Chapter Text
For the first six months or so, Maeve didn’t have a single thought in her mind. At least, she tried her hardest not to. She drowned her thoughts in a tidal wave of each and every legal and illegal substance at her disposal. Dealing with them head-on was not an option.
Should be glad, shouldn’t she? That the Flight 37 video served its intended purpose, that it kept Homelander under some semblance of control? That maybe, that fucking nightmare she went through actually was worth something in the end, to protect the kid and everyone else? Including Elena?
But it also cost her Elena. Probably for good.
There was a time, long ago, when Elena loved her. Hell, there was a time when Maeve loved, or at least liked, herself. A little. But that feeling was gone now, replaced with a burning loathing, and a wondering where that old version of herself disappeared to. That Maeve would’ve done anything to protect innocent people. That Maeve would’ve gone down with Flight 37. That Maeve would’ve stood up to Homelander a lot sooner–
Except she didn’t, because that Maeve became this Maeve and that’s how she got here in the first place. Ergo and hence, she has always been shit.
She tried her very hardest to kill herself via alcohol poisoning. She pushed the limits of her body’s tolerance, managing to throw up more than she ever thought possible, blacking out most nights, but to her disappointment, she always woke up the next morning (or afternoon, or evening).
She tried a few other ways, too. The limiting factor was not that she did not want to go through with it, but she did not want to be perceived in failure. She had a few methods in mind she was genuinely curious about (like, would a fall off the hundred-story Vought Tower even leave a scratch? She’d never fallen more than twenty or thirty floors before), but it was impossible to test them, because if she didn’t die, then everyone would see and point and stare and ask questions. Most of all, he would see.
Which brought her to a very good point.
The problem of Maeve being the second-strongest Supe she’d ever met was that number one was Homelander. He was the only person on the planet that could seriously threaten her. Which was always a problem thus far, but…
Perhaps it was time to really find out “who would win”. On paper, he had the edge, but Maeve did not intend to play entirely fair.
It was a foolish goal, but it was a goal nonetheless. A reason to wake up in the morning (afternoon) and go on living – because if this didn’t work out, she’d accomplish her other goal and die. Win-win.
From months six to eight, she lowered her alcohol intake little by little, and cut out other drugs entirely. She’d gotten sober before, but never from this low of a starting point, so it was important to do it right. By month eight, she was off alcohol completely. She missed going to meetings, like back in the day, when Elena convinced her to. (She missed Elena more than ever, but that was very bad to think about, so she focused on the meetings). But she couldn’t go to meetings now, because it was very important that no one knew she was getting sober. For her plan to have any hope of success, she needed the element of surprise, which meant everyone – Homelander most of all – had to believe she was still at her worst.
Crafting the act was almost fun. A little sad, too, in how easy it was, even with the eyes of the world on her. Maeve supposed she had plenty of practice with lying, with playing a role. But it didn’t hurt that everyone around her was so willing to believe in the Fallen Queen Maeve, the pathetic drunk who’d given up for good. Cashing in on the years she’d spent building up that reputation, by living that reputation.
It was hard to do it alone… the sober nights with the thoughts echoing over and over in her head. Normally she’d drown them out with substances; now she used training, to distract herself and get back into shape. Training, too, was harder when she was alone… she couldn’t meet with her usual sparring partners, because she needed everyone to think she wasn’t training at all. That she’d given up. That she remained what she had been for the previous eight months… a hollow shell of a person. Which she was, still, but she had a mission now, a mission that was at once noble and selfish.
Kill Homelander, or die trying.
As the days passed, something strange happened. Maeve began to believe in herself more and more. Mind you, the chances of success were still slim – her estimated odds in her favor grew from maybe 1% to 2% – but they did grow. Though she was still working towards getting back to peak physical skill, Maeve felt stronger than ever. Or rather, less weak. For the first time, she truly had nothing and no one left to lose.
Until that stupid little Starlight came knocking on her door.