She didn't know how long it had been.
Skye felt as if she were floating in a crimson sea.
Warm.
Comforting.
The bone-deep cold was gone. The tearing pain in her abdomen had faded into a strange itch, like nerves waking up.
She forced her eyes open.
What she saw was a dazzling flood of red light.
It flowed like living threads, wrapping around her wounds—stitching torn flesh, reconnecting severed vessels, rebuilding what had been shattered.
And at the center of it all…
Two hands.
One was long and strong, pressed gently against her chest.
The other wore a golden gauntlet, set with a radiant gemstone—the source of that crimson energy.
Skye followed the hands upward.
Blue-and-red suit.
Golden hair.
And a pair of pale blue eyes, dimmed as if drained of something essential.
Homelander.
He was kneeling beside her, brow deeply furrowed, his face unnaturally pale.
Paler than she had ever seen him.
As if he were paying a terrible price for every second this power remained active.
"H… Homelander…"
Her lips barely moved. The sound was almost inaudible.
"Don't talk."
His voice was low, strained, trembling just slightly.
"I'm pulling you back. Don't move—this is… exhausting."
Skye stared at him.
Each pulse of red light left his face a shade whiter.
She didn't understand the mechanics of this power—but she understood one thing clearly.
You don't reverse death for free.
And Homelander's condition was proof of that.
"Don't… stop…" Skye tried to push his hand away, but she had no strength.
"You'll… get hurt…"
"Shut up."
The word came out rough, hoarse—nothing like his usual booming confidence.
"Don't move. You're not done yet."
His eyes were focused, stubborn, burning with resolve—
While inside his head, an entirely different monologue was running:
Okay, this effect is dramatic enough, right? A little sweat makes it believable.
Why isn't she crying yet? I'm acting my heart out here.
Come on… where's the special popularity value? System, don't lag on me now.
At last—
Seeing Homelander clearly suffering, Skye's eyes filled.
A single tear slipped free.
"Special Popularity Value +10,000 (From Skye)"
The sound was heavenly.
Finally.
Homelander let out a silent sigh of relief.
He slowly withdrew his hands. The red light vanished in an instant.
His body swayed, and he dropped back onto the floor as if completely drained, breathing hard.
"Haah… haah…"
Looking at Skye—now completely healed—he managed a weak but satisfied smile.
"Looks like… the Goddess of Death didn't want you today."
Skye pushed herself upright.
She touched her abdomen.
Smooth. Perfect. Not even a scar.
Only the torn fabric and dried blood proved that she had nearly died.
She looked at Homelander.
This man—usually untouchable, godlike—now looked fragile.
Human.
Something twisted painfully in her chest.
"Are you… okay?" she asked softly.
"I'll live."
He waved it off casually, but when he tried to stand and failed the first time, it stabbed straight through her heart.
"Why… go this far?" Her eyes reddened.
"You could've just—"
He cut her off.
Leaning back against a tree, he adjusted into a pose that was somehow both exhausted and effortlessly cool.
"I promised you."
"If you turned that dial, I'd take you home."
"A promise is a promise, Skye. Even if it costs something."
The system chimed again.
"Special Popularity Value +5,000"
Perfect. The pity bonus came through.
Homelander finally stood and extended a hand.
"And don't make me out to be some saint," he added lightly.
"I saved you because you're valuable."
Skye took his hand and stood.
"Valuable?" She laughed bitterly.
"I almost died like I was worth nothing."
"I've been in S.H.I.E.L.D. all this time and I'm not even a Level One agent."
"Coulson's kind to me—but he never really trusts me."
She lowered her head.
The brush with death had shattered her confidence.
Homelander watched her carefully.
Alright… time for emotional guidance.
(Definitely not PUA.)
He gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Feeling wronged?"
"…A little."
"Good."
His voice was warm, steady—dangerously persuasive.
"Because you never belonged there in the first place, Skye."
"A lion can't find belonging in a flock of sheep."
"You feel lonely. Out of place. Not because you're lacking—"
He tapped her lightly on the chest.
"But because you're too special."
"Special?" she echoed, confused.
Homelander placed both hands on her shoulders.
"You're raw jade, Skye. Everything you've endured is just the grinding before you shine."
"Don't let mediocre people decide your worth."
The words struck deep.
Orphanage.
Foster homes.
Always unwanted. Always searching for where she belonged.
And now—the strongest man in the world was looking at her like she mattered.
"Thank you…" Her voice trembled.
"Don't thank me. Consider it an investment."
Homelander pulled a new wristwatch from his pocket and handed it to her.
"There's an encrypted channel inside."
"I have a… quiet friend inside S.H.I.E.L.D. Decent clearance."
"Use that channel. He'll help you—like I did."
Skye tightened her grip around the watch.
Homelander had an insider at the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.?
She didn't ask who.
"I will," she said firmly.
"I'll find out who I really am."
"You will."
He ruffled her hair.
"Alright. I should go."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s people are almost here. I don't feel like running into them."
He stepped past her, pausing just long enough to turn his head—half profile, fifty percent charm bonus activated.
"Remember this, Skye."
"No matter what truth you uncover."
"No matter what you become…"
"…I'm on your side."
Whoosh—!
He shot into the sky as a red-and-blue streak, vanishing into the clouds.
Skye stood there, stunned, staring at the empty sky.
"Skye! Skye! Are you there?!"
Coulson's anxious voice echoed from the distance.
She snapped back to herself.
Carefully, she fastened the watch around her wrist.
"I'm here, Coulson," she called out.
Her voice was eerily calm.
…
New York.
Homelander returned to his office and poured himself a glass of milk.
That performance had cost him a little energy—but the payoff was enormous.
Skye's loyalty line was secure.
Once the Terrigen crystals appeared, a fully awakened Quake would be a terrifyingly valuable asset.
And beyond her…
The Inhumans.
…
Elsewhere.
Pietro Maximoff lay sprawled across a massive luxury bed, game controller in hand, destroying enemies on a hundred-inch TV.
Life as Quicksilver was perfect.
Fame.
Money.
Fans without number.
He'd just picked up a new Ferrari yesterday. Slower than him—but the acceleration still felt damn good.
Buzz.
His phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Not a normal notification.
A specific frequency—one only he understood.
Pietro's fingers froze.
On-screen, his character stood helpless as the boss executed a finishing move.
Game Over.
He set the controller down and picked up the phone.
An encrypted message. Unknown sender.
Just a line of meaningless characters.
But in Pietro's eyes, the code rearranged itself—
Into a command.
--------------
T/N:
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