Chapter Text
Nagano General Hospital
“Ochako.”
It wasn’t a question or a statement, the way he said her name – a declaration, really, or maybe a greeting, but whatever it was, it made Ochako’s breath catch in her throat.
“Deku,” she murmured, a mess of a thousand emotions she’d forgotten she knew how to feel, and though she’d been cautioned against too much movement, she crossed the room to him in only a few steps. But she paused before she’d reached him; for a moment she simply looked at Izuku, taking him in, wondering if she were awake.
He looked…fine, really, with only a little loss of broadness in his shoulders to tell her he’d even been hurt. He was a little scrawnier, a little closer to the boy she’d fallen for all those years ago; still, he hardly looked like he’d been comatose for a month. His eyes were wide, his hair disheveled, and his clothes thrown together haphazardly with no regard for whether they matched (they did not). It could not be clearer that he’d come to her in a rush, and though he looked like he wanted to speak, he didn’t. Something held him back and each time he opened his mouth to begin, he closed it again.
She did, too, and if he wouldn’t start them off, she would.
But they spoke at once without meaning to, her “you’re all right” and his “I love you” running together.
Neither processed what the other had blurted out.
“We did it,” Ochako repeated, dumbstruck. “You’re okay.”
“Ochako,” he said, just as dumbstruck. “I love you.”
She stared at him for a moment.
“What?”
“I…I love you,” he repeated with a little more emphasis. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t say something sooner but Kacchan said you almost died and that they all couldn’t have done this without you and you probably saved my life and you almost died, Ochako, and I came as fast as I could but…but…”
He deflated.
“I love you,” he said, once more. “I’ve only ever loved you.”
Ochako took a moment to compose herself, heart pounding, cheeks furiously red.
“I…I read your letter. Thing.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, which was probably for the best, as her own were about to pool with tears. “In the journal.”
“My letter?” he tilted his head, confused. “What…oh.” His cheeks flushed. “Where did you get that?”
“Long story.” She offered him a watery smile. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say all of that?”
He stopped for a moment, his breathing labored.
“Ochako,” he said cautiously, “you…”
She nodded tearily.
“Is that…what Kacchan meant about me breaking your heart?”
“Probably.” She sniffled, trying not to let her embarrassment at the fact that such a conversation had occurred show. “Seven years is too long, Deku.”
“Seven…years?”
She inched closer to him without really knowing why. It was too easy, in the face of a confession like that, to forget the way she’d felt when she’d read his letter, the way she’d felt when he’d started to pull away from her – she’d have given him anything he asked of her, now, if only to hear him say those words again.
He loves me, she thought, and her heart squeezed again. He noticed me. He loved me. He always has.
“That’s…” he was close enough now that she could feel each breath his words expelled against her skin. “That’s a really long time.”
She swallowed hard. “Mmhm.”
Something in the back of her mind told her to pull away; something at the forefront, that loud and angry voice that had always reminded her why she could not let go of him, wouldn’t let her do it. So she looked up.
She’d forgotten how much taller he was when she’d only seen him lying down for so long, and he had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eyes. But when she did, he caught her face with a finger under her chin, then gently cupped her opposite cheek with his free hand.
“Ochako,” he murmured, his thumb swiping a line along her cheekbone, “I’m so sorry.”
She swallowed hard, again, and she knew he could probably feel her jaw flex beneath his fingers. “Don’t do that again, Izuku.”
“’Course not.” That was a thoroughly unconvicing promise, but she had no choice in this moment but to believe it.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”
She closed her eyes, then – it seemed natural to – so she would never really be able to recall when she’d known what he meant to do.
Stop, something told her, and tell him what you keep telling yourself before he gets the wrong idea, but it seemed utterly impossible with his callused hands cradling her face and her breath coming in short and the paintbrush-delicate first stroke of his lips against hers and everything she’d wanted him to say ringing in her ears.
This is perfect, Ochako, said reason. You won, you saved him, you showed everyone what you were capable of – he loves you. He wants you.
Tell him ‘no,’ Ochako, said caution. You both have to grow and he had seven years to do this and he’s reckless and he broke your heart and he’ll do it again, no matter how much he loves you.
But neither won and she let him kiss her, so tentative she could barely feel it, and let his broad hands wrap around her waist and tangle in her hair, and when he leaned down to press his forehead to hers, she couldn’t bring herself to say a word.
Her cheeks stung, both her hands rested stiffly against his chest, and she couldn’t tell whether she felt embarrassed or elated or both or neither. She had hardly been a participant in that kiss, but it still made her stomach sink, as if there were no more room for her apprehensions now that she had allowed it.
But there were, and if she did not voice them now, she was soberingly sure she’d never be able to.
“I…I do feel the same way,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “And I’m sorry, and I should’ve led with this, and I hate that I didn’t, but…but I don’t think that I can be with someone who doesn’t think I should be able to choose whether or not a risk is too big for me to take.”
“Ochako…?”
“I’m so sorry, Deku.” Now she leaned her forehead against his chest to hide the moisture in her eyes. “And a big part of it’s my fault, too, but…we both…have a lot of things we need to work through on our own, and…I…I just can’t.”
“Oh.” She knew from the sound of his voice that it stung, but he tried to keep himself even-keeled. “I…I think we could make it work, but…if you feel that way, I…I understand.”
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured again. “I wish that I could say s-something else, but…but I just…I can’t get my heart broken again, Izuku.” Her hand curled into a weak fist. “Not again.”
“All right.” Cautiously, he set one of his hands against her shoulder. “May I…?”
“Yeah.” She sniffled again, and she was all too willing to wrap her arms around him in kind. “If…if you want.”
Leave it to Midoriya Izuku to want nothing but a moment to hold the friend who’d just rejected him.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, as if the words were a prayer. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s all right, Ochako.” She knew that it wasn’t but she was grateful for the lie. “You…saved my life, after all. I owe you.”
“No,” she said. “No, you don’t.”
And she realized with a soothing sense of closure that he didn’t – because he was her best friend, her inspiration, and her first love even if he would not be the love of her life; because, if asked, no matter what mistake drove her to do it, she would do it all again a thousand times over. It was nothing, risking her life for someone who filled her heart and fueled her fire the way Izuku did – that, she thought, was a gift in and of itself. They had prevented so much loss in their search for answers; she’d discovered so much, become so much more aware of her potential, that she could not possibly resent the risks she had taken.
He’d made a mistake that’d nearly cost them dearly, and he’d broken all of their hearts in the process, but he’d paved the way for something beautiful. And Ochako found it hard to believe, crying in his arms, that the same could not be true of whatever she and Izuku became.
**
Three Months Later
“Is this the Ino residence?”
“Yes, it is,” said a gruff male voice on the other end of the line. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Todoroki Shouto. I’m a pr-“
“I know who Todoroki Shouto is.” The man seemed remarkably unconcerned about protocol. “How do you know who Iam?”
“A few months ago, myself and some of my colleagues got involved in a case involving a cult-”
“The Brotherhood thing. Yup. Heard about it. Why’s it matter?”
“Well, from what we can tell, many of the group’s members were kidnapped as small children for the use of their quirks, and records state that your daughter, Ino Ayane, was reported as a missing person at age three.” He cleared his throat. “That’s all the records state.”
“Missing person?” the man muttered under his breath. “The hell’s that mean? She got put in some kinda group home.”
“There’s no record of that, Mr. Ino. As far as we know, Ayane was never placed in anyone’s care.”
“But…the Child Safety Services people said they were putting her in a home,” he muttered. “They told us that her quirk was too dangerous for us to handle, and…and that she had to be with someone who could care for her, and couldn’t have contact with us, and…”
“I’m…sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Ino. But those people weren’t social workers.”
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
“…the Brotherhood of the Righteous wanted to use your daughter’s earthquake quirk,” he said, figuring it was best to rip off the band-aid. “But she chose to defect, and she’s been in my care for several months.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Well…Mari. I mean, Ayane. Sorry, I get mixed up because they called her Mari in the Brotherhood.” Shouto paused to collect himself. “Ayane is…heavily indoctrinated, so she’s needed a lot of outside help, and it’s taken time to figure out her real identity, but she’s interested in reconnecting with her parents.”
“Indoctrinated…how?”
“Well, cults tend to do that.”
“So, like…she’s brainwashed?”
“Well, no. She’s very much still capable of independent thought. But the Brotherhood still has its claws in her, I suppose. A little bit. But she’s made a lot of progress, and she’s still only fourteen, so we’re fairly optimistic that she’ll be able to live as normal a life as she possibly could by the time she’s an adult.”
“But she’s been brainwashed by a cult.”
“Sir, I just said-”
“Look, Todoroki. I spent eleven years tellin’ myself I’d never see my kid again. Do you really think I’m gonna be able to live with seeing her and knowing some cult’s gotten all up in her head?”
“I…implore you to see her, at least once. She’s fourteen. Think about how much she’s already been through.” Shouto pressed his palm to his forehead. “How much is it going to crush her if her own parents won’t even agree to see her?”
“Sorry, kid. Answer’s no.”
**
“Would you like us to call you Ayane now?”
Mari shook her head, eyes wide and still a little teary. “No, thank you,” she said timidly.
“All right.” Momo sat beside Mari at the edge of the bed, close enough that she could touch her should she want it but far enough to give her space if she didn’t.
“My parents didn’t want me back,” Mari said numbly.
“Well…” there was no easy way to break that to a child, so she was grateful for Shouto’s appearance in the doorway. A little frantic, she gestured for him to sit on Mari’s other side; he surely would have a better answer for Mari than she did.
“I know that this isn’t what you wanted,” he started, reaching for her hand. She gladly took it. “And…I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty mad too.”
“Don’t be,” she said, her voice small. “They had a right to not want me.”
“No, they didn’t, Mari,” Momo cut in. “They’re your parents. That’s their job. And I don’t want you to think for a second that this is right, or fair, or that you deserved it – because you didn’t, Mari. Not at all.”
“Right.” Shouto opened his arm to make Mari more comfortable as she leaned into his side. “But sometimes, parents still aren’t good people.” He felt himself drifting too far from the subject at hand and took a pause to reel himself in. “Sometimes they don’t do their jobs, and it hurts when that happens, but here’s the thing.” He’d gotten better at this lately and he’d found that he liked it, being able to tell a child what he wished someone had told his younger self. “There are going to be people who love you like your parents were supposed to, and those people are your family as much as anyone who’s related to you.”
Mari sniffled, saying nothing. At very least, it was a relief to see her let herself cry.
“I…I’ve been there, Mari.” He let out a shaky breath and wondered if he should be saying this at all, but sometimes knowing that someone else had already come through what seemed insurmountable in the moment was comforting. “My, uh, parents were a little bit like yours growing up. I mean, in that they didn’t really do their jobs. And it hurts – it probably always will – but…I have people now.” He let go of her hand to give her shoulder a squeeze. “I found a better family, and…if you don’t have one anymore, you can share mine.”
“Ours,” Momo corrected, turning to him with a gentle smile. “You can share ours.”
“Yeah. Ours.” He smiled back. “And I know you have no reason to trust us, but we’ve all really come to care about you. If you want, you can stay with us as long as you like.” He patted her shoulder again. “You’re one of ours now, right?”
“Right.” Momo had to bite her lip to keep from beaming with pride – now wasn’t exactly the time, even if she thought her heart might burst with it. “If you want to be.”
“Okay,” Mari said shakily.
And it was a start.
**
Three Months Earlier
En Route from Nagano to Shizuoka
“I think you chose well, Uraraka.”
Ochako turned to the window of the car with a bittersweet smile. “Ochako,” she said. “I told you to call me Ochako.”
“All right.” Iida smiled sadly, turning his face towards the opposite window. “You chose well, Ochako.”
“I hope that I did,” she murmured.
He knew she had; he knew he had been right not to add to the burden of rejections she’d had to dole out. Tenya liked to think the feelings he harbored in secret were too noble to let him act on them of selfish intent and perhaps that wasn’t true, but he was glad that he’d held back, even though his heart still ached under the weight of everything he wished he could say to her.
“Ochako,” he said after a moment’s pause. They both still faced the windows; he knew she heard him even so. “I think that after all of this time, you deserved to be able to choose yourself.”
“I…I want to think that I didn’t,” she replied. “It seems so selfish, putting it like that. But…maybe.” She laughed shakily. “I want to say that I chose all of us, because we all had growing to do that we wouldn’t if I’d chosen either one of them, not to mention that it’d probably tear their friendship apart. But…maybe I did. Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I did choose something because it was what I wanted.”
“And that was the right decision, Ochako. Pursuing a relationship out of charity for the other partner while letting him believe that you shared his feelings would be cruel.”
Ochako barely seemed to be interested. “Maybe what I wanted,” she murmured against the glass, “was to be wanted the right way. Not by someone who put me on a pedestal and didn’t fully trust me, or…someone who wanted me selfishly. But someone who just…saw me. Loved me. Not the idea of me, or…what I could give to him. Just me. Does…does that make any sense?”
“Perfect sense,” Tenya said softly.
“But I also have a lot of growing left to do, y’know? We all do. So maybe it’s for the best, getting fought over and still ending up single.”
“Well, we are twenty-two.” He turned back to her now that the conversation was less fraught. “I doubt anyone expects that sort of maturity at our age.”
“Says the old soul who’s been forty since he was twelve,” Ochako laughed. It was good to hear her happy again after the day they’d had yesterday, to know that the tumult hadn’t stolen her smile. “You’re the best kind of good egg, ya know that?”
“Good…egg?”
“It’s an expression. Not literally. Just means you’re a real one.” Ochako turned back to him now and their eyes met – his curious, hers sparkling. “And I don’t know how I would’ve done this without you.”
“And none of it would have happened at all without you,” he said truthfully.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She rested her chin in the palm of her hand and smiled her faraway daydreamer’s smile. “Can’t we just chalk it up to us being a good team and leave it at that?”
His heart seized up in his chest at that smile – it was rare, and he hadn’t seen it in ages, but he’d always thought it was beautiful. “Yes,” he said. “I think we can.”
**
Fifteen Years Later
Interns today.
Ochako bit back a fond sigh at the memo on her calendar. She’d forgotten that this was the first day of work for the winter term’s high school interns. This was never the easiest time of year, what with crime rates suspiciously trending towards a midwinter peak and the biting chill and her children’s colds to contend with along with an entire batch of interns to train. Nevertheless, there was something about the snow on the ground and nonstop bustle of the season that she loved.
Really, it had every reason to remind her what she loved about her life. There were midday coffee breaks with whatever friends were out patrolling in the cold at the same time as she was; early mornings in warm sheets, arms wrapped around her waist, reluctant to pull off the covers and start her day for the warm contentment of those waking-up moments; a little more pink than usual in her children’s cheeks and her precocious oldest son’s insistence on checking the forecast for the possibility of snow every single morning; the winter gala season and its reunions of friends and the chance to wear the kind of evening gowns her younger self only ever would’ve dreamed of owning. Even the interns, sometimes so irritating on their worse days, were a welcome challenge – she loved their bright-eyed eagerness, learning about their quirks, watching them get to know each other as she and her agency’s sidekicks taught them the ropes. They reminded her a little of her younger self, bright-eyed and full of dreams.
Winters, rough as they could be, had their moments. And this morning, sipping her scalding coffee as she waited for the sidekick who’d been sent to pick up the interns to arrive, she felt more than ready to take on another.
She glanced up at the mementoes she’d pinned to the walls of her cubicle, lacking anything else to do. A ticket stub from her first Heroes Gala hung beside a birthday card all of her sidekicks had signed; her mother had mailed her a clipping of the first newspaper article about her that she’d been able to find back at the beginning of her career, and it was held in place by the same pushpin as a photo of the first vacation she’d taken with her parents on her just-starting-out sidekick’s salary years ago. A section she’d devoted to memories of her friends held a class graduation photo, an amusement park ticket whose origin she could no longer even remember, a selfie taken with Shisno on patrol (way back in the day when she’d still done things like that) that she’d liked enough to print and a group photograph of their group taken at Momo and Shouto’s wedding.
But her eyes always drifted last to the collection of items in the bottom left corner.
Perhaps she had a few too many baby pictures and children’s drawings pinned up alongside a note her husband had left her one morning (she’d found it touching, mundane as it was) and her ticket from the movie they’d seen on their first date (it had been terrible), but she didn’t care in the slightest. She’d learned long ago that one always needed to surround oneself with reminders of what good remained in a broken world and to that end, nothing spoke to her the way a photo of her children’s retreating backs as they ran into the waves on last summer’s vacation did.
You did good, Ochako, it always seemed to remind her.
And she had.
She smiled and turned at the sound of her unlucky sidekick shouting for order as the interns prepared to file into the office for their first day of work, ready to greet the day.