Valentina was dead on her feet, swaying with her eyes half open. It was her last 12 hour shift of the week.

And Butcher was late.

It'd been two weeks of the same routine, and never once had he been late. She was in the break room, avoiding a chair because she knew as soon as she sat down she would be asleep.

When she thumped her head against the wall as she started falling sideways, she finally relented. Valentina's entire week has been hardwork felt more strenuous than ever. Working with kids in a hospital setting was a blessing and a curse, and sometimes she just couldn't take it.

And all she wanted was to be home but she couldn't because she doesn't have her damn truck. Butcher, other than today, had been reliable, quiet company. He was always on time, always vigilant with what was happening around her if they stopped somewhere in public. But he didn't talk much; he almost felt like a shadow more than anything and he left as soon as he got the chance to.

Was Valentina offended he didn't find her charming enough to hang around? No, definitely not. She was totally unaffected by it. But Butcher was a lot of things and someone who showed up late was not one of them.

20 minutes late to be exact. She was sitting at the table, eyes fluttering open and closed. She would probably be worried about him by now if she weren't dozing off.

Her eyes had fully shut as noise suddenly echoed in the background.

"Sir, you really need ID to go back—"

"Shut the fuck up and let me get what I have to get," a familiar voice snarled, but still she didn't wake up from her power nap.  the door was slammed open she did jump, groggy and shielding her eyes immediately from the bright light. A low whine fell from her lips as she squinted up at the familiar biker.

His usual eyes held a bit of guilt in them—that was surprising. Butcher was usually unbothered by her or how she felt about things. He did his job as promised. He didn't explore the small opportunity of friendship he'd opened that day Jude left, he didn't indulge in her small talk or stay late when she invited him for food. It was business to him.

And that made her tired little heart so sad for some reason.

"Valentina," he grumbled softly. If she hadn't been so tired she'd say that there was relief in his tone.

"Late," she groaned and thunked her head on the table.

The nurse that had been trying to stop him glanced at Valentina, then back at the scary man, before ultimately deciding to leave.

Valentina fully laid her upper body against the table, giving up on staying awake. He cursed quietly and tried to rouse her up.

"Valentina," he hissed as gently as he could muster. Repeatedly he tried to shake her tentatively. His large hand clasped her slender shoulder. Cursing again, he rubbed a hand through his hair.

"C'mon sugar. Work with me here." He bent down and slid his arm under her thighs, his other bicep cradling her back.  Immediately, she wound her own arms around his neck. Her body tensed as he held her entire weight up, her eyes peaking open cautiously. "I've got ya." He rolled his eyes.

She rested her cheek on his shoulder without another complaint, and he managed to snag her tote bag that she had left on the floor.

Thinking back, she would be grateful for him, even if he'd been late to begin with. Because as he carried her through the hospital he didn't once look embarrassed, didn't once complain about doing so, or the fact that she definitely smelled like she'd been working a twelve hour shift, and as he held her, his touch was jarringly gentle.

They'd come into a routine: he'd get to her apartment before every shift, leave his bike there to drive her pickup and drop her off, doing whatever it was that he did after, whether it included using her truck or going back to his bike, and repeating the same to pick her up.

This had been the first time that he'd broken routine with his tardiness.

He set her down in the car, and felt like an even bigger asshole as she slumped forward haphazardly. Butcher exhaled through his nose as he buckled her in securely as she mumbled. The pale man righted her up against the seat, narrowing his eyes as she offered no help. Her head flopped back.

"Can't believe that asshole made me fuckin' late. I should gut him next time." His words were rushed and under his breath as he started the truck.

Once again, Valentina fell over, knocking her head so hard against his shoulder that even he winced, her body slouching uncomfortably with her hands on her lap.

But as soon as he lifted his arm to fix her, she fell even further into his lap. Her cheek smacked against his jean-clad thigh, and she snored loudly.

He'd never seen her this tired after a shift; just their fucking luck. Nose scrunching up as he watched her drool against his pants, Butcher couldn't even be mad as he made his way to her apartment.

He thought about how he'd explain everything to her when she was awake. Butcher didn't want to tell her that Rhodey had been hounding him for weeks about what she was like. About how he wanted to really get to know her. He didn't want to tell her that Rhodey took the goddamn keys to the truck right as he was leaving to get her.

He especially didn't want to tell her how he smashed Rhodeys face against the bar, creating a dent in the wood and his nose. Telling him that she was off limits—loud enough for the whole damn club to hear.

No—Butcher definitely didn't want to tell her that. Not while she was drooling on his pants so peacefully.

The biker didn't even know why he was worrying so much. He carried her in without much of a hassle, locking the door quickly behind them.

Butcher might just never give her an explanation. He could ignore her questions or deflect with something that would probably make her face fall into a look of disappointment.

But, in the last two weeks he learned that he hated that look.

Groaning in annoyance, Butcher practically dumped her on the bed. The poor girl bounced on the mattress and was awoken abruptly.

Valentina squealed a little and sat up straight. Her confused eyes trailed over to the biker who so often kept her company now.

His auburn brows rose, expecting something. Anything.

Her glasses were barely perched on her nose; he'd learned that she always wore them on her third shift to give her eyes a break. Her nose scrunched up, reaching for her scrub pants and trying to wiggle them off with her shoes in the way. The fabric bunched around her chubby thighs, leaving her plain black underwear exposed. Butcher averted his eyes from her torso entirely.

Practically growling in annoyance, she flopped back on the bed. Tears of tiredness and frustration were brimming her eyes.

"Fuck—fine. Calm the hell down." He reached for her shoes.

Sliding the sneakers off, he watched her immediately wiggle out of the pants and his mouth went dry. Seeing the smooth skin of her thighs fully revealed felt illegal, and he once again looked past her.

She was trying to get naked after taking the scrub top off, leaving a tank top underneath. Not willing to risk it, Butcher frantically looked around the floor for something she could wear. Snagging a hoodie nearby, they both wrestled one another. Butcher knelt against the mattress briefly to grip both of her arms, forcing them into the big hole. He yanked it over her head so she was hidden in the oversized garment, a low squeal muffled into the fabric. Painful struggling finally got them with her head poking out, her brow furrowed up at him with a pout.

The cat, the one that didn't like him, jumped on the bed with a glare. She was visibly wondering what this strange man was doing to her human companion. It didn't last long as she immediately brushed against Valentina needily.

The biker's eye twitched before, on a whim, he reached and felt her forehead. She was hot, very hot. His eyes fell shut and he sighed through his nose in absolute irritation.

"You don't fucking take care of yourself, woman," he snapped to no one in particular as the two other living things in the room acted as if he didn't exist.

***

Valentina woke up late the next morning, with a damp cloth on her forehead and extra pillows underneath her head. Sucking in a breath as if she were truly dead to the world, she sat up quickly and looked around, confused.

Groaning loudly, she rolled out of bed. Glancing around, she saw a bottle of medicine and another washcloth discarded.  Her lips pouted as she realized that this all must be from Butcher. Her heart thudded at the remnants of his haphazard care.

Wiping at her eyes, she knew that last night was pushing it after not eating enough. But never had she felt like that after a shift. It was probably the stress getting to her.

Sluggishly walking to her kitchen, it was obvious that she needed brunch. Her phone connected to her speaker immediately as soon as she grabbed a pan for eggs. Just as she glanced over the island a song blasted, and she screeched in shock as someone lurched up on her couch, pointing a gun right at her.

Butcher and Valentina stared at each other in shock.

"You're still here?" she croaked. "And you have a fucking gun?" The sleep was still laced in her every word as she took several moments to catch up.

Butcher was sat up but he'd been sleeping on her too small couch. One leg was hanging off and the other was bent over the arm of it. Begrudgingly, he tucked the gun back from where it came from.

"Don't act stupid, ya knew I had a gun'," he grunted as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "And I tried to leave, but you damn near started cryin'. Actually, you were definitely crying."

Ignoring the first part, Valentina's head tilted. "And you still stayed?" Her gaze softened.

He didn't respond, only grunted slowly as he stood, while cracking his neck. "You could've slept in the bed, you idiot. It's not like I don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself."

Butcher's eyes trailed over to hers, sleep gone from them. He cleared his throat as he moved closer. "Last night—won't happen again. I got caught up."

Her head tilted a little, eying him suspiciously. "You staying over or being late?"

Something passed through his eyes, even if only for a second. "Late."

"Okay." She leaned forward on her elbows. The cold counter sent shivers up her spine. "I'm glad you stayed; it's been so long since I've had company besides our drives."

Butcher openly stared at her. Messy hair, blotchy skin and all. He inhaled sharply. "I have to go," he croaked.

Valentina's head perked up and her eyes widened, "You have to?" Her voice softened and that same damn look in her eyes became evident. Disappointment.

"I was...gonna make us omelets and smoothies. That's okay—-next time," she rushed out softly in one breath.

Butcher ran a hand through his hair, stressed. Hissing lowly through his teeth, he shook his head. "Have to leave in an hour, alright? Can't stay past then." His words were grumbled sheepishly, before he sat across from her at the island.

Valentina's face perked up quickly and Butcher thought for a second about how rewarding such a simple sentence was.

"I'm going to make you the best freaking omelet ever, Butcher."

The biker simply watched her while she cooked. The meals didn't take long, the blender that ran in between the cooking making him flinch, but he noticed that she did it as quickly as possible.

While he was watching her, she spoke candidly. Her last three shifts were hectic, to say the least. She spoke of many kids creating scenes in the hospital,further proving she was far better than him to deal with that.

Every once in a while she'd glance back to see if Butcher was listening. And every single time he was looking at her intensely. Every time he nodded his head as if to assure her he was following along.

It made her lips twitch every time, fighting the bashful grin and blush to her cheeks.

When's the last time anyone gave her attention like this? God, this was like bare minimum—-sad.

Butcher felt something in his chest as he watched her move around. She didn't change her pajamas and she didn't try to fix her wild hair. He didn't want her to; he wanted her to stay like this. Here, with his ass, sat right in this seat to look at her all damn day.

The thought made him choke on his coffee, covering it up while clearing his throat. Just as he did, Valentina slid a plate to him. His brow rose as she made a smiley face of ketchup on the edge of his plate.

Glancing back up, he saw her smirking a bit. Shaking his head a little, he nodded in thanks before eating after she'd taken her first bite. Even while she ate, her eyes peaked at him nervously to see whether he liked it.

Butcher ate quickly, half of the omelet gone with his large bites.

"It's good?"

His amber eyes flitted up to her, grunting with a nod.

"How long have you been with the club?" she asked suddenly, sipping on her strawberry banana smoothie.

He paused, glancing up at her again. Swallowing down the food, he leaned back in his chair. For the first time, he looked a tad uncomfortable.

Sighing finally, he grunted for the umpteenth time. "Since 17 or somethin'." He rubbed the back of his neck in thought.

Her brown eyes looked up at him, surprised. "That's young," she hummed in thought. "I'm almost jealous. They really seem like a family." Valentina's head tilted in thought. As she rolled her lips, he could see her get lost in her thoughts for a moment.

"When I was 17 I was so focused on college admissions that I missed prom." She tried to laugh but it only turned into a pitiful groan. "How sad is that? I missed so much for stupid shit. I mean—I did what I wanted. Got the degree, but here I am. Sitting alone as usual—-with the exception of today of course."

Her head peaked up to give him an amused smirk. Butcher inhaled through his nose sharply, looking at the small space between them and back at how she was looking at him.

"You know Butcher, I think you're literally my only friend."

And there it was, a stab through his barely fucking beating heart. A strangled noise rose from his throat. Butcher could only nod.

The two sat in comfortable silence, taking small glances at one another before he found his mouth moving before he could think. "Left for the marines two years after I got patched in," he found himself admitting.

Valentina also looked shocked at him willingly sharing something. Her eyes glanced around before slowly saluting, confusion taking over her face.

"Thank you...for your service?"

Butcher snorted into his coffee. She could've sworn she saw him smirking against the mug.

Valentina giggled while smiling, taking a large bite of her eggs. "But I'm serious, dude. That stuff is intense, you deserve like a medal or something. I'll make you another omelet." She immediately stood up to get started.

"Sit the hell down, woman. I don't need a damn pity omelet."

The Latina woman gasped, "This is not a pity omelet! Take that back, Butcher." She rounded the corner and shoved at his shoulder.

She took the smoothie she'd made him, that he'd only drank part of before not touching it again. Taking her own long sip, she narrowed her eyes at him over the drink.

"Stop." He gripped the back of her sweatshirt, yanking her back with an abrupt display of strength. She tumbled into the stool beside him.

"It wasn't anything worth your food," his voice lowered to a husk. He stared at the remnants of his breakfast. Fuck, when was the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal?

"Don't say that." She brushed her hand over his bicep. "It's worth something to me."

He grumbled a little, suddenly reaching for the neck of his shirt. For a split, jarring second, she thought he was taking his shirt off. And the second immediately following that she was completely on board with that, no questions asked.

Her eyes widened when she realized he was just gripping something underneath the shirt, and her cheeks went pink. Focusing on the silver necklace he brought out, her lips parted when she saw that it was his dog tags.

Butcher dropped the tags on the counter. He doesn't know what compelled him to do this, but he really really fucking wanted her to have them.

Her brows furrowed and she grabbed them, examining them closely. The top, where the name would be, had been scratched out so that the engraved name was unreadable. Her nimble fingers brushed over the engraving. Her face contorted in confusion but she read over the numbers that were assigned to him anyway and the wear on the necklace itself. The second tag was his Marine Corps number.

"Have 'em."

Valentina balked at his words. "I can't take them from you. These are obviously important, I didn't earn them."

Butcher curled his lip a bit. "Never wanted them anyway. I'm leaving them here either way, so ya might as well."

Glancing to the side, he saw her blinking in shock.

"Why?" she whispered, running her fingers over the rounded rectangle.

Butcher shrugged while standing, downing the last of his lukewarm coffee.  "Keep 'em, I've got shit to do."

Grabbing his cut from the couch and his keys, Butcher was almost out the door when Valentina tried to catch up.

"Tomorrow I have to do some errands—-I'm just letting you know so you don't text me wondering where I am and then drag me off to the club." She sent him a pointed look as he glanced down at her blankly. "I'll let you know when I get back home." Valentina smiled softly up at him as if what she'd said didn't irritate the hell out of him. Lifting the necklace, she tugged the tags over her head. Her eyes never left his as she smiled softly up at him.

"No," he replied. "You're not doing jack shit alone. I'll be here in the morning." His glare was intense, Valentina's shooting back up at him.

"I can do some things alone, Butcher. You don't have to feel obligated."

"Shut up. Do as I say, yeah?" he grunted down at her.

Crossing her arms tightly, she watched him closely. The biker didn't even wait for a response, pushing through the door and slamming it shut behind him.