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The way she clutched him hit his gut. She held him like his little body was the only thing tethering her to this earth. He could fucking taste the emotion in this room. Him. And instead of it bouncing off the hard shell he’d grown over himself, it got in. Sank under his skin.
Just like the way the kid had.
He hadn’t intended on having any real contact with him, or her ever again. He intended on making sure they were back together, safe, and never laying eyes on them again.
No, that was a lie. He had already planned on watching her house, the kid’s school—once he talked to the dipshit teachers—and her work. For how long, he didn’t know. Until he was satisfied.
But he didn’t plan on her seeing him. On those golden eyes touching his, searing into him. No fucking way.
But then they got in the house. Somehow, the kid found his way to him. Walked right up to him, in the middle of the chaos around him.
“Hi sir,” the little boy with caramel skin and green eyes greeted him. He was holding a battered rabbit by the ear. “You’re very tall,” he commented. “And muscly.” There was a pause as the kid inspected him. “Are you Captain America?”
At this point, Lance almost fucking laughed. Him. He hadn’t even cracked a smile in a decade, hadn’t laughed in recent memory, but this kid, who’d been essentially held captive by a stranger claiming to be his father, was seemingly unrattled by strangers around him.
“No, kid,” he replied. “No way am I any kind of superhero.”
The kid furrowed his brows, focusing with an intensity that a five-year-old definitely shouldn’t have.
It was cute.
Lance didn’t think anything was cute. He’d never used the word in his life, never fucking thought it. But now here he was, thinking it when he’d been sure he’d be in here restraining his urge to kill, not to fucking laugh.
“You’re here to take me back to my mommy, aren’t you?” the kid asked after a beat.
Lance was shocked. Another thing that never happened to him. People were reasonably predictable, the shit they said was rarely shocking—Rosie was not included in this—he was bored and detached from most useless babble.
But fuck. This kid.
Lance nodded once.
The kid smiled. Big. Wide. It hit Lance in the gut. Just like those green eyes had. “Well, then, you are a superhero,” he decided. Then, he held out his hand.
Lance stared at it for a second, not quite sure what the kid wanted from him. Candy? He didn’t carry around loose Werther’s Originals in his fucking pockets.
But then he realized. The kid wanted to take his fucking hand.
And he didn’t even hesitate to take it.
Him. Who abhorred and avoided all human contact, especially with children.
But he did that.
And he took the kid’s hand, then, and when he held it out to him once they’d gotten out of the SUV they drove here in, Lance led him up the stairs of the offices while he chattered on about how he “didn’t know superheroes had offices, but it made sense.” The kid had cracked up every member of the team. Charmed them all.
Everyone was on a high.
They’d hoped for the best. But they were trained, they’d seen some horrible shit, some of the most horrible shit humans could do to each other, they’d seen it happen to people they loved. So they were hopeful, as hopeful as people could be knowing that the worst-case scenario was more common and horrifying than anyone thought.
But they got something rare.
They got the absolute best-case scenario.
The kid didn’t have a bruise on him. He was clean. Seemed to be well-fed, didn’t show any signs of emotional trauma, not one fucking tear. Lance wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes.
And the kid was something.
Not that that was surprising given his mother.
Everyone recognized it.
Everyone wanted to protect this kid and this woman because they dealt with so much shit, they knew when something real, good and rare came along.
Hudson had caved like any bully would when confronted with someone tougher and more powerful. It wasn’t surprising, given what a fucking coward he was. The footage of him with multiple prostitutes getting fucked up the ass with a dildo also helped. Plus the evidence they had against his father helped if he decided to get Daddy involved.
It seemed the senator had been a naughty fucking boy himself, with embezzlement and money laundering among the list of crimes that would put him away if they took it public.
Why was it that all these people that thought they were better than everyone were usually doing worse shit than the criminals?
Lance didn’t care. The bloodlust that he’d been so sure he’d be choking on dissipated with the small hand in his.
