If you're wondering if I would be so bold as to have an entire scathing conversation with Homelander basically naked, then I assure you I am and I did.
"Aren't you going to put something on?" Even he wasn't aware of how fucking done I was with this entire world that he tried to make me a pawn in, but he'd learn oh would he fucking learn.
Leaning against the countertop, I crossed my arms and stared at him. "I feel comfortable in this," and that got him on his feet where he mirrored my stance. "You wanted to talk and you know what? I want to fucking talk it out too. After all, this will be the first fucking time you actually want to hear what I have to say - since you seem more than fucking happy with just making decisions about me, my life, my actual genetic fucking makeup and damn near everything else, without once speaking to me."
His mouth dropped open, but I wasn't sure he wanted to speak and more importantly I didn't fucking care if he did.
"So, oh mighty one, let me assure you that had you actually sat down and acted like a NORMAL fucking person and ASKED me if I wanted to - I don't know, have your fucking baby implanted in me - resounding fucking NOOOO!" And now that I was letting shit out, I went full frontal, so to speak. "You know, it isn't your creepy as fuck breastfeeding kink, or the fact that you probably are the most active and effective fucking peeping Tom in the history of the goddamn world that would keep me from even considering you as a potential mate. It's your fucking certainty that you are somehow better than EVERY FUCKING ONE." Taking a breath, I started back in. "Not just humans, oh no, not just regular fucking human beings, but actually you think you are a fucking GOD and that every single being on the goddamn planet - or maybe if there's life on other planets it should include the fucking universe - and that we should all just fucking BOW TO YOUR GREATNESS! Well, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you deciding what's fucking best or worst, or whatever and I'm sick of you getting to push my life completely off course just because you think that you could MAKE me into the perfect fucking baby incubator -" my vision was blurred and I made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob and stopped. Damn it.
"Veronica," he was quiet, too fucking quiet considering just how fucking angry I'd been and it had all come crashing out onto him. "I - I'm sorry." I pulled the edge of the towel I'd tucked in to make my version of a toga free and wiped my eyes. I hated showing weakness, but I definitely hated showing it here, with him.
"Yeah, well that and a dollar gets you nothing here." And I moved to leave the bathroom, but I forgot that I was sharing space with someone who had no fucking concept of personal space or reading the room he'd invaded - so I shouldn't have been shocked when his hands pulled me into his chest, but I was surprised that he simply held me as I pounding my own hands against it and sobbed. Grieving every single thing and person I was losing, and would lose, all because I wasn't me anymore.
And he just fucking held me. Just let me let it all out and held me while I cried and smacked, wearing myself out, and running out of steam far too fucking early for my liking. Then, once I seemed finished with my outburst, he made sure his hold on me was loose enough that I could pull free and wrap my towel tighter around myself.
"I am sorry," shaking my head. I didn't want to look up, but damn it I'm too curious and like to see people's faces when they're talking to me. He certainly learned how to mimic how one was supposed to look when they're theoretically sorry. "I am, and I hope that one day, sooner than later, you'll let me show you -"
"Show me? Show me that you're sorry?" He waited for me to either process what he was meaning or to let me get another surge of irritation so I could attack again - verbally of course, I wasn't entirely stupid. "I don't know if anyone has that much sorrow in their being, much less you."
"Didn't you just say that I think I'm better than everyone?" He shook his head and that's when I realized that I hadn't noticed how he was fucking dressed. "What?"
"What are you wearing?" I mean, I could SEE what he was wearing, but what the literal fuck?
"I'm wearing -" did he look uncertain? No, of course not, another act. "You asked why I was always wearing my uniform so I thought I'd try something different -" he tried to shrug, but it looked wrong.
"You're wearing a fucking baseball cap," not to mention jeans, a t-shirt, jeans, and were those fucking Nikes?
"I thought, if you could see me out of the uniform -" great, a flash of him sans clothing came to me, actually flickered over what he was currently wearing and I was irritated alright - that he didn't actually have panels that made him look like he had chiseled features. Fucker.
Wait, did I just - "What powers am I supposed to get -" but I didn't finish, not when my hand dropped through the countertop, chipping the marble like it was paper. "FUCK."