𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗥 | the boys 2

𝘪𝘹) 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Rowan tucked a strand of her hair into her hood as the night air sent a fit of quivers down her spine. It wasn't extremely cold outside, but she was so exhausted after the whole 'Lucy The Whale' affair that her state was instantly exacerbated. Butcher had encouraged her to wrap up before they headed out - plus, they were still wanted as fuck, so hoods were ideal for hiding their faces. Given the nature of their blood-soaked clothes, he also advised she start to wear all black, like him, so the stains weren't as visible.

The pair of them walked along the small memorial outside the building belonging to Stormfront's victims - but nothing for Kenji, the supe terrorist, of course. She remembered Noah mentioning her funeral before and wondered what exactly went on - she'd never really been to one before. Hundreds of candles sat beneath the stars, burning the surface of her glossy, bloodshot eyes as her arm hooked around one buried beneath the coat and hoodie beneath it; she was getting gradually taller and almost seemed her own age. It was notable she was now as tall as Butcher's shoulder because it turned out to be quite comfortable for her to lean her head against, and prompted him to pull her a little closer as they strolled towards the woman she knew to be Grace Mallory - former director of The Boys and their only C.I.A. ties since Raynor's... passing.

Rowan and Butcher stood by her for a second, looking over cards and messages before Mallory sighed,"Did I ever tell you about my recurring dream? I'm on stage, alone, at Carnegie Hall - the audience is made up of every poor bastard who got killed by the superheroes."

She didn't know whether to believe this woman or not, creasing her face slightly as her head pulled away from him,"What are they doing?" She murmured curiously.

"Watching. Waiting for me to do something."

"We hit a dead end on Raynor." Butcher admitted,"I'm sorry."

"Christ, I don't want to hear sorry. Sorry's not an option." She retorted. She found it fascinating how Grace was almost smiling, but so clearly devastated at the same time. Her expression was almost reminiscent of times when they didn't endure such hurt,"We can't have anonymous, skull-exploding assassins walking around. What if they hit the speaker next? Or the President?" She reached into her coat and pulled out one of the ambiguous files before handing it to Butcher.

He curiously opened the envelope and unveiled an article on a supe named 'Liberty' with an ominous hood and dark mask hidden beneath it. "Liberty?" He read aloud,"You mentioned her before."

"Second tier supe - active in the 70's, she was all over Susan's private server." She informed them,"Get Marvin to talk to this Liberty. Address is on the back - North Carolina."

"Alright, let's see what we can find." Butcher led Rowan away from her, an arm instinctively resting around her shoulder, only to be stopped as Mallory called after them,"What?"

She held out a small slip of paper between the three of them, talking considerably quieter,"I found Becca. Or, at least, our best guess at where she is - Vought facility, armed to the teeth. It won't be easy."

"I can help." Rowan cut in, earning a shared, pitiful smile from both the adults.

"We had a deal, I didn't come through." He pointed out, as if he didn't deserve it.

"Jesus, Butcher I'm just giving it to you." Grace sighed,"It's my fault you stopped looking for her. I put a target on Homelander's back and pointed you right at him. I didn't know Becca was still..." She paused, prompting memories of the lady who'd stared her down with such intrigue to flood back. It had been less than a minute when Becca Butcher was in her sights - but she could remember it like she'd been watching for hours. Mallory took a deep, refreshing breath of the cool, evening air,"It'd be good to have one less person in that audience staring at me."