Chapter Text
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the tall curtains of Victoria’s living room, casting gold light across the couch where Zoe sat perched with her knees tucked up. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her sweatshirt, her lips pressing together as if she was holding something in too tightly.
“Sorry for asking again,” Zoe finally murmured, eyes flicking toward her mother. “But… I’m still getting the shots, right? The Compound V?”
Victoria froze in the act of stirring sugar into her coffee. The spoon clinked too loudly against the porcelain. “Zoe—”
“It’s just—” Zoe pressed on, her voice trembling but determined, “—it’s because of your career, isn’t it? You’re running, and you’ll be… everywhere. And people already want to kill Mel. Because of what they made her do when she was a teenager.”
The air between them thinned.
Victoria’s throat tightened. She set the cup down slowly, her hands folding in her lap. Zoe’s wide eyes searched her face, waiting, and demanding.
Mel had kept her promise, then. Told Zoe the truth. At least some of it.
Victoria forced herself to nod, smoothing her voice. “Yes. It’s about safety. Yours, mine… and Mel’s. And if I could shield you from ever needing it, I would. But this world won’t let me.”
Zoe’s lips trembled, but she nodded too, as if accepting her mother’s explanation because she had to.
Victoria reached over, cupping the back of her head, drawing her in. Zoe pressed her face against her mother’s chest, and Victoria stroked her hair gently, staring past her at the polished window. The reflection staring back wasn’t a congresswoman anymore. It was a candidate. And a mother trying to survive both.
The sound of the front door creaking open cut through the moment.
Victoria looked up just in time to see Mel stride into the house. Her boots thudding heavily on the hardwood, still marked with soot and grime. Her hair was messy, and her clothes disheveled. But the thing that stood out most was the cheap baseball cap perched on her head, blue brim, red-and-white stripes, stars across the crown. An American flag hat.
Her expression was bright. Wrongly bright.
Zoe blinked, pulling back from Victoria’s arms. “Mel?”
Victoria’s breath caught. There was something in her posture, in the strange energy clinging to her, brittle and manic, still humming from before. Victoria should’ve been unnerved. She was, in the corner of her mind. And yet… the sharpness, the confidence, the defiance in Mel’s body made something low and dangerous stir in her chest.
Mel grinned at them both. “Congratulations,” she drawled, sweeping the hat off her head and pressing it to her chest like a soldier saluting a commander. Her eyes locked on Victoria’s. “On being our first female and queer president.”
Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and kissed her.
Victoria’s heart lurched. Mel rarely made the first move. She was usually guarded, reluctant to reveal her wants. But now, now she kissed like she owned the moment, her hand catching Victoria’s jaw, her lips fierce and unapologetic.
And Victoria let herself sink into it. Happiness surged hot and reckless. She kissed her back with relief, with hunger, with a sense of victory that was as personal as it was political.
From the couch, Zoe’s giggle bubbled up. “Aww…” She clapped her hands together, her eyes wide with delight. But then she tilted her head, frowning. “Wait. I thought you were running for Vice President.”
The kiss broke.
Victoria’s lips were still parted, breath shallow. Mel was still smiling, her thumb brushing the edge of Victoria’s cheekbone before she let go.
“Oops,” Mel said sweetly, stepping back a half-pace. “My bad. Got a little confused.”
Her tone made it obvious she wasn’t confused at all.
Zoe, oblivious, burst out laughing. “You’re so silly,” she chirped, hopping off the couch and rushing over to wrap her arms around both of them. “But either way, you’re gonna win!”
Mel’s grin softened into something smaller as Zoe hugged them tight, though the glint in her eye remained.
Victoria looked over her daughter’s head at Mel. And in that second, she saw it clearly, the snap still simmering underneath, barely contained. The soldier who’d walked through fire and threats and blood, now standing in her kitchen in a flag cap, smiling like nothing could touch her.
And despite herself, Victoria felt it again. That pull. That danger. That heat.
The warehouse felt suddenly colder. Mel’s footsteps had long faded, leaving only the faint echo of her departure. The room smelled of dust, gun oil, and the faint tang of adrenaline, but it was the silence that pressed hardest.
Edgar stood in the center of the chaos, his hands folded loosely, an unreadable smirk curving his lips. The carnage she’d left in her wake, dead bodies, dented walls, shards of glass, didn’t faze him. He didn’t flinch at the residual blood on her clothing or the tiny cuts on her knuckles. He was calm. Bored, almost.
“Why the fuck is he smirking?” Butcher growled, pacing a tight circle in front of the crate he had been leaning on. His fists clenched until the knuckles whitened.
Edgar’s smirk widened. “She killed her own family,” he said, his voice smooth, like telling a story about someone else entirely. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Why she’s… useful. Why she’s what she is now. You think she’s dangerous to you? She’s built to be dangerous. And she chooses her targets.”
Kimiko’s fists unclenched slightly, but her eyes remained wary, darting between Frenchie and Hughie. Frenchie’s hands were at his sides, twitching as if he might strike out or step back at any moment. Hughie’s stomach churned; he ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Shit. I don’t even know which Mel to expect anymore…”
They all remembered what she had signed before leaving: Call me, assholes, if you care. That gesture, playful and biting, now lingered in their minds like a ghost of what they had glimpsed of her, loyal in her own twisted way, but untouchable, unpredictable.
Annie swallowed hard, glancing toward the door as though she half-expected Zoe to appear in the frame, clinging to Mel. Her heart twisted. Zoe shouldn’t have to see this. She shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.
Butcher’s fists slammed into a metal crate, a metallic clang reverberating through the warehouse. “Bloody hell, she’s untouchable and dangerous, and she’s playing all of us like it’s nothing!”
MM’s jaw tightened, and his voice was low but full of restrained anger. “That was no act, Butcher. That girl… she’s something else now. Not who she used to be. And if she decides we’re a problem…” He let the threat hang in the air.
Hughie sank onto a crate, feeling the weight of his uncertainty. Kimiko’s hands flexed, tension still coiled in her arms, but her eyes softened slightly at the thought that she had, in some small way, earned Mel’s trust. Frenchie let out a quiet sigh, knowing instinctively that none of them were prepared for what had just walked past that door.
Annie looked down at the floor, her teeth clenched. Her mind raced to Zoe, to Victoria, to everything Mel protected and how terrifyingly effective she could be when provoked. “She… she’s not predictable,” Annie whispered.
“No,” Hughie agreed, his voice tight, “and I don’t know what to expect anymore. I… I just don’t know.”
And somewhere in their heads, her parting sign, the promise, the joke, the warning, echoed louder than any threat: Call me, assholes, if you care.
Edgar was ushered into another room. Butcher leaned against a crate, his arms crossed, glaring at the others. “So… what now? We let her walk? Or do we press the bloody button?”
MM shook his head, his voice low and hard. “If we release it, if we push her, we know what happens. She doesn’t just get angry, she snaps. That girl doesn’t play fair. None of us walk away unscathed.”
Annie’s eyes flicked toward the empty doorway, her hands twisting together. “And what about Zoe? She’s in all of this, too. We can’t… we can’t risk her seeing Mel like that.” A brief pause. “Even if Zoe’s fine, I… I just can’t trust that she won’t get hurt emotionally. Or worse.”
Frenchie rubbed the back of his neck, leaning forward. “On the other hand, we know she saved our skins today. And… she does have a limit, n’est-ce pas? Maybe if we keep it measured, she stays… manageable.”
Kimiko’s eyes stayed fixed on the empty space Mel had vacated, her arms crossed. She signed something sharp, deliberate. Call her. Now. Frenchie translated slowly, furrowing his brows. “She… she wants to hear from us. But I dunno if it’s safe.”
Hughie chewed his lip, uncertainty wracking him. “I… I don’t know which Mel we’d be calling. The one who protects Zoe and Vic? Or the one who just tore through that facility?” His hands shook slightly. “What if she thinks it’s a trap?”
Annie let out a heavy breath, running a hand down her face. “Then we back off. If she’s anything like Homelander, if we push, she’ll just get violent. And that’s the last thing Zoe needs to see.”
Butcher slammed his fist on the crate again, making everyone jump. “We have leverage! Edgar’s the key. He’s Vought’s brain, their strings, their puppet master. If we get him to talk, or better, to go somewhere he doesn’t want to be, we take down the whole bloody operation. Supes, PR, money, the lot. And if Mel’s in the mix, she’s the weapon we never had before.”
MM leaned closer, his voice heavy. “We just need to make sure he sees sense. Keep him alive. Keep him thinking he’s in control. And then, when he’s… convenient, we use him. And if Mel’s in play, she keeps him in line. Or at least… keeps him contained enough to hurt Vought.”
Hughie frowned, rubbing his forehead. “So… basically, we’re sending her after Edgar again? Or… not sending, but expecting her to get him to do what we want?”
Frenchie nodded. “She will. But only if she decides it’s worth her time. And only if she trusts she’ll still have Vic and Zoe intact at the end of it.”
Annie groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She’s… too smart. She’s too unpredictable. And now she’s… different. The Mel we saw today? She’s… worse. Better. Stronger. And terrifying. She’s not just a tool anymore.”
Kimiko’s hands flexed, her gaze distant but sharp. She signed again: We can’t leave it. We have to track, monitor, and be ready. Frenchie added quietly, “Yes. We stay close, but careful. If she goes full Mel, we are… screwed.”
Hughie exhaled sharply. “I… I still don’t know which version of her will answer if we call. But… we have to try, right? For Zoe, for… I don’t know, keeping some control of this mess?”
Butcher’s grin was all teeth. “Right. Call her. But don’t be surprised if she smacks you for it. And mark my words, I want every angle covered. Edgar gets us to Homelander, and we slice through Vought from the inside. Mel keeps him in line, or we all die trying.”
MM’s voice was a growl under the low warehouse light. “And remember. The dead-man’s switch is real. If she snaps the wrong way… everything leaks. All of it. We don’t get second chances.”
Silence fell after that. The weight of the plan settled on everyone like a heavy blanket. None of them looked forward to what was coming. None of them could predict the girl who had just walked out the door, and yet, all of them knew that without her, they had almost no chance at all.
Zoe’s bedroom door clicked shut, leaving the house quieter than it had been all day. The soft hum of the evening settled over the kitchen, broken only by the faint clink of wine glasses as Mel and Victoria sat across from each other.
Mel swirled her glass, letting the deep red catch the light. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, and distant. “You know,” she said, her voice low, almost casual, “I could walk into Vought Tower again. Just me. Kill them all. One by one. Every last person. And no one would stop me.”
Victoria tilted her head, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass. “I like this version of you,” she said softly. “It suits you… dark, dangerous. But the police would look for the killer. Homelander isn’t that easy to… manipulate.”
Mel shrugged, almost bored. “At least Vought would be gone. And Homelander… he likes me. Enough to let me do it, I think.” Her tone was casual, but the edge in her voice made it clear she was entirely serious.
The faint buzz of her phone on the counter interrupted the moment. Mel’s eyes flicked down. A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. “Ah, perfect timing.” She picked it up and set it on speaker. The sound of a familiar voice filled the kitchen, and her expression sharpened, her eyes glinting with something dangerous, something uncontainable.
Victoria leaned back, glass in hand, watching her. There was a thrill there, not fear, not quite, but a recognition of power that both excited and terrified her.
Mel’s smirk deepened. “Well?” she said, her voice smooth, controlled, and deadly calm.
Hughie’s voice came through, hesitant, almost sheepish. “Uh… hi. It’s… me. You asked only us three to call if we care?”
Mel’s lips quirked in a faint, wry smile. “Exactly. You care. So you called.” Her tone was smooth, teasing, but there was steel beneath it.
There was a short pause on the line. Hughie swallowed audibly. “Right… I—uh… I just wanted to know… what was that? Why would you threaten our families?”
Mel tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “A reminder,” she said softly, almost casually. “That I notice. That I remember. That if you slip… you’ll regret it.”
Hughie’s throat went dry. “Yeah, okay… I get that. We… I mean, we’re… we’re worried about you, obviously. You’re acting different. We are worried about what you’ll do next.”
Mel chuckled lightly, like a faint echo of amusement, not fear. “Good. You should be. But don’t forget: I trust you three… just barely. Make sure you stay worth it.” Her voice dropped, sharper, dangerous. “And remember. Zoe is off-limits. Vic too. Cross that line, and nothing will stop me.”
Hughie swallowed again, nodding even though she couldn’t see him. “Right. Of course. We… we understand.”
Mel leaned back, one eye on the dining room light and one on Victoria in front of her. “Good. Now go on. Don’t waste my time.” There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then Mel added, quieter, like it wasn’t meant for Hughie at all, “Tell Kimiko I said hi.”
She hung up, smirking, and set the phone down. Quiet settled again, thick, dangerous, and entirely hers.