While I would have LOVED to rush in and nabbed Ryan to bring him home with us, that wasn't exactly doable. For one, Billy wasn't quite ready for that just yet. Not after a full night of my back being turned to him, my anger radiating like waves at him, and me being shut down from our usual evening activities - no, we had to make up first and foremost.

Billy Butcher had needed intimacy - at least my kisses to keep him focused and free from rushing headlong into attack mode when we learned that Stormfront was most definitely NOT the mysterious headpopper. He'd shown me, after we both spent time learning how to coexist and work together - building tension that no doubt could be seen by the densest of the dense - that he wanted me even when he didn't need to use me JUST as a distraction.

I'd seen how he could be when he felt territorial. The night of that damn date with the LAST man who would ever get to BUY a date with me would burn bright in my memory banks for a very long time. And I knew how I could forget dinner just to taste HIM.

But this? Finding our way back to one another after we truly had a battle of wills, after I shut him out and turned my back on him? This was an intimacy that both of us came into knowing that we had to prove to the other that we were all in and that we BOTH had to show that we knew it meant a give and take.

We went inside, taking the chance that Terror's snores wouldn't throw us off our game TOO badly, but in all honesty we wanted to be in our bed - inside our house.

Slower, softer, calmer - we took our time - taking one another's clothing off, appreciating every inch of skin that was bared. Reminding one another of every reason that we loved each other - through words and actions. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen Billy look so soft - not bodily, that was just as BILLY as always, but his eyes and his touch. The way he traced my curves, the way he said my name - soft, quiet, almost as if he was praying and I could only reciprocate.

By the time we came together, truly joined and fully bare, I felt like we had finally truly seen EVERYTHING - that nothing was left to expose - that William "Billy" Butcher and Veronica "Ronnie" Taylor knew one another better than they ever had. And maybe now we could finally move past any hiccups and insecurities - maybe now, our eyes locked on one another's - we TRULY believed in one another.

Mornings got back to our normal routine, so did our workdays. We returned to the meetings with supes - because as MM and the others found those listed in our files, we had to check in - either in person or via virtual meetings. Terror was doing well with my parents, we were luckily dodging the need for that damn salve from the vet - and we'd talked Mom out of buying MORE additions for his playroom.

Sunday rolled around and I felt sick. Not only because we hadn't come to a decision, not a final one anyway, about Ryan, but actually physically ill. FUCK. I could hardly roll out of bed, much less get up and dressed to go with Billy for the visit.

"Ya can't go," Billy was staring down at me with enough concern to make me want to die. "Ronnie ya look like death," glaring up at him he chuckled. "Gorgeous death, but death nonetheless."

I groaned. "I have to go," moving hurt, from the soles of my feet to the tips of my hair, it felt like I was on fire. "I'm not steaming, am I?"

He shook his head, but looked MORE concerned. "No, why?"

"Because I FEEL like I should be," another groan and I pushed my face into my pillow. "Everything hurts." It was muffled, but I figured he could make it out.

"I can stay home," ugh, no. "Ronnie, ya can't stay alone."

Peeking out, I rolled my eyes. "I'll live," sighing, I had to force him to go. "Ryan's expecting us - YOU, Billy." He wanted to argue, I knew it. "GO, please?"

"Let me call someone," I considered it, who - "Yer mum?"

"They've got that thing -" his turn to groan. "Just go, I'll be fine."

"Ya can't get outta bed," he shook his head and grabbed his phone. "Give me a minute."

Frenchie and Kimiko were going to keep me comfortable - MM and his wife were out of town with their little girl and Hughie and Annie were off doing whatever Hughie and Annie ran off and did. All I planned on doing was sleep, possibly lay and contemplate how horrible I felt when I couldn't sleep - so I could have given a shit who was keeping me comfortable or company.

Billy kissed my forehead before he left and PROMISED me he'd keep his cool, visit with Ryan and NOT make waves. Honestly, I just wanted quiet and peace. He could have said he was planning on kidnapping Ryan, beating the shit out of the male half of his guard, knocking Miss Whatsherface out, and nuking the neighborhood and I would have agreed.

Frenchie and Kimiko kept Terror occupied downstairs, after Frenchie assured me he'd check in to see if I needed anything during the day - and then blissful quiet.

The flames of hell have to be cooler than the fever I was feeling. And pain, dear GOD the aches, body and otherwise, because I still didn't know how my HAIR could hurt. Exhaustion took over and I passed out - thankful for the quiet, but wishing like fuck that I could also have some relief from the heat and pain.

Have you ever gone to sleep - whether sick or not - and had a dream that made you go "wait a fucking minute" because it made you question what you were going through in reality? If you haven't, congratulations, that kind of dream is both irritating and fucking creepy as hell. When I drifted off, achy and feeling like someone had doused me in lighter fluid then flicked a BIC, I had nothing on my mind other than "sleep, glorious, sleep". My brain, however, had different fucking plans.

Out cold, without the coolness sadly, all the conversations I'd had with ALL the labrats, doctors, and other weirdos that I'd come across during my time after Homelander had decided to play "let's shoot Ronnie up with my little swimmers AND some funky ass self destruct variant". Warnings about future pregnancies, birth control options, and all the ways I nearly died weaved into the dream that flickered through my fevered brain.

Every birth control method has a percentage of failure - we ALL know this, it's not like it's hidden. When Homelander, the caped asshole, chose to play GOD with my body, he fucked up my genetic makeup - while eventually Grace's group had gotten me "fixed" there were still issues to worry about. Issues that were reason enough to fear a future pregnancy - hence the birth control option topic. I'd used the shot method for as long as I could. Who wouldn't? It was the less mess less fuss method, plus, if you were lucky (I was), it meant you were menses free until you went OFF it.

We had sat down, me and the labrats, and worked out the odds. The shot seemed to be logical - condoms were a given too, but again, those were easily forgotten or one tiny hole AND - One by one we shot down the other options, until the shot was what was left. But what if - what if we were WRONG?

I woke up when the bed dipped, my eyes were burning and I still ached, but the fire had died down a touch.

"Hey," Billy was back, his hand - always hotter than me felt cool on my forehead. "You still feel hot."

"I know I'm hot," he chuckled. "How was Ryan?"

"Still needy," he laid down beside me and pulled me close. "Are you sure -"

Nodding, I snuggled into him. "About Ryan?" His lips brushed my forehead. "Yeah."

"Then we get ya better and we start plannin'," I sighed, now I just had to -

"There's -" clearing my throat, dry from sleep and lack of hydration, I smiled when he reached out and a bottle of water appeared in his hand. Helping me up, he held it while I drank. "Thank you," licking a drop from my lip, I sighed. "I need a pregnancy test."