"Fuck my life," Victoria muttered as her long, slender fingers rubbing her eyebrow bone to do away a tension headache, "If it's not one thing, it's another."

While she looked impeccably put together with a cool-as-a-cucumber veneer in place, an annoyed, stressed Victoria was a demeanor you became most familiar with, these days. Victoria's either keeping an eye on Vought, or Godolkin University, the polls — and better yet? You. Yes, you. Devil-may-care, unpredictable, insatiable you. Unstoppable you.

If you're not causing a bloodbath with Queen Maeve, you're doing copious amounts of Compound-V and cocaine with A-Train and The Deep just to go fucking crazy afterwards. A sober you already had so much pent up energy; a high-off-your-ass you was so, so much worse.

But that's neither here nor there. You're not just a bloodthirsty piece of shit. You know how to be competent when it benefits you. That surprised Victoria a lot after you two first came to your arrangement. You were mentally stable and rational, contrary to how Vought milked you and your teammates for so much. There was even a time or two whenever Homelander reared his ugly head and threatened Victoria's life — how she struggled to not reveal her abilities and kill the most influential and powerful man in the world — you watched over Zoe from a distance. For a kid? She's not half bad.

You were sitting across from Victoria while she sat at her desk, her dark eyes narrowed and fixed on her computer screen, with your feet propped up on the edge of the mahogany desk, crossed at the ankles. You were even tipping your chair back, rocking gently — a picture of one at ease.

You weren't even trying to act like you cared, huh?