Home is where the heart is - unless it's my house right now. I'm pretty sure my heart has left my body and is lying somewhere in Siberia. But I can't focus on that while I do research in my empty house in silence after I finished two Hot Pockets and I'm not disclosing how much bourbon.
Taking another long pull from my glass, and realizing I've emptied it again, I reach for the bottle to find that it moved. I roll my head around in search of it and wonder when the fuck I moved it to the island - shaking off the irritation of having to get up, because I had to get up, I stood and the room spinned. And then nothing.
The good news was that I woke up in my own bed, in my own house, with the same clothing I wore to work - which did a lot to force down the first eruption of fear when my eyes fought to open. The bad news -
"Good morning, Dr. Taylor." The ONLY reason I didn't scream was because my head was throbbing, and ok, the fact that he wasn't actually IN bed with me was a close second reason. "Oh, yikes, does your head hurt?"
I couldn't have stopped my hands from clutching my temples if I tried. The throbbing was building and the sunlight blinding me from the open blinds wasn't exactly helping the situation. Then the light dimmed, slowly as if - I fought against the pain to reopen my eyes and sure enough there was a caped fucker slowly closing each one as he came to it. I hated the idea of being grateful to him for anything, but fuck if the darker the room became I didn't have a tiny little crumb of thankfulness that he could read a damn room and figure something out.
"There," I had to be imagining that he was moderating his fucking tone, cause the idea that he could try to be NICE to anyone, let alone ME was just fucking wrong. "Is that better?" I started to nod, but realized that that was going to make my fucking head explode, so I had to mutter an affirmative. "Good," the bed dipped at my feet and I chanced looking down and sure enough, there he was, cape flapped out behind him and his ass on my bed - fuck OUR bed, mine and Billy's. I would have rolled out, but I hate throwing up and I knew too much motion would have my head in the toilet again. "You drank too much last night."
No shit, Sherlock. My thoughts were fast, but my mouth was slow, it took awhile to get a word out, but a snort I managed.
"I tried to stop you," it wasn't as taunting as I expected, so I had to focus on him a little harder - surely - then the meaning behind his words hit me and I groaned. I knew I hadn't moved that fucking bottle.
Trying to sit up, I felt my stomach lurch. Fuck me, how do I show my irritation when I can't move with tossing the Hot Pocket all over my bed? Before I could open my mouth and offer him the same welcome he got from Joe, he leaned closer and sighed.
"You're feeling horrible," shaking his head the fucker tsked. "Lie back, Dr. Taylor - actually do you mind if I call you Veronica?" My mouth opened to tell him I minded a whole fuck ton, but he just went on as a megalomanic is want to do. "Veronica, I wanted so badly to help you, and then when you passed out -" he shrugged, what was a hero to do? Fucking shit.
Wait, did I - "Did you drug me?" Again, I almost added, but let's handle the issue at hand currently. His eyes went wide with what I imagined was feigned shock that I would think so little of him. "Did you?"
"Of course not," he waved off my concerns. "If I drugged you for nefarious purposes, why are you still dressed?" He was leaning closer, his weight on one of his red, white, and blue spangled elbows. "Although," I swear he had to be fucking with me with the whole wide eyed, conspiratorial bullshit he was playing in front of me. "I can't say I didn't enjoy holding you when I carried you in here -" his eyes drifted to my mouth and I shut it with a snap. "I could have done without the moaning for Billy -" eyes narrowing at the reminder, I guess, "and Joe." Oh, well that was unexpected.
Gathering my fucking thoughts, of which there were a LOT, I almost slapped my forehead. Work. Fuck. Throwing my blankets off and ignoring the spinning room as I shifted to the edge to get to my feet, I nearly screamed when his hand landed on my arm to stop me. "I called in for you," oh. My. God. "You were passed out," he offered, and whatever my face was doing must have been pretty impressive because he kept going. "And as the time crept ever closer for the time you usually get ready -"
"How fucking long have you been peeping on me?" For fuck's sake, there were supposed to be fucking protections in place so he COULDN'T anymore. "Let me up," I was gratified when he moved a little, but ruined the entire empowered woman thing when my legs wobbled and he had to catch me.
"Please," and my eyes almost fell out of my head hearing that word come out of that mouth. "Please, Veronica, sit down. If you try to get up again, I think you'll hurt yourself." And honestly I'm calling it shock, cause I have no clue what else it could be to make me take his words, in that order, and just do it. "There," he let out a breath as if he'd been holding it and smiled down at me. "Until you're willing to let me help you -" his eyebrow rose at the offer and the bile rose up my throat. "I thought you weren't there yet," his smile grew what I imagine might be considered soft for him.
I settled back against my pillows and watched him, but as everything came back into focus I realized I heard noises downstairs. As if the television were on and then a voice called up the stairs and my eyes went wide -
"Dad! Is it ok if I -" My eyes flashed to Homelander's and his smile grew.
"Sure, son, I'm sure Veronica won't mind," his eyes never left mine and the churning in my stomach grew heavier. "I found Ryan," no shit, clearly. "And I thought where best to bring him than -" And that my friends was the final straw, I turned my head and was actually very fucking happy about one damn thing from this entire morning - for a guy who could fly, shoot lasers out of his eyes, and lift buildings, he had the reflexes of a fucking sloth when it came to me emptying out my entire stomach contents all over his shoes.