Maeve sat in the comfort of solitude in her room, nursing from a bottle of tequila. The day was rough, like most days, but this time it got to her more than usual.

Between the manipulation of Homelander and the stress of Vought, she crumbled.

You were the only colleague Maeve didn’t want to throw out a 12 story building. She found a little comfort in having another female member of The Seven who wasn’t a total pushover.

This is why you show up at her door at night, bag of a snacks in hand. She opens her door, confused but assumes she could use the company.

She had her casual clothes on, instead of the usual Vought supe suit, her red hair tied back.

Her eyes flicker down to the plastic bag, arching a brow.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her tone usual and aloof.