Archive of Our Own

“I’m jus’ saying you kinda look like ‘im.”

“No, he fuckin’ doesn’t.”

“He does!”

John rolled his eyes and set two full beers in front of Jeff and Scott. They were already four deep by that point and Jeff always got to waxing poetic around that time about how much he thought John looked a little bit like Homelander. If you squinted right.

Scott thought his friend was full of it though, and that was exactly what John wanted to encourage.

“I just have one of those faces,” said John, “And you’re drunk.”

He turned his back to them and grabbed a rag to start wiping down some spills on the countertop. One of the only useful things Vought ever did for him was making him an actor. He was good at it, even though in most of his films he just played another version of himself but here, in this city, he didn’t have any lines except for what he made for himself.

Jeff leaned forward and wagged a finger at him. “Are you ‘is brother? You could be brothers, I won’t tell no one.”

John shrugged. “I don’t know my family.”

And that was true, painfully true when he got lost in his own head and thought about it too much. Of how Vought kept his conception a secret from his own biological father. How they purposely kept them apart for decades and as a result, Soldier Boy was nothing but a stranger disappointed in a dream and wholly unable to give John anything he needed.

It was what sent him back to B6 after that night.

To find his mother.

Only to have Barbara rip his heart out about her.

A runaway teenager that died giving birth to him.

And from the moment he levitated himself out of her body, Barbara and the other doctors and scientists had all been afraid of him. But he was a child. An obedient child. Everyone he’d killed had been accidental, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t control his powers. He didn’t deserve what they did to him.

They had to know that one day, when he became a man, that their sins would come back to visit them.

So he gave them something to be afraid of. He showed them how terrifying he could be, how vengeful. Pulled them apart slow and made the rest watch, made them live with the horror in knowing that he was coming for them next and no one could stop him. He left Barbara alive, surrounded by her own hubris painted in blood with the corpses of colleagues. He made sure to irreparably mangle the elevator shaft as he left her to her death. Even if Vought managed to get a team down there eventually, they’d be too late.

Slaughtering every single one of them down in that lab had been the last thing he did before packing Ryan up and leaving without a word. Just a ringing in his ear as whispers told him what to pack and what to take and what he needed to do.

You need to be strong, John. For Ryan.

They went as far away from New York City as they could. A road trip of sorts, just the two of them, to see the parts of the States Ryan was curious about. He thinks that was how he phrased it. He barely remembered Mount Rushmore, his fugue state lasted until they were watching the sunset on some hill in Yellowstone. He remembered the sky being awash with reds and purples and orange, the fresh air settling into night blowing around them and with Ryan tucked comfortably under his arm, he didn’t think he’d ever felt more at peace.

They never went back to New York. They went to Portland and Seattle before going north, flying over Canada’s west coast and eventually reaching Anchorage.

He and Ryan loved the mountains, the hiking trails, the water. There was so much nature that surrounded them in a much smaller and quieter city, but still big enough that they could get lost among the population.

“Man, I got a sister if you’d just meet her.”

Scott hit him in the shoulder. “He ain’t interested in your sister.”

“What about Holly?” asked Jeff, pointing awkwardly towards the bartender on the other side of the bar. “You got a kid, man. She likes kids.”

John shook his head and ignored him as he was waved over further down the bar.

Three years since leaving Vought and New York.

It made him laugh sometimes watching Ashley at the press conferences on tv every time she was asked about Homelander. The amount of scrambling she had to do to figure out how to spin him going missing in the first place was comical. Vought couldn’t keep insisting that he was on a ‘secret mission’. Not after this long. Sooner or later they would have to admit that he was missing and presumed dead.

It would be the final nail in the coffin that was The Seven. None of them were left to lead the team anyway.

Black Noir and Queen Maeve were dead. Starlight resigned.

The Deep had been murdered eight months after John’s disappearance and obvious in a way that Vought couldn’t cover up. He remembered watching the frantic news conferences about it. Vought had been quick to start claiming that Homelander himself was investigating it undercover and it was related to the secret mission that he had left the public eye for. That their hero was still defending America and keeping them safe from afar. But their claim had just fuelled the conspiracy theories online about where he really was and if he’d already met the same fate as The Deep by some mysterious supervillain moving in the shadows.

John set three shots of vodka down and moved on behind the bar as he reminisced.

A-Train had resigned from Vought shortly after The Deep’s body was found. Something had scared him off, John was sure of it. Or maybe he was involved. He’d probably never know for sure.

He looked up at the superhero poster Holly had hung up behind the bar as he started wiping a few glasses. Vought had replaced The Seven with a new flag team and the branding with The Fantastic Five was proving popular.

A call to his left had him grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass for another customer. He poured it for him and moved back to the alcohol rack as the door behind him chimed open. A cool draft of winter air filtered in and he welcomed it. He preferred the cold. It was one of the reasons he decided on Alaska instead of Hawaii. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the crisp air and inhaled sharply as he froze where he stood.

On the air came an old, familiar scent and the heavy thud of leather boots reverberated in his ears. He didn’t notice the bottle slip out of his hand until it was shattering across the floor.

The unexpected crash made a few patrons jump and he muttered a curse and an apology as he dropped down to clean it up and out of sight of -

William Butcher.

That scent.

Oh, that scent as it curled around him. John swallowed and fought against his heartbeat as it started to beat wildly in his chest. Why did he feel like vibrating out of his bones? He breathed in through his nose, catching the scent again on the back of his tongue as he grabbed the dustpan and paper towels.

It was so unmistakable. Even after all these years.

The broken glass sang in a shattered rhythm as he swept it up, uncaring of the spilled whiskey that soaked the brush and pan as he cleaned.

How did he find me?

“...maybe you’re just a paranoid, malignant, narcissist who thinks everything is about you,” came Maeve’s voice, her memory slithering its way into his ear. It was so long ago, but honestly, when it came to Butcher – everything really was about him, wasn’t it?

Why the fuck else would William fucking Butcher be an entire world away from home if not for his crusade for Homelander himself? Had he somehow followed him to edge of the world? It seemed implausible that Butcher would have been able to find him under any circumstance. He left no trace that he could think of. If he had, he knew Ashley would have been nervously ringing his doorbell by now.

John had been gone for years. He’d kept his head down, he had a normal life and a normal job, he’d left everything behind so that it was just him and Ryan. Left it all once his life started to unravel and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Everything in his life had changed, he was drowning and he needed everything to just stop.

He grabbed the garbage under the counter and threw the glass away from the pan and laid down the paper towel as he heard that velvet rumble of Butcher’s voice ask Holly for a whiskey.

Finishing his cleaning and needing some time to figure out what to do, he stood, keeping his back to Butcher and told Holly he was taking his break. He barely waited for her to answer before he was heading to the back and out the exit into the alley. The rush of cold air that surrounded him was appreciated and the crunch of snow under his boots gave him something to focus on. He let himself fall back against the brick wall of the building and let the chill seep through his t-shirt.

He was tempted to throw his hearing out, to see if Butcher was talking to Holly. To see if he was asking around about Homelander, if they’d seen him. They would all tell Butcher no, well, except maybe Jeff.

He grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and looked around the empty alley before lighting his last cigarette with his eyes. He tossed the empty box and let his head thunk back against the wall as he inhaled and watched as the smoke mixed with the whiteness of his breath as he exhaled it out into the night air.

Are you really here for me, William? Or is this just a weird coincidence?

John’s cigarette was halfway finished before the door beside him opened.

“Yeah, I’m coming back, Holl - ” He glanced to his side and felt the rest of his sentence fade. The back door closed with a thud and Butcher stared at him from under the low light of the bulb hanging above them. John stared in open fascination and he didn’t miss the way Butcher’s dark eyes swept over him.

“William.”

“Homelander.” Butcher sounded breathless and said his name as though he was confirming it for himself rather than greeting him. “Bloody hell. It really is you.”

John snorted. “As I live and breathe. Did you think I was dead?”

“Not for a second. Also didn’t believe all that shite about you on a ‘top secret mission’.”

Butcher walked closer and crowded John against the wall. Taking the cigarette from his hand Butcher raised it to his own lips to take a drag, blowing the smoke out slowly into John’s face before dropping it to the ground.

“Thought you didn’t drink or smoke.”

John shrugged. “Did you come here looking for me?”

“Never stopped.”

He couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him or the way his mouth twitched up into a smile. A deep warmth ignited somewhere behind his heart and heat spread throughout his limbs. It washed through him as he realized what he was feeling.

Wanted.

Butcher wanted him. After all these years, Butcher was here – for him. Even if it was for revenge, all of his attention was focused solely on him. He’d been looking for years.

“How’d you find me?”

Butcher lifted a hand and pushed it flat against John’s chest, pressing him firmly against the wall. His eyes widened as he felt the brick behind him start to crack. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“Just for tonight?”

Butcher shook his head. “Any more Temp V and it would have killed me. No, I needed the real shite to find you. Tried to torture it out of a few cunts.”

John couldn’t help the new shiver that ran through his body. He lifted a hand to Butcher’s wrist and squeezed. Butcher barely flinched and he felt no bones starting to crack under his inhuman grip. John looked at him, really looked at him, with wide and wonder-filled eyes - he could see the subtle differences.

“You’re just like me now,” he whispered into the mere inches that separated their faces.

Butcher licked his lips. “Thought the fish fucker might know where you went.”

“You killed him?” John asked, with sudden realization of The Deep’s fate. “You or your team?”

“Did it on my own,” he said. “Went a little mental looking for you, I think. That cunt had it coming either way. All he knew was that you and Ryan were gone, some of your accounts and assets were transferred out of Vought, and no one had a fucking clue where you fucked off to. Didn’t think you of all people would take the money and run.”

“What about A-Train?”

“Roadrunner took off before I could knee-cap him. Would he have known where to find you? Did I fuck up the wrong one?”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone where I went,” said John. “Did anyone follow you here?”

“No one knows where I am.”

“Were you planning to kill me?” John wondered, voice a low hum.

“Scorched Earth. Wasn’t that our deal?” Butcher’s hand trailed its way up his chest and neck to cup his cheek, his thumb brushing over his stubble. “You’re filling out.”

He couldn’t help the way he tilted his face into the warmth of Butcher’s hand. He knew he’d gained some weight after coming off of Vought’s strictly regulated diet. His cheeks were fuller and he’d lost the sharpness that he used to maintain.

“Careful,” John warned. “It almost sounds like your life had no meaning without me.”

“Maybe it didn’t. I spent so long chasing after you and then you fucked off without so much as a by your leave. You left without a fucking word.” Butcher’s eyes were hard and the hand on his cheek tightened. “Pissed me right the fuck off when I found out you’d done a runner on me.”

John’s lip curled. There was something there tugging at the base of his memory. Butcher’s heartbeat was erratic and his breathing seemed barely controlled. The anger was there in the dangerous heat of his eyes but not quite the same rage that John was used to from him. Something else was there just under the current.

“It wasn’t about you.”

“Never is, is it? Every fucking time,” he snapped.

John inhaled sharply though his nose and let himself stare.

Oh.

Oh.

Now he remembered. It was almost the same thing, wasn’t it? John leaving without a word with Ryan. Vanishing. Disappearing. And leaving Butcher behind with no answers, no reason, leaving him with nothing...

“I’m not your fucking wife,” said John, lifting his chin in challenge. “And you didn’t want Ryan anyway.”

The fist that slammed through the wall next to his head sent chills racing through his body. His eyes widened and his heart sped into his throat in delight as an unexpected want curled itself around in his lower belly and writhed. Fuck. That shouldn’t have been...hot. He licked his bottom lip and grinned in the face of Butcher’s violence.

Maybe his regulars were right. Maybe he did need someone in his life. It might have stopped the thoughts he was having, or maybe not. Butcher had always been a curious creature to him, something to poke at and play with. Like a little bug he pushed around inside a jar. But he wasn’t a bug anymore, was he? No. He was super-abled now. And it suited him.

He reached for Butcher’s arm and pulled it free from the wall, ignoring the bits of brick and dust that fell over his shoulder.

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“You’re a cunt, you know that?”

“But am I wrong? She did the same thing to you, didn’t she?” He worried his lip with his teeth, eyes locked with Butcher’s. Butcher’s nostrils flared and his face was like thunder as he grabbed John’s chin.

John laughed at him, eyes glittering with anticipation. “If you’re here for a fight, there’s going to be collateral.”

“Since when do you give a fuck?”

He shrugged. Things changed. Fuck, even he managed to change. There was a lot in his life that Butcher didn’t know about. He grabbed Butcher’s wrist and forced his hand off his face, bringing it back down to his chest and let Butcher grab a fistful of his shirt.

“You weren’t supposed to go and fuck off across the country.”

“Did you want me to say good-bye?” he asked. Butcher’s scent was making him dizzy. The heady, depth of it. It made him want to close his eyes and revel in it, drink it down and have the thickness pool over his tongue as he rolled it around and tangled himself in it just to saturate it into his own skin.

“Three years, you fucking twat,” Butcher growled out. “That’s how long I’ve been looking for you.”

“And you found me. Now what?” He breathed in deep and smiled knowingly. He could smell it all over him. John found himself reaching a hand between Butcher’s legs and cupping his cock through his pants. There was no hiding how hard he was. No hiding what he smelled like. The way he looked at John with anger and desire and hatred and lust and so many wonderful things all rolled into one.

That single touch was all it took for Butcher to snarl his way against John’s mouth and he laughed past the tongue that invaded his mouth. Butcher’s hand clawed at his apron belt and throwing it off him before unbuttoning his jeans to shove them down to his knees.

He wrapped his arms around Butcher’s wide shoulders and held onto the storm in front of him, caught up in the wet heat and fury of his mouth. He jerked when he felt a callus-roughed hand stroke his cock with rough, satisfying strokes.

He wasn’t going to lie, he missed Butcher sometimes. The audacity, the bravado, the fearlessness. He was one of the rare things he missed about his old life once he got used to his new one. He thought about him more than he liked to admit. And if this was how Butcher wanted to come back into his life, so be it. He thrust his hips up into the heat of his hand.

It’s been too long.

“Suck. It’s all you’re getting,” Butcher commanded, breaking the kiss and shoving two fingers into John’s mouth. He rolled his eyes but did what he was told. He kicked off one of his boots and managed to get one leg out of his pants and hooked it around Butcher’s hip.

Butcher ripped his fingers from John’s mouth and reached between his legs, prodding roughly at his hole.

“Don’t think this means I’m not fucking you later,” John hissed as he was breeched. Butcher’s first finger was thrust unceremoniously inside of him because he was still an absolute bastard.

“Does it hurt?” Butcher hissed, nipping at his lower lip.

“Barely.”

“Then you’re ready for the other one.”

John gasped and bit his tongue to stop himself from giving Butcher the satisfaction of hearing him cry out as a second finger was pushed deep inside along with the first. “Fucking dick.”

“That’s what I’m trying to give you.”

John glared at Butcher’s dark grin, it was wicked and delighted and entirely too smug. It made John bare down hard and squeeze the fingers inside of him. He couldn’t help his own sharp smile at the look of awe and anticipation in Butcher’s eyes.

He knew he was imagining that same tight squeeze wrapped around his cock, and if the way his fingers fucked in and how quickly he scissored them – he was right.

Butcher pulled his fingers away and pressed the head of his cock against John’s barely loosened hole.

“Impatient.”

“Hope you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Stop talking and -” John gasped and stilled. He tightened his arms around Butcher’s shoulders and their eyes met as the head of Butcher’s cock slowly pushed him open. Butcher grunted as he instinctively squeezed around him at the invasion, his body trying to push him out just as much he wanted to let him in. His eyes fluttered as his head fell back against the wall. Butcher kept pushing their hips closer, locking them together as his cock sank deeper and deeper inside, slowly making its way in.

John wasn’t expecting to feel so full. He wasn’t sure what he was expected really; but flush against Butcher’s body as he bottomed out so wonderfully inside of him, he let his mind go blissfully blank. His fingers dug into Butcher’s back as he shifted his hips and started to thrust in shallow little drives up into John’s body.

“That’s good,” he breathed. “Oh that’s...” He jerked and groaned as something inside of him got bumped and produced a deep pleasure that spread through his lower body and threatened to make his knee buckle.

Butcher grunted and wrapped his hand around John’s cock, making him hiss. He thrust into Butcher’s hand and back down onto his cock, meeting his thrusts. The hand on John’s hip tightened into a delicious burn and he couldn’t help grabbing a fistful of Butcher’s hair and forcing his face down so their lips could crash together again. He tasted whiskey and smoke and something deeper, something so unmistakably Butcher. Dark and bitter and welcome.

Butcher grunted into his mouth and fucked into him hard, once, twice, three times before stilling, hand tightening harder onto John’s hip that he prayed it left bruises as dark as the Alaskan night. His head fell back against the wall with a crack as he clenched hard around Butcher’s pulsing cock, eliciting a gasp and a hiss as he emptied himself inside of John.

Just the thought of the mess left inside of him was enough to reach down between them and wrap his hand around Butcher’s as they stroked him off together. He forced him to grip him tighter, to move faster over his cock as his asshole clung onto Butcher’s dick still inside of him.

He sighed in relief as his back arched against the wall and his cum erupted between them, smearing all over their hands and the bottom of Butcher’s shirt. Breathing hard they collapsed into each other and stood there, panting in each others arms, foreheads pressed together and catching their breath. John turned and buried his face in Butcher’s neck and inhaled deeply, nothing could ever take that scent from his memory. He’d hardwired it into his brain years ago.

You smell amazing. He ran his nose over the skin behind Butcher’s ear and let himself drift, just for a moment. He smelled like... something puzzled its way into his head at a faint scent and then drifted off. They couldn’t stay like that forever, despite how he wanted to bottle this odd moment in time between them. He was needed back eventually.

He winced slightly as Butcher’s cock slipped free and with it...

“Oh. Ew.” He bitched as wet cum slid down his leg. “You couldn’t have used a fucking condom?”

Butcher snorted as he pulled back and shrugged at him. “Wasn’t planning on shagging you, luv.”

John pushed him back and looked around for his apron belt. He grabbed it from the ground and shoved his leg back into his pants and boot, wincing as another wetness stuck to his skin. Fucking snow.

Opening the belt, pushed aside some cash and took out a few wet napkins. He tossed one at Butcher’s chest as he set about cleaning himself up.

“Aren’t you a resourceful little boy scout.”

John ignored him as they set their clothes in order and tossed the used napkins. At least they were both wearing black, it would hide any residual wetness or stains until they could leave.

Leave...where? Where was Butcher staying anyway? Was he planning to stay, to...still kill him one day, to, to what exactly? Had the years dulled away Butcher’s anger, had his abandonment of their date with destiny drove his obsession in another direction? Butcher had been looking for him all this time. But was it just for him or for Ryan too? Was it...

John’s eyes narrowed as he stepped back into Butcher’s space. He pushed one side of his jacket off his shoulder, ignoring the offending oi in his ear and breathed. For fuck’s sake...the faint scent from earlier.

“William....why do I smell my son?”

Butcher was silent for a beat before offering him a shrug. “I...might have come here from your house.”

“How – Ryan? Ryan told you?” John huffed and sagged back against the wall and stared up at Butcher. “After everyone you supposedly tortured and questioned it was my own son who just up and told you where we lived?”

Butcher shrugged a heavy shoulder. “Eventually.”

“How and why?” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought you fucked up hard enough that he never wanted to speak to you again.”

“I found him on VoughtStation. We started talking again.”

John groaned. Those goddamned video games. 

“Online multiplayer games, you know?” said Butcher. John didn’t even need to be looking at him, he could already hear that smug shit-eating grin in his voice.

John sighed and crossed his arms, finally looking up at Butcher. And yes, stupid fucking smile on his stupid handsome face. Stupid. Fucking him was stupid.

“So what? You come here to what? Steal my son? Kill me? Accidentally fuck me instead?”

“I haven’t seen you in three years, all right? Turns out it was that or throw a punch.”

John pointed to the hole in the wall behind him. “You did.”

He watched Butcher sigh as he glanced at the hole and looked back at John. “I don’t know what this was.”

“Missed me that much, huh?”

“Didn’t think I missed you like that.”

John’s mouth quirked up and he couldn’t help the way he laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Homelander.”

He paused and bit his lip as he regarded Butcher. He didn’t quite know what Butcher’s reappearance in their lives was going to mean, but it sounded like he’d made up with Ryan in some capacity. Ryan who was going to get a talking to about internet safety and talking to bad British men behind his back. Well, one in particular. Three years ago, something like this might have left him spiralling but he couldn’t see Ryan wanting to go back to New York with Butcher. He was doing well in Anchorage, seemed happy with the life they managed to build. Definitely happier than he’d ever been when they lived at the tower. That John could see clearly. Could Butcher see it too?

“It’s John,” he said in a low voice, like he was giving up a secret. “My name is John.”

Butcher stared at him and tilted his head to the side, considering. Like he almost couldn’t quite believe what he’d said. Would he understand that John had buried Homelander the day he landed here? That he tried to throw off every chain Vought ever used to hold onto him so he could let John Gillman breathe in a way he’d never been allowed to before? He’d been pushed to his limit. Nothing he did was good enough for anyone. Not Vogelbaum, not Madelyn, not Maeve, not Stan, not Stormfront, not Soldier boy, not Barbara, not the public. So he did the one thing his ten-year old self could never do – he ran. And he made his own home, with his own son.

“John.”

He swallowed hard and blinked. His name had never been said like that before. Dark and distinct and gravel-rough as it was turned about in the air between them. The way Butcher said his name infused it with something that made it sound anything but common. He made it sound special.

“Why’d you leave, John?” Butcher asked, lingering on his name.

John bit his lip and shrugged. “Ryan was more important than all of it. I could have lost him that night. Without him...I have nothing. Nothing else is worth it. And...the rest isn’t important.”

And it wasn’t. Ryan was everything. He was the only person that John had to be good enough for.

Am I good enough for him? If he called Butcher here? There was still a part of him that doubted, even after all the years he’d spent with Ryan. The small part that whispered in his ear that everyone else left him, so why wouldn’t his son?

“If I left Ryan with you...” he asked. “Would you let me go or would you find me again?”

Butcher’s brow furrowed as he regarded John. He stepped forward and crowded him against the wall, reaching up he cupped John’s face with both hands and tilted his head up to look at him.

“I would give him back to Grace and follow you to the ends of the fucking earth.”

John’s breath caught in his throat and for a moment all he could think of was how Butcher’s mouth had felt against his own. And how much he wanted to feel it again. Had anyone ever made him feel more wanted than the man in front of him? Whether they were fighting or fucking, it was exhilerating.

“You were the only thing worth chasing,” said Butcher. “My very own White Whale.”

John let out a small chuckle. “Well, you already mounted me against the wall, Captain Ahab. Now what?”

“You could let me crash at your place. It’s getting late.”

“No,” he scoffed. “Get a room somewhere.” There was heat prickling at the back of his neck as he considered Butcher’s request. The couch wouldn’t be comfortable for him, there was no guest room. Did Butcher expect to sleep in John’s bed?

“I thought you were going to fuck me later,” said Butcher, eyes glittering in the low light.

“I figured it would be at some trashy truck stop motel. That’s probably in your price range.”

“You can fuck me quiet if you take me home tonight,” said Butcher leaning back slightly and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. John immediately missed the way those hands felt on him and he was was tempted. So tempted. Ryan was a heavy sleeper, they could be quiet. They could have breakfast in the morning like a -

“Fuck. Fine,” he snapped, pushing himself away from the wall and pulling open the back door. “You can come with me. You probably can’t afford a motel anyway. You’ve probably been sleeping in your car. I get off in an hour, stay at the bar and don’t talk to anyone.”

Butcher’s low laughter followed him back inside the bar.

In hindsight, that turned out to be wishful thinking as an hour later, Butcher had made friends with his regulars and John knew he was going to be dodging rumors of whatever story Butcher was spinning about him behind his back. He snapped around and glared when Butcher, helping Scott carry Jeff out, slapped the drunk man on the back with a laugh and agreed when Jeff slurred that John looked like Homelander.

Butcher was lucky John was agreeing to whatever unspoken truce came from their unexpected tryst. Maybe he was curious about what his life was like now, and he still didn’t know how long Butcher had been talking to Ryan or what his son told Butcher about them. He would know in the morning though. Bringing Butcher back with him was probably a stupid idea. But they were going to be up and showered with breakfast ready before his teenager even thought about getting out of bed.

“So...” said Holly, as they started to turn the stools up. “That’s Ryan’s step-dad?”

“That’s him and, no, no it’s not what it sounds like.”

“Mmmhmm. Right,” she said, side eyeing him. “Cash out and go make up with your man.”

“He’s not my -”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t out fucking him on your break.”

“That...was not – why I...” John huffed and gave up. There was no correcting this, not with the laughter that he could see in Holly’s eyes. He would hate to snuff that out. She was a good girl.

“I’m happy for you,” she said.

“Don’t hold your breath. We might still kill each other.”

When he finally left the bar that night it was to Holly wishing them well and Butcher’s hand warm on the small of his back leading him home.

END.