," Becca said, in a whisper not only Helena could hear. But right now, Helena could care less if she looked like a fool. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry," Helena choked out. After so long of keeping herself guarded, of calculating every step she made, her Vought Face—it was like the fractured Berlin Wall of her emotions had crumbled down at last. "I…wasn't there when you needed me."

"No, Hel. It's not your fault." Becca's voice was as comforting as her hand on Helena's back.

Butcher watched from where he leaned against the far wall, his hands in his pockets, and a softer smile on his face than usual. After Becca led Helena away for some privacy in one of the bedrooms, Butcher nodded at M.M. and Frenchie. Hughie had already joined Annie and Kimiko on the couch.

"Let's find the kid, shall we?" Butcher said. "I'll be back."

M.M. knew there was no point in asking Butcher where he was going, but he shared a glance with Frenchie, who raised his brows at the two women speaking quietly in the next room over.

M.M. pointedly shook his head, a firm warning in his eyes. Don't rattle that fucking cage.

He had his suspicions, namely of Butcher snipping with Helena as soon as she'd got through the door. But that was none of his goddamn business.

Helena listened as Becca told things from her side of the story. How she'd been shipped off to a safe house during the pregnancy, until the fake neighborhood could be created and secured. It had all happened shockingly fast, and in a span of a short few months, Becca was alone with a baby in a snow globe of a world. She'd learned how to be a mom on her own, and learned to survive on her own.

"But I wasn't alone, really," Becca admitted. A smile grew on her face. "I had Ryan and…he became my best friend. He's so smart, so kind. If he has a mother, he won't become like him. Like the rest of them."

Helena didn't know what to say to that. On one hand, she could understand how Becca had kept her sanity by truly loving her son. She could also understand the responsibility Becca felt to nurture Ryan, and make sure he wasn't going to become a psychopath like Homelander.

On the other hand, Helena saw a smaller picture. She remembered Billy Butcher, ready to sacrifice himself to Black Noir, for no other reason than Becca had turned him away. When Butcher had talked about being knackered. The way he was ready to flicker out like a candle in the dark, and she'd had to bargain with him to try and save his life. Helena had looked into his eyes and not recognized the man she saw.

Becca shifted on the bed, leaning her head against the wall since there was no headboard. They barely fit on the twin bed, but it kind of felt like their old college dorm, or even Helena's bed in her childhood home.

"You want to ask me something," Becca said, eyeing her. "Go ahead."

Helena sighed, though she didn't bother to deny it.

"Remember in freshman year of college? We snuck into that upperclassman party, and you warned me not to get too hammered," Helena said. Becca nodded, her lips pulling into a grimace.

"I didn't listen, because I was dumb like that back then…and when Paul Jackson's skeevy fucking ass tried to roofie me, you punched him in the throat and drove me back to the dorm."

Becca inclined her head at the memory. "You threw up on my moccasins. I had to toss 'em in the dumpster that night."

"I did you a favor. Those shoes were fugly." Helena grinned as Becca snorted, shoving her arm. "But you stayed up with me all night to make sure I didn't die on the bathroom floor, hugging our toilet."

Becca laughed in earnest, but the eventual dimming in her eyes told Helena, they both knew why she was bringing this story up now.

"And in the morning. When I couldn't stop crying, you told me getting drugged, getting taken advantage of by a sick asshole wasn't my fault," Helena said. Her throat suddenly felt dry, and raw as her voice cracked. "I've known you practically my whole life, Becks. Did you think I wasn't going to have your back?"

Becca let out a long, faltering sigh.

"I wanted to tell you. Jesus, I wanted to tell Billy," she said. Her gaze drifted far away, for a moment, farther than Helena could reach. "I was scared. I didn't want you to get hurt, trying to help me. And Billy…look, you've probably gotten to know him well enough by now. He would've gotten himself in so much fucking trouble because of me."

Helena's brows shot up. "More trouble than he's in right now?"

Becca didn't answer, and the longer her silence dragged on, the harder it became for Helena to keep her mouth in check.

"Do you regret it?" she asked. "Leaving, I mean."

Becca let out a humorless laugh, gesturing to the shabby room around them. To their overall situation. "Considering where we are now? Ryan with that…fucking asshole. Yeah, a bit."

Helena stared at her friend, steeling herself before she asked, "Did you regret it before Ryan was taken?"

Becca leaned away from her so she could stare Helena directly in the eyes, even as her jaw worked in disbelief, and anger.

"Wow," she said. "You…you think I'm selfish."

Helena immediately shook her head as hot irritation washed over her. "No. Damn it, you're putting words in my mouth."

"But there's something," Becca insisted. "You're saying I shouldn't blame myself for what happened to me, but you're blaming me for something."

"I'm not blaming you for anything, Becca," Helena shot back testily. And the words flew from her mouth before she could trap them back in. "I just think you don't trust the people who love you."

She inwardly winced at the stricken look that crossed Becca's face. On the outside, Helena looked calm. But it was just a mask for the wave of guilt and self-reproach that churned her gut.

"You have no fucking right to say that to me," Becca said. Tears welled up in her eyes, making Helena fight a tight lump of emotion in her throat.

"Maybe not," she conceded, "but I've never lied to you a day in my life, and I'm not about to start now."

Becca's expression changed, to something Helena hadn't seen directed at her before. Guarded, and almost pained. "You're honest when it suits you."

Fucking well, then…

That one hurt.

Okay, maybe the past eight years of her working at Vought had been a lie of sorts; certainly, the past few months. At least she was trying to be different, and make better choices with her life. And Helena couldn't help but tense up, her frustration and anger mounting.

"I'm only still at Vought to bring them down. You know that."

"That's not what I mean," Becca said. It had Helena blinking in confusion.

"Then what the hell are you talking about?"

Becca crossed her arms, her stare unwavering. "I think you know."

Helena honestly didn't have a clue what she meant, nor did she like the feeling of being appraised by Becca. But then, she realized how absolutely insane this all was, that they were even here, meeting again like this. Maybe for the last time.

Did she really want to spend it fighting?

"The only thing I know is that I'm happy you're alive," Helena said. Despite it all, she was able to smile. "I never thought I'd be this damn grateful to fight with you again."

"Don't know why." Becca's mouth curved with a small smirk. "You always lose."

"Only because arguing with you is like yelling at Bambi." Helena sighed. "Jesus."

Becca rolled her eyes.

"Bambi Jesus?" Frenchie chimed in, appearing in the doorway with a set of lab goggles over his face. Helena jumped in fright.

"The fuck?" she gasped. Frenchie grinned and soon disappeared. Hughie popped his head in afterwards, apologetically.

"Sorry. He's a bit…uh, high," he said with a laugh. "It's how he works. He's making tweaks on some weapon to take out Stormfront's balls. Err, energy balls."

Helena shared an amused look with Becca.

"High on what?" Becca asked. Hughie smirked.

"That's the question, isn't it?"

When Hughie and Starlight left the pawnshop to run down a lead that might help them against Stormfront, Helena began to get antsy. Butcher was taking his sweet time doing whatever he was doing.

She could've tried to get Homelander's and Stormfront's locations through their trackers, but that would require her going back into the Vought tower, and she was supposed to be on a two-week vacation. Becca looked similarly worried as she smoked her second cigarette, courtesy of Frenchie. They stood near the stairwell, so the smoke wouldn't bother anyone.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon," Helena said. Becca offered her a flimsy smile.

"I just hate feeling like I'm sitting on my hands," she said. "As long as Ryan is with them, he won't be safe."

"And what happens afterwards?" Helena asked her. "Have you thought about what you'll do? Where you'll go?"

Becca hesitated with the cigarette at her lips. The question seemed to catch her off guard. "I don't care where, but Billy…"

Her voice, her eyes were so damn tired and sad. Helena could only ache for her.

"He loves you," Helena said. She could admit that freely, and mostly without resentment, even though she felt a painful twinge in her chest. "Be patient with him, and he might warm up to Ryan eventually."

"I want to believe that, more than anything," Becca said. Her gaze was downcast to the floor. "But I know my husband."

"He's spent the last eight years without you, thinking you were dead," Helena said. "You think he's going to fuck up the chance for a future with you?"

Becca finally looked up at her then, staring so long that Helena began to grow confused. But Hughie and Annie returning broke them out of it.

"What did you find?" Helena asked them. Hughie's eyes were wide.

"You're not gonna believe it. Stormfront's a fucking Nazi."

Well, as it turned out, Helena actually could believe it.

Butcher turned up within the hour with Homelander's location. The team was more than on board with helping him save Ryan. Now, all that was left was devising a plan.

First was organizing the files Hughie and Starlight had gathered on Stormfront, exposing her as the old-ass racist bitch she was; more specifically, she was Klara Risinger, Frederick Vought's wife, and the first successful supe experiment of Compound V during World War II.

Helena helped Hughie and Starlight post them on various social media channels, a-la-Vought style, and sent them to a few key journalists, whose contact information she knew by heart at this point.

Meanwhile, Butcher and M.M. worked out the tactics of the mission, while Kimiko helped Frenchie prep the major weapons and anti-supe technology he'd developed.

When the plan was decided, Helena watched Butcher and the rest of them configure an assortment of rather large weapons. Even Becca was over there in the far corner, practicing unloading and reloading a handgun.

Guns made Helena nervous. Having one held up against her head, even under a ruse, had been a terrifying experience she had no desire to repeat any time soon. But at the moment, she was more curious about where Butcher had been the last few hours. No one seemed to question him, not even M.M, and it was a strange thing to finally see their dynamic play out. She had to wonder if they'd just given up trying to find out exactly how Butcher got things done. Or, more likely, they already knew him well enough to guess.

"How did you get Homelander's location?" Helena asked him. She spoke quietly, so M.M. and Frenchie wouldn't pay them any mind while Butcher continued loading an impressive looking gun. She had no idea what model or caliber it was, only that he looked entirely comfortable assembling it. He was in the S.A.S., for God's sake, she reminded herself.

"I asked around," he said, rather evasively in her opinion. He wasn't even looking at her.

"No shit," she said. "Who did you speak to, Billy?"

Butcher finally glanced up at her. She knew then that she wasn't going to like whatever he was about to say.

"Your boss."

She covered her mouth with her hand, crossing her arms to keep herself from slapping him in the shoulder. For Becca's sake (she didn't want to raise any alarms by letting out a string of Spanish expletives), she kept her anger down to a low simmer.

"Are you fucking insane?" she whispered.

Butcher shot her a flat look. "For the record, this's why I told ya not to come."

"He could end you with a single word," she hissed. "You know that, right?"

Butcher met her glare with one of his own. "You're the one who seems to keep forgetting that little fact, not me. Oh, and speakin' of. You're definitely not fuckin' coming."

"I gathered that, from the plan I had no part in," she said dryly. "Despite the way you've been talking to me since the minute I got here, I'm not stupid. I know I'm a liability, and I'm not trying to blow my cover."

Helena looked away from him. Becca was still distracted with her gun.

"This may be my last chance to see her," Helena said, offering him a small smile, "before you whisk her off with Ryan and disappear into the sunset."

He snorted in response. "Yeah. A knight in shining fuckin' armor, am I?"

Helena frowned at him then. She didn't like what she saw in his hunched shoulders and the somewhat guarded expression on his face. Like he was hiding something.

"She wants to trust you, you know," she said. "Give yourself a chance to be the man I know you are."

Butcher's head tilted as he met her stare, studied her right back. He then cracked a familiar grin. "What's this supposed to be, a bloody Hallmark film?"

Helena's lips curved into a smile, despite her sigh. "You're such an ass."

I'm going to miss this, she realized. The ache in her heart was back, full force, of which she deftly ignored.

Soon, outside of the pawnshop in the parking lot, she said her goodbyes to Kimiko, Annie and the boys, and then Becca, holding her tight in a hug with over twenty years of friendship in the making.

"I love you, Hel," Becca said. Both of them were failing to hold back their tears. Kind of pitiful, really, but again, Helena didn't care. She would give up Becca if it meant knowing she was living a happy life. According to M.M., Mallory would ensure that Becca, Ryan, and Butcher could disappear safely.

"I know," Helena replied with a smirk. Becca laughed.

"Love you too," Helena added. She made a point to say it, so Becca really would know.

"Be careful," Becca warned her. "Get out of all this, as soon as you can."

Helena wasn't sure she could do that. She fulfilled her own goal of finding Becca and helped bring her back, in whatever small way. But Helena had been giving a lot of thought to all she could still do if she worked with M.M. and the rest of the team. Maybe this could be her way of doing something good; something that mattered.

She eventually watched Becca climb into the car. After which, she finally looked up at Butcher. Though she wasn't sure what to say, or if there was anything to say. He had been a fucking nightmare of a man, in the most maddening, dangerous, yet charming, and strangely meaningful way. And she didn't know how to reconcile all of what that meant in her heart.

"See ya 'round, Hel," Butcher said eventually.

She smiled. Inside though, she was breaking. If this works, I won't. We won't.

She noticed the St. Christopher's medallion hanging from his neck, not for the first time. For all the shit he'd talked about not being a believer, he seemed to have a little bit of faith after all.

"Vaya con Dios," she replied, blinking past the next round of tears in her eyes.

He smirked. "I told you 'bout the bloody subtitles."

Butcher slid into the car, in the driver's seat. Not long after, Helena was the only one left standing in the parking lot next to her rental car.

And that really was the last time she saw Rebecca Butcher.