Running from Himself 2-1

Damn, do her thighs do look fucking fine in that fit. Reggie watched the monitor from his makeup chair, a nervous woman with shaky hands dabbing powder on his forehead. The studio lights made everything feel like a low-grade fever, hairspray thick in the air mixing with that particular brand of nervous sweat that came with working live television.

Still he didn’t mind, his eyes were locked straight forward as A-Train’s former teammate on the Seven worked her magic on screen. The new costume hugged her right, way less churchy than the old one, more... Nicki Minaj in all the good and bad ways.

Vought’s evil as hell, he tilted his head to the side and clicked his tongue, unable to help his eyes as the camera cut back to Starlight. But they know how to make shit look good.

"And that's really what it's about, isn't it?” the host continued, clapping his hands together and leaning in. “This new wave. Not just being a hero, but being a role model. You stood up, you spoke your truth, and you told women everywhere that it is not okay. How does that feel?" The guy’s smile was all teeth and predatory charm, the kind of person who probably practiced looking sincere in the mirror.

"It's... it's a lot of pressure, obviously, but it's a responsibility I'm happy to take on.” Annie's voice came out soft and round, all Midwest vowels and honest sincerity. Reggie really wasn’t surprised Starlight was already past Miley Cyrus on Insta already; pretty girl who was real in a non-Hollywood way was classic media bait. Jennifer Lawrence already proved that. “If my story can help even one person feel like they can speak up, then it's all worth it." 

There it is. The Vought-approved soundbite. Reggie tilted his head, watching her shoulders carry tension she was trying to hide. Sincere as Annie was, the girl was only good at those corporate lines, but never great. Not like Homelander, at least. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes, for one. Never did when she had to talk about the Deep.

"Absolutely. And I think what's so inspiring is that even after dealing with a predator on your own team, you didn't let that stop you from finding love. You proved that one bad apple doesn't have to spoil the whole bunch."

Annie's posture went rigid, smile tightening at the edges. Oof. That one hit sideways. "That's right. I was very lucky."

Lucky. Yeah, that's one word for it. Reggie felt that familiar twitch in his chest, protective instincts he'd developed over the last ten months watching her navigate this celebrity minefield.

"Lucky is one word for it! I'd say he's the lucky one! Let's bring him out right now, a man who made his own brave choice, former member of The Seven, Reggie Franklin!"

The makeup artist gave his shoulder a final pat. "You're on, sweetie."

Showtime. Reggie pushed himself up from the chair, muscle memory taking over as he moved. The speed came easy, always did, that rush of air and motion that felt too good for someone trying to stay reformed. He blurred onto the stage in near-silence, coming to a perfect stop by the couch with that practiced charm that came from years of A-Train's highlight reel.

The audience erupted, sound washing over him in waves of approval he'd never actually earned. Designer jeans and a sharp blazer over a plain t-shirt, TV-worthy but not trying too hard. Annie stood up, her practiced smile shifting to something more genuinely relieved.

She held her gloved hand out; he took it, kissed the back with a performer's flourish that would play well on camera, then pulled her into a brief hug that felt real enough for the studio audience but professional enough for the network suits. Her quick kiss on his cheek tasted like stage makeup and relief.

They sat down, Reggie deliberately taking the spot closer to the host. Annie needed buffer space, and he'd learned to read when she was running on empty.

"Reggie, welcome! It's so good to see you again,” the daytime talk show host beamed, Donnie White smiling even wider. “Retirement clearly agrees with you."

That easy grin spread across his face, a little bounce coming back to his voice natural as breathing. "Aaaye, it's not bad, not bad, Donnie. Less explosions, more sleep. I highly recommend it."

"Now, you two have been together for a couple months, but you kept it very private until a supe-paparazzo caught you, Reggie, literally sweeping Starlight off her feet." Donnie White leaned forward with that practiced talk show intensity, his bald head catching the studio lights. Failed model energy, Reggie could spot it from a mile away. Dude had the bone structure but not the height.

Annie's laugh came out a little awkward, shoulders all tensed up. "Y-yeah... that was... that was a day."

That was a fucking nightmare is what that was. He felt his jaw halfway to clenching remembering the panic of that whole fucking day, but Reggie kept his expression smooth, smile going nowhere.

"How does it feel to suddenly be America's hottest new supe couple,” Donnie asked with a raised eyebrow, the man firmly in his interview face that no one told him looked like a bad Blue Steel, “especially with the tragic breakup of the Nubians?"

Nubians? Almost a year since he woke up in this body and he was still learning all the supe drama Vought had cooking. I know of a Nubian Prince, though. Some inherited A-Train memory flickered, parties and cocaine and people whose names didn't stick.

"Oh, it's a lot. I mean, the Nubians were an institution. They were together for eight years, they have a daughter..." Annie's voice trailed off as she clenched her grip on Reggie’s thigh, a quick signal for him to jump in. "We're still, y'know, in the early days."

Reggie laughed, smooth and easy, leaning back into the couch cushions. The sound came natural, practiced from months of these appearances. "Yeah, and I'm definitely not ready to be a dad yet. I just got the hang of being an uncle." Nathan's kids still looked at him funny sometimes, probably wondering why Uncle Reggie suddenly knew how to fix their Xbox but forgot their middle names.

"And I am not ready to be a mom either." Annie's laugh joined his, genuine relief bleeding through.

Reggie chuckled again as he pointed at her, grin spreading wider. "Aaaye, this one can barely eat for one, I don't think she can handle eating for two."

Annie's laughter got a little less eager, that flicker of annoyance in her eyes that only he'd learned to spot. Okay, too far. No weight jokes, got it.

"Well, you certainly seem to have the chemistry!” Donnie clapped his hands together. “People are saying you two are the real deal. What was that first date like? Was it love at first sight?"

The question hung in the studio air as Annie's smile froze for a microsecond.

"So, you really want the scoop on our first date?” He leaned forward, grin already in place as he caught Annie’s tiny nod out of the corner of his eye.

The host nodded back.

“Alright,” Reggie hummed, leaning back again with an around Starlight’s bare shoulders. Let’s spin some shit. “I'll tell you right now, don’t get your hopes up, ‘cause it was a disaster. I took her to this fancy French place, right? The kind with the tiny forks. I'm trying to be all smooth, and I ended up spilling a whole bowl of… what’s that called… the weird soup stuff…”

“Bouillabaise,” Annie supplied with a little laugh, slapping his thigh.

“Bouillabaise, all right in her lap,” Reggie finished up.

Again, total bullshit. 

True enough, but it was also the same kind people ate up with a smile on their face and asked for more. Besides, no one really needed to know that their actual first "date" had been a Vought photo op at some charity gala where they'd barely spoken, too nervous with the worry they’d be found out.

"It was all over my new dress! I was mortified." Annie picked up the thread, relief clear in her voice as she fell right in line.

"Mortified? I was mortified! The whole restaurant is staring, and I'm on my hands and knees trying to dab at her dress with a napkin, which is making it a thousand times worse." The lie felt smooth coming out, practiced and warm. He'd gotten good at this part of the job.

"So how did you recover from that?" Donnie was eating it up, audience laughing along.

Reggie reached over and took Annie's hand, that practiced gesture that photographed well and felt comfortable enough after months of fake intimacy. "She laughed. Right there, covered in fish soup, she just threw her head back and laughed. That's when I knew."

He gave her hand a squeeze. Perfect, focus-grouped, heart-warming bullshit that would get clipped for social media and make their handlers happy.

"That is just the sweetest thing. But let's get to the question the fans are really dying to know. A speedster, and a woman who can light up the skyline... what's the bedroom like? Is it... electric?"

Annie went completely rigid beside him, face shifting into that polite horror she got when interviews went left. Motherfucker. 

"Come on now, you know I never kiss and tell." He leaned back with that charming swagger that A-Train's muscle memory supplied, deflecting the question with practiced ease.

The audience hooted and applauded, tension breaking as Donnie laughed."A gentleman! We'll be right back with more from Starlight and Reggie after the break!"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Man, I'm feeling done with this shit. The grin on Reggie’s face dropped all the way down to a tired-looking smile the second he and Starlight cleared the soundstage doors, the air-conditioned hallway giving way to the grimy parking lot air that smelled like exhaust and old cigarettes. Months and months of this public supe relationship bullshit and he was ready to stab himself in the fucking jugular. He'd have to find a knife tough enough first, but still.

When Vought caught wind of the rumors that he and Annie were dating, he'd hoped they'd shut it down. But nahhhh, why would they? 

Not with an opportunity sitting right in front of them eager to be exploited and milked, for all it was worth. With The Deep gone, having any member of The Seven (even a former member) in a "healthy loving relationship" with Starlight made it crystal clear that only The Deep was the problem. Just Vought things, using someone who didn't even work for them anymore for their own profit and PR. Same energy they brought when they found out he'd gone to Robin's parents to apologize, getting that soundbite from themafter the fact.

Good for her brand. Starlight, the Midwest Maiden, so pure and perfect that she can redeem anyone. The voice of the redheaded bitch replacing Stillwell echoed in his head. We'll pay you, even. Short-term PR boost for her, a few nice millions for you. Keep you from having to do comic conventions for a little bit.

"Fucking bitch," he muttered, louder than he meant to.

Annie pulled herself out of whatever thoughts she was wrestling with, shooting him a look that could've melted steel. "'Barely eat for one?' Fucking really, Reggie?"

He shrugged, hands finding his pockets. "What? It was a joke. A little improv. Kept the crowd happy."

"Do you know how fucking rude that is? How many girls out there are starving themselves to look like me because of the image Vought pushes?” Her voice came out tight and pissed. “You can't just say shit like that. Especially not on national television."

Okay, yeah, that's fair. Unfortunately, his mouth was already moving. "Are you or are you not, like, a hundred pounds soaking wet?"

"You're an asshole. You know that? A sometimes-useful asshole." She scoffed, shaking her head with that particular brand of disbelief women only reserved for men.

"You would kinda hope your asshole was useful some of the time, though.” The grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. “That's kinda how it works."

Annie's scowl deepened. "Just pick me up already."

"You got it, Lite Brite." The grin flashed wider as he scooped her up, practiced motion from months of this routine. She wrapped an arm around his neck, muscle memory kicking in even while she was pissed at him.

One step onto the grimy parking lot asphalt, then he pushed off. The speed hit instant and perfect, that rush of motion that felt too good every single time.

Air pressure slammed against him as soon as he took off, an invisible wall he had to break through step after step, Annie's weight solid and warm against his chest.

Ten months of this shit. Ten months of guilt-fueled training sessions that pushed him past that 200 mph wall he'd been stuck at, only to find another one waiting higher up. 

Four hundred, maybe? Still a fraction of what A-Train could do, but it was his. Earned with his own sweat and the kind of pain that made you question your life choices at three AM.

Manhattan screamed past in streaks of electric color as red tail lights bled into yellow taxi cabs bled into white headlights, everything dissolving into long painterly lines that his brain couldn't quite process. His peripheral vision collapsed, world narrowing to this tight tunnel where he could still pick out individual details even as they blurred: Vought-a-Burger billboard, strobing red and blue of a police car, pedestrian looking up from their phone a fraction of a second too late.

"You know, you still take corners like a drunk!" Annie's voice came muffled against the wind roaring in his ears.”You should work on that!”

He leaned hard into the turn, G-force pulling at them both, his sneakers groaning against asphalt. So, it’s my fault all of a sudden that Sir Isaac Newton is still the deadliest son of a bitch in history? “Gimme a break, brighty! You're kinda dense for someone mostly made of sunshine and butterscotch!"

"It's muscle, asshole! And stop talking about my weight!"

He laughed, sound ripped away by wind before it could properly form, as he pushed harder, crossing the bridge into Jersey. The tight canyon of city streets opened up into the vast dark expanse of the Hudson River stretching below them, black glass shattered by reflected skyline lights. Bridge support cables strobed past in hypnotic rhythm, and for a moment the run felt smooth, effortless, clean line of pure momentum.

Ten months of being a glorified super-powered Uber. Fake boyfriend for America's sweetheart, landlord for America's most wanted. The thoughts came fragmented, broken up by the rhythm of the run and the need to focus on not accidentally launching them both into the river.

"It's... almost pretty like this. When it's all just lights." Annie's voice came quieter now, wind less punishing over the open water.

He glanced at the city behind them. "Yeah. Almost."

They hit the Jersey side and the world closed in again. 

Wide-open highways gave way to tight, winding maze of suburban streets. This was the hard part. Threading the needle part. His focus narrowed, every turn anticipated, every parked car a potential obstacle that could turn this controlled run into a very expensive mistake. He could feel his legs burning now, constant exertion of maintaining this speed, accelerating and decelerating, taking its toll in ways that reminded him this body was still human, still limited.

His breath came in tight, controlled bursts as street sounds flickered in and out, traffic lights strobing past, that slight lurch in his stomach every time he leaned into a turn too hard and had to overcorrect. 

Less than five minutes after they'd left Manhattan, they were on a quiet, tree-lined street in some secluded part of Jersey that probably cost more per square foot than most people made in a year. He slowed, the world snapping back into focus with a lurch that made his inner ear complain, coming to a shuddering stop in front of a sprawling mansion.

“O-oh… okay.” He gently put Annie down on the doorstep, his own breathing coming in tight bursts while his legs reminded him that speed came with a price. “Jesus…”

Annie practically launched herself through the door the second he opened it, making a beeline for Hughie who was standing at the bottom of that ridiculous grand staircase with this nervous, hopeful smile plastered on his face. She threw her arms around the beanpole and Reggie felt that familiar twitch of... what, jealousy? Relief? Both? 

Man… Reggie frowned. I need a girl.

"Ah, Le Colibri and La Luciole.” Frenchie waved a spatula at them from the kitchen archway, a grin on his face. “The Hummingbird and the Firefly. Back again for another lovers' getaway, I see." 

Hughie went red as a fire truck, as Reggie rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Serge."

It didn't matter that he was bringing her here so she and Hughie could bang it out and… whatever else it was they did. It still looked bad when she was cuddling up to him on camera, all sorts of stuff that had to do with things like "optics" and "brand management." Like I give a shit about either.

Hughie and Annie headed upstairs, hands linked, and Reggie tried not to feel like he was running some kind of superhero escort service. In both ways, I guess.

"Big Gee. You done for the day?" Mother's Milk came around the corner wiping his hands on a rag, that steady baritone carrying just enough weight to remind Reggie that MM saw through all his bullshit.

He slumped against the doorframe, suddenly feeling every minute of the whole day. "Back again tomorrow. Got a thing for Good Morning America."

"Must be hard work,” the big black man snorted. “Doing half-hour guest spots, coming back to this big-ass house."

Oh, we're doing this now. "It is hard. Real hard. Because y'all are still here,” Reggie pointed out with a look. “Barely have enough food in my fridge with your big ass eating it all."

"Don't blame me for that,” he pointed a finger at his chest. “That's all Kimiko."

The girl in question poked her head around the corner, half a pot pie still in the foil tin clutched in her hand. She took another bite, crumbs falling onto the floor.

Reggie's mouth dropped open. "Is that my pot pie? The good one from the bakery? The one I was saving?"

Kimiko's eyes went wide. She shoved another piece in her mouth and bolted, bare feet slapping against the floor.

"Trying to outrun a fucking speedster?" he muttered, rubbing his nose. The exhaustion was setting in now, that post-adrenaline crash that always hit after these TV appearances.

He looked up to see MM wearing this rare, wide smirk that made him look ten years younger.

"Oh, shut up." Reggie shook his head and walked into the living room, collapsing onto the couch that probably cost more than he'd made in a year before all this superhero bullshit started. The cushions were too soft, too expensive, everything in this house a reminder that none of this was really his.

"You hear anything from Butcher?"

MM's smirk vanished, professional soldier sliding back into place. "No. That motherfucker has been silent as the fucking grave since he went to go do whatever against Homelander."

"You think he's dead?" The question came out more casual than Reggie felt. He'd never met the guy, but from everything he'd heard, Butcher was either dead or planning something that would get them all killed.

MM paused, silence stretching heavy between them. "I don't know what I think."

"I just wanna meet the guy, honestly. See what all the fuss is about." Plus figure out if he's gonna try to kill me on sight.

"I don't think you want that. Butcher ain't a fan of supes on his best day, and I don't think he'd be a fan of you right now."

Reggie raised an eyebrow. "Why right now? I ain't done nothin'."

MM silently pointed the remote at the TV, volume climbing on the news. Some VNN reporter with perfect teeth and dead eyes filled the screen.

"...another violent clash involving the supe known as Nubian Prince in Baltimore. He claims he was attempting to apprehend a group of 'gang-affiliated supes' when the altercation turned deadly..."

Nubian Prince. Another name he was still learning, another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit.

"I don't get it, though. Vought wants to make supe-terrorists to fight, I get it. But why so many of them? And why here?"

"I don't get it either. The amount of V Homelander had me running... it shouldn't have made this many supes. And these guys... they're not foreign. They're local." These street supes had been popping up for months now, and none of it matched what he remembered of Homelander's plan. The whole terrorist angle was supposed to be controlled, manufactured. This felt different. Messier.

MM sighed, weight of the world settling on his shoulders. "Just more shit. We gotta figure it out."

Reggie yawned, stretching out on the couch, suddenly feeling every one of his thirty years. "More shit you gotta figure out. I gotta long day tomorrow."