16: Chiquita Banana

Helena stayed with Ryan and Grace that night. She didn't feel right about leaving just yet, and selfishly, maybe she wasn't ready to go home alone to an empty house.

In the morning, Grace stepped out; likely to arrange keeping an eye on whatever Butcher and the rest of his team were about to do in their quest to find the weapon that killed Soldier Boy.

Helena stayed with Ryan. Though part of her was still a little wary, remembering the flash of red in his eyes, she willed herself to remember that he was just a kid, dealing with overwhelming emotions and powers—neither of which he could altogether control.

He sulked like the child he was at the kitchen table, where she brought over breakfast for them: a ham and cheese omelet for each. He poked his fork into it without much enthusiasm.

"What's wrong?" she asked, digging into her own breakfast.

He didn't seem to want to answer at first, but he eventually replied, "I like scrambled eggs better."

Helena let out a breath. So she'd slaved away for nothing. Cool.

"Cut it up with your fork," she encouraged. "It's the same thing."

Ryan remained quiet in his sulkiness. He nibbled at the cheesy eggs, but she wondered if he was acting like this just to spite her, or the world in general. But, she reminded herself to be patient. She knew he was still upset, after what happened yesterday.

"Just eat a little bit. Like half of it, and I'll be happy," she tried.

"I don't like it," Ryan replied, more testily. "I don't have to eat it."

Helena's brows furrowed. If she'd responded that way to her parents, she would've gotten a slap in the mouth. Or at least, she would've gotten the plate taken away and would've had to fend for herself until lunch.

"Well, I'm not making anything else," she warned.

"I didn't ask you to!" Ryan said.

"Hey, I don't need the attitude, okay?" Helena said. "If you're gonna be that way, you can just chill out in your room."

Ryan looked up at her with an angry little frown. "You can't ground me. You're not my mom!"

Helena smarted at that. Her lips pursed, and she did her best to hide the flash of hurt that hit her between the ribs. Something told her she wasn't successful, however, when Ryan froze. His anger dimmed, into what looked like guilt and dejection, before his gaze fell.

It softened Helena's heart. She sighed, even as melancholy pricked at her as well.

"I thought we were on the same page there," she said, and slowly reached out to touch his hand. "Ryan, I know you tried to help save your mom. I don't blame you for what happened, and neither does Billy."

Ryan's lower lip wobbled. His eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah, he does."

Helena moved her chair over to slide beside his. She grasped his hand again in comfort.

"He says truly awful things when he's angry," she said. "But trust me, he didn't really mean it. He cares about you."

Ryan shook his head, and a tear fell down his cheek. "I don't believe you."

She wiped at his face with a tender thumb.

"Well, do you believe that I care about you?" she asked. "You're right. I'm not your mom…but you know I'm your friend, right?"

A few more tears fell down the boy's face. She continued to comfort him with wordless tenderness. Finally, she was rewarded with Ryan's sad blue eyes turning apologetic.

"Sorry…for what I said," he whispered.

Helena smiled. Emotion shone in her eyes as she pulled him into a hug and brushed her fingers through his hair.

"It's okay, bud. I forgive you," she said. "One day, I hope you can forgive Billy too."

On a jet soaring full speed towards the frozen depths of Russia, M.M. sat across from Butcher, who was trying and failing to get some sleep, like everyone else.

"You've got some fucking nerve," said M.M., even though the other man didn't speak at first.

M.M. wasn't deterred.

"I know you're awake, motherfucker."

Butcher eventually sighed through his nose. His eyes cracked open and glanced back at M.M.

"Who could sleep with a creepy arsehole watchin' him?"

"Don't get cute with me, you know what the fuck you did," M.M. replied icily. A moment of tense silence passed in between them, in which neither man wanted to budge, despite knowing exactly what M.M. was talking about.

In the end, one couldn't stand the other's cowardice.

"You bite every motherfuckin' hand that feeds you," M.M. snapped, leveling a finger. "You know damn well that they could be your family."

"Who?" Butcher scoffed, despite knowing the answer full well.

"Hel and Ryan," M.M. said. His voice was sharp and accusing. "If you just let yourself have half a heart, for half a goddamn second…but no. You just gotta go and let them down in the worst possible way… Now, I may have my own shit going on, but that's the most self-destructive bullshit I've ever seen."

Butcher didn't have a good answer, and they both knew it. He was an asshole, and he was the first to admit it. But he'd made a choice now, and there was no going back. In just a few hours, they'd reach the compound where, supposedly, there was a weapon capable of killing the strongest supe alive.

A few days later, Helena sat in the living room in the safe house with her mouth hung open. She was watching the evening news, and a building in New York City was leveled, killing 19 people. The traffic cameras had been able to zoom in on the culprit.

Of course, it was a supe. Bearded and scruffy, but that face was unmistakable. She'd seen reel after reel of it—from fake documentaries to old movies and music videos.

Soldier Boy…

She took a breath.

What the fuck?!

"Shit," said Grace. "What the fuck did Butcher do now?"

Helena almost forgot that the woman was sitting beside her. She turned to her boss, still in shock. Grace leveled her with a look.

"Do not contact Butcher, or M.M., or any of them," she instructed. "We're going to monitor the situation, but do not engage."

She stood and went into the foyer to find her purse and phone. Helena followed her in confusion.

"What good will that do?" she asked incredulously. Worry was starting to take root as she considered all the possibilities of how Soldier Boy could be alive, and running loose on New York City with a nuclear bomb in his chest. "They could be dead!"

Grace huffed. "I doubt it. But our priority is keeping Ryan safe, and as far from this as possible."

Helena could understand that, but as angry as she still was at Butcher…she couldn't just forget him. Not to mention the rest of her friends.

"What're you going to do?" Helena asked.

"Vought replaced Soldier Boy with Homelander after his disappearance," Grace explained. "It wouldn't be difficult to pit one against the other—a factor I'm sure Butcher's already considering. Now, I'm not taking any chances. Stay here while I work out where we'll move Ryan next."

Helena agreed. That didn't mean she liked the game plan. Yes, she was here to protect Ryan, but it killed her not to take out her phone and make sure Butcher and her friends were at least still alive…

"What's going on?" Ryan asked, after the front door shut behind Grace. He came out of his room, rubbing his eyes. Already they could hear her car peeling off.

"It's late, honey. Go back to sleep," said Hel. Ryan shook his head. He watched what was still being broadcast on TV with widening eyes.

Helena cursed and shut it off, but when she turned back to her charge, she knew she was going to spend the next hour answering difficult questions.

"Who's Soldier Boy?" he asked.

Grace had given Helena access to the CIA's surveillance mainframe as part of her job, and for the next couple of days, she used it to try and find both Butcher and Soldier Boy. She had a feeling that if she found one, she'd find the other.

Eventually, her scouring paid off. She watched with widening eyes as Crimson Countess's bungalow went up in flames. She was a powerful supe and a former member of Payback, and if memory served you, she had also been Soldier Boy's longtime girlfriend.

So much for a loving reunion, Helena thought, as the cameras picked up a shot of the man himself, walking away from the wreck. He was no longer so scruffy. He'd cleaned up the beard, gotten a trim, and now sported his old army green super suit.

How the fuck did he get that back? she wondered. Vought would've claimed ownership of his suit, and she doubted he was checking in with home base without frying it up with that new nuclear power of his…

Helena thought back to who was in power at Vought back in the '80s. Before Madelyn Stillwell, the Senior VP of Hero Management was "The Legend." AKA: Rick Evans.

Helena had never met him, but she knew him by reputation. According to Madelyn, he'd tried to fuck his way through the Hollywood productions he'd put on, and lived vicariously through the supes he'd managed. He'd taken pride in much of his job, at least at the time, keeping various "trophies" and memorabilia as part of his legacy.

It was possible that he'd kept Soldier Boy's suit…and what were you going to do if a rogue supe showed up at your front door?

You're gonna give him whatever the hell he wants, Helena surmised. She tapped her chin and considered doing something she knew she wasn't supposed to do.

But Ryan was asleep. It gave her leeway to grab her phone and step out of the house for a moment, into the backyard. And she made a call.

"Hello?" Annie's stressed voice answered the phone.

Relief flooded Helena at the sound of her voice. "Oh my God, I'm so glad you're all right."

"Define all right," she scoffed humorlessly.

"Who's that?" Helena heard M.M. in the background. It relieved her even more.

"Helena," Annie replied.

Suddenly, M.M.'s voice was clearer on the line. "I'm gonna kill your boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend," Helena corrected. Her tone was even drier than Annie's. She knew now that Butcher was definitely responsible for this latest snafu…but she couldn't help but defend him a little. "You know why he's doing this."

M.M. made a sound of pure frustration. "Damn it, Hel! He knew what this meant for me, that motherfucker!"

Helena's eyes widened.

"And what does it mean for you?" she asked.

There was a moment of hesitation. She waited, though her stomach began to churn, for whatever was coming next.

"Soldier Boy killed my grandfather," M.M. replied. "My father dug himself into an early grave trying to prove it."

Helena reeled, sitting down heavily on the bench in the back porch. "I…I'm so sorry, M.M."

"Butcher don't give a shit. Just like he doesn't give a shit about you."

At that, her spine tightened. Her expression fell into a terse frown.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"Wake the fuck up, Helena. He might care, with what's left of his black, fucked up heart. But at the end of the day, he's choosing Homelander over everything. Everyone," M.M. says. "Including you."

In her anger, she hung up the phone. And yet, despite her frustration and denial, she would be lying if M.M. hadn't just slapped her with one of her worst fears and suspicions. She knew then, however, that she had to do something.

She had to leave.

When Grace returned in the evening, she tried to talk Helena out of her decision.

"Don't be an idiot," were her exact words.

"I can't let Billy destroy himself," Helena said. "If I sit by, I'm letting it happen."

"It's going to happen whether you go to him or not," Grace warned. "All that changes is you getting caught in the crossfire."

Helena pursed her lips, but before she could snap a reply, Ryan came bounding to stop her at the door. His face was crumpled with worry, and already the threat of tears.

"D-Don't go," he said, holding onto her arm. It wasn't the angry, demanding hold he'd tried to stop Butcher with, but it was desperate and pleading. It broke Helena's heart.

She turned and took his face in her hands and gave him sincerity.

"I'm not leaving you, Ry," she said. "This is just something I have to do."

"But that means you are leaving," he insisted, sniffling when his tears bubbled over.

Her eyes stung, but she couldn't let herself crumble. She caressed his cheeks and wiped his tears.

"Remember what I told you about protecting the people you care about?" she asked.

He reluctantly nodded. "But you don't have powers. You could get hurt."

Grace gave Helena a pointed look, but the latter ignored her.

"I can't promise I'll be safe," Helena said at last. "I just need you to be brave right now. And I promise, I'll do whatever it takes to get back to you, okay?"

Ryan didn't want to agree, but after a moment, he nodded. Helena smiled a little and pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in her stomach and held on tight, but not tight enough for her to feel his strength. She sifted her fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Thank you for being brave," she said. Her next words were for Ryan, but also for Grace. "If you need me, you have my cell."

With the CIA tracking the street cameras, it didn't take Helena long to find Butcher's location: a motel in the middle of nowhere in their slow descent back towards New York. It did take her a few hours to find it, and she hoped she didn't miss them.

Sure enough, however, when she knocked on the door of Room 12, he opened the door with a look of shock slackening his features. She had braced herself for this moment, but goddamn it, the sight of him still stirred her heart. Even in that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked.

With that, Helena steeled her protective walls, both mental and emotional. She cast her sardonic gaze up at him and pushed past him on her way into the motel room. Her eyes fell on Hughie next. He looked a bit worse for wear, like he hadn't slept in a couple of days, but he smiled incredulously and went over to give her a hug.

"Hel? What…how'd you find us?" he said.

"You know we all technically work for the CIA, right?" she quipped. She patted his back and soon pulled away. Her attention was drawn to yet another man in the room, sitting at the small round table with a host of junk food, prescription drugs, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. His shoulders were broad, draped with a blue New York Giants jersey.

He was already eying her with familiar interest, and a growing smirk on his bearded face. A strong jaw, paired with short brown hair that swept to the side… She could admit, he was handsome in a rugged, likely dangerous way.

(Because that wasn't her type at all.)

Helena sighed internally. Yet another supe she'd have to contend with.

"You must be Soldier Boy," she said.

"And who're you?" he asked. His voice was deep, his eyes were dancing with flirtation as they checked her out from breast to toe. She rolled her eyes.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, squeezing. She turned to see Butcher's steely frown.

"Again, what the hell are you doing here?"

It sparked her anger like a wildfire. She couldn't say, I'm here to stop your ungrateful dumb ass, because that would mean having to speak to him before he apologized—not only for what he'd said, but for how he'd left.

She knew she couldn't hold her breath on that one, so she settled for a consolation prize.

She stopped hard on his foot with the heel of her boot. Butcher was surprised enough to take the hit with a muttered curse and a grunt. He was forced to lean back on the nearby dresser.

"Forgot to give you this last time," she bit out.

He was now bent over low enough for her to reach his face, with a slap that rang painfully throughout the room. Even Hughie flinched and hissed in sympathy when Butcher's face snapped to the side, with another pained grunt.

Slowly, he chanced on turning back to her, though he braced himself for another hit. She was vibrating with fury.

"You lied to me. You lied to M.M. and… Hell, you lied to my father," she ticked off on each finger. "Yeah, I think that pretty much sums it up."

She heard a snort of amusement, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Soldier Boy smirking even harder. He just seemed amused by the whole scene.

"You done?" Butcher asked dryly, though his voice was strained.

Helena thought about it. She touched her chin in contemplation and crossed her arms.

"Yeah," she said dismissively. She turned her back on him and addressed the other two men.

"Sorry. I don't consider myself hot-tempered," she said airily. Behind her, Butcher scoffed. "But it seems brute strength and violence is all this man understands."

Soldier Boy's smile was all amusement and charm as he gave her yet another once over.

"Looks like you pack a fucking punch, sweetheart."

She internally grated at the "sweetheart" remark, but she chose to let it go, for her own sanity. She gave him a tight smile and turned back to Butcher and Hughie.

"Can I have a word?"

In the small, and likely roach-infested bedroom, Butcher and Hughie (mostly the latter) explained the outline of their plan: Soldier Boy wanted to get revenge on the rest of his old team for selling him to the Russians in '84. They promised to help him find them. In return, he'd agreed to kill Homelander.

Helena aimed her first question at Hughie, knowing it'd be senseless to ask Butcher about his morals at this stage.

I sure know how to fucking pick 'em.

"So you're just, all right with facilitating cold-blooded murder?" she asked. Hughie seemed to deflate a bit with a tremor of internal conflict. He didn't have an easy answer for her.

Trust Butcher to supply the justification.

"It ain't exactly cold-blooded if they have it coming," Butcher said.

"You're not helping your damn case," Helena replied dryly. "M.M. filled me in. Need I remind you that this guy put Kimiko in the hospital. And leveled a building in Midtown for God knows what reason."

She lowered her voice even more as she spoke. "He's been imprisoned and tortured for 40 years. And you want to let him loose on the world like a nuke on Hiroshima!"

"Not the whole world," Soldier Boy chimed in from the living room. Helena cringed a bit.

Goddamn that super hearing, she thought with a grimace. Still, she took a breath and went back into the living room, where Soldier Boy was sitting on the couch, channel surfing on the TV. He glanced up at her when she came in, followed by Butcher and Hughie.

"Just my old friends," the supe added. "And I'll even do you the favor of taking out my bullshit competition. Who I'm thinking is a major thorn in your side."

"And what happens when you're done with them?" she countered.

Soldier Boy sighed and turned off the TV. He smoothly got up from his seat. His gait was languid as he made his way over to her. Like Butcher, the man was tall and broad. She saw the power in his stance, somehow both controlled and lazy. He was also much taller than her. He looked down on her with a smug curve to his lips.

"Oh, I plan to take a long-deserved vacation," he said. "You'll be lucky if you ever see me again, baby doll."

Helena wasn't sure she believed him, but it looked like her work was once again cut out for her. Butcher was going to go through with this. She'd seen it in his eyes when he explained this shit plan. She'd just have to figure out a way to pull his ass out of the fire, before it was too late.

Soldier Boy distracted Helena from her thoughts, however, when he reached out to thumb at her chin, raising her face up to his.

"What's your name, by the way?" he asked. His head quirked slightly.

"Helena." She guided his hand away with her own, but in one smooth motion, he'd taken her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

"The face that launched a thousand ships," he teased. "I like it."

"That was Helen," she replied, subtly tugging her hand out of his. "You know, of Troy."

But the bitch of the bunch was, she was actually blushing.

Grandad's got game, she thought, even after 40 years in a frozen coffin. Though after glancing to the side, she nearly smirked at the way Butcher frowned, but was otherwise carefully stoic. He stared hard at the supe.

"Close enough," Soldier Boy quipped.

Helena quirked a brow at him. She tensed a bit when he pushed his luck, brushing his hand down the side of her neck. She had to choose her next move with care; she knew Soldier Boy's reputation with women, but she'd also learned how to deal with massive egos at Vought.

However, didn't he just explode his girlfriend yesterday?

Ex-girlfriend, at this point. Helena nearly rolled her eyes at herself. She'd become far too desensitized.

"You didn't come all this way just to pop me a few good ones," Butcher remarked.

It earned Helena's attention away from Soldier Boy's flirtatious eyes and provocative touch, and she cautiously took a step back from the supe.

She predicted the annoyed frown that marred his face, but she was pleasantly surprised that he let her create some space between them. Some supes weren't that good with rejection.

"On the contrary. That's exactly why I tracked you down, other than confirming a little something," she replied.

"What's that?" Butcher asked.

She turned back to Soldier Boy for a moment, holding up a finger.

"Excuse me," she said. She sensed, more than saw the way his eyes followed her as she slid by him. She grasped Butcher's arm and wordlessly implored him to follow her into the bedroom again.

Once they had the semblance of privacy, she let go of his arm, but grasped the edge of his jacket.

"Are you still mainlining Compound V?" she demanded to know.

Butcher met her gaze. "Temporary V."

She didn't know it, but he had a few vials in his pocket. He and Hughie would have to take a dose before they headed up to Vermont, to track down the T&T Twins.

"You know that shit is poison, right? Untested poison," she said. "I saw the plans for its production when I was still at Vought. They were ironing out the kinks when I left. Fun things like bleeding out of the mouth an anus."

"Well, can confirm it's improved a bit since then," Butcher said. "But not by much."

Helena gaped at him, her brows furrowing.

"You're such an asshole!" she hissed.

Butcher spread his arms wide. "What the fuck do you want from me, huh?"

"The truth!" she snapped. She stepped closer into Butcher's orbit, until he was forced to look down at her, and meet her eyes, though he first glanced at her full lips. Even now, the air between them crackled with energy.

"You lashed out at me and Ryan because things were getting serious," Helena said. "But God forbid you care about anyone else besides your vendetta."

He stared at her in tense silence.

You don't really love me, she'd accused, despite the fact that neither one of them had said those words. And yet, she'd taken solace in the fact that he'd stayed with her. That his actions, for a year, had told her that he loved her.

Looking at him now, she wasn't certain.

"This is your chance to say something worthwhile," she said.

Butcher let out a breath. "I can't give you what you want."

Her lips pursed, and she fought against the sting of tears in her eyes.

"Yeah, you can," she said, reaching for his hand. "Life is choices, Billy. Just choices."

Butcher looked down at her hands holding onto his right one; a hand that had committed atrocities just this morning.

He let her go.

"Go home, love," he said. "Before you get yourself in deep."

Her face fell, into anger. "I'm not leaving."

"We are," Butcher said. "And you're not fucking tagging along."

Helena made a sound of pure frustration as she outlined her hands around his bastard head.

"God so help me, if you try to tell me what to do one more fucking time–"

Butcher grabbed her wrist and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

Before she could pull away, he'd cuffed her to the bedroom doorknob. She gasped at him in shock.

"You'll just have to put a pin on that one 'til the cleaning crew comes around," he quipped, with a smirk that made her lunge at him.

Butcher evaded her grasp and smoothly walked out of the door, leaving Helena fuming. She heard Hughie and Butcher arguing about leaving her behind, then Soldier Boy chiming in that she could be some much needed entertainment. (She glowered at that one.)

Butcher argued firmly on their leaving.

Soon enough, she heard the door slamming closed, and the sound of a car engine coming to life before it peeled away.

She yanked her wrist against the doorknob, making the door itself swing forward and backward. It was a fruitless effort.

Fuck!

And yet, she smirked in grim satisfaction. Butcher could run, but she would catch him. She'd put a tracker in his car, and an audio bug under the front seat.

In the car headed for Vermont, Soldier Boy chuckled in the backseat.

"You hooked up with that?" he said. His gaze met Butcher's through the rearview mirror.

"I mean, I get the appeal. She's got more ass than the fucking Chiquita Banana lady," he said with a grin. "But if you ask me, that broad needs one of two things: a goddamn leash, or a good fuck."

At that, Butcher sharpened.

"Ain't nobody asking you," he said tersely.

Soldier Boy's amusement deepened with his smirk. His hands rubbed down the length of his thighs. Butcher knew that the supe was picturing doing just what he said.

"Hm. With that mouth, I'll bet she's a little wildcat," Soldier Boy remarked.

Butcher's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. And yet, he remained silent. He'd struck a tenuous deal with this supe. He couldn't have Soldier Boy flying off the handle.

If he decided he didn't need Butcher or Hughie to find the rest of his asshole team, there wasn't too much they could do to stop him, even with the strength of V24 coursing through their veins.

That required Butcher to control his temper, and therefore his tongue.

Hughie was disgusted, not to mention angry on Helena's behalf. She was his friend, and he couldn't believe Butcher of all people was letting this guy talk about her like that.

Meanwhile, Butcher glanced at his passenger. He read the look of incredulity, then the disappointment in Hughie's eyes.

No, it was worse than disappointment. Butcher knew what he was, what he'd become.

You're a goddamn joke.