Chapter Text
"You're going back." It wasn't a question. Aizawa nodded over his morning coffee. Mic fidgeted in his seat, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of the table in front of him.
Aizawa sighed, putting the mug down and looking up from his notebook. "You might as well ask what you want to ask."
They hadn't told anyone. Midnight seemed to be both the first person they felt they should tell, and also the last person they could bring themselves to burden with this, and so they split the difference and kept it to themselves. Mic thought she should know, but he'd shut up pretty quickly when Aizawa had said, 'why? I wish I didn't.' and that was that. So knowing that after work today, Aizawa was going to get in his tiny deathtrap of a car and drive to Tartarus by himself, there was only one question to ask. "I could come with you," Mic offered instead, avoiding.
"No," Aizawa answered too quickly. Mic's eyebrows jumped up.
"Shouta..."
"I said no, Hizashi. I don't want-" I don't want you to see my cry over him. Again. I don't want you to have nightmares for a week when they've just now subsided. I don't want to sit in silence on the drive back pretending we're going to be able to get through this. "-I don't want him to use us against each other."
"Kurogiri is a shell," Mic muttered. "I don't think he knows how to play with people's emotions."
"I can't risk it." It was as good of an excuse as any. And much easier to say in the teacher's lounge than any of the other things running through his mind.
"Nomu just aren't that intell-" Mic started, and the sentence died when his eyes met Aizawa's.
"You weren't there, at the USJ. Kurogiri showed...care for Shigaraki. Affection. He's not like the others we've seen lately." Mic nodded, clenching his jaw. Aizawa took another sip of his coffee. It had grown cold. "You still haven't asked."
"Do you really need me to?" Mic replied, his expression hard. "Fine. Why?"
"Because I know, now," Aizawa said slowly, and Mic nodded, like he expected the answer. "If he's still in there..."
"He's not."
"He might be."
"He's not, Shouta. You know that. I know that. What we saw, what you saw, with your quirk, it wasn't, it couldn't have been..."
"Why not?" Aizawa said, forcing a casual tone.
"I know you want it to be," Mic said gently. "But one word-"
"-one word that he didn't want to say-"
"-one word that we got out of that...thing, one word is not enough to go on."
"We've already verified it was helpful." Aizawa hesitated, finishing the last of his coffee. "Don't you want him to be in there?"
Mic took a long time to answer, staring out the window at the cloudy morning. "No," he said firmly.
"That's why I need to go alone."
Mic scoffed under his breath. "Fine. Just, text me when you're on your way back, ok?"
Aizawa nodded, and got up to wash his mug. Vlad walked in shortly after, and Mic turned to him all smiles and morning greetings, like it was any other day. Aizawa still wasn't sure how he did that. Especially these days.
The drive was long and somewhat boring. His car rattled in protest of bring taken on this journey after being neglected for months, but Aizawa didn't hear any sounds or rattling that were too worrying. If it broke down, he could always call a cab the rest of the way there.
The guards weren't expecting him this time. Last week everyone but him knew who he was coming to see. This week, they scrambled when we walked in, noting about paperwork and authorization until they got Tsukauchi on the line and he authorized it over the phone, asking for the sessions to be recorded like the first one. Aizawa nodded. They led him into the visiting room, wheeling a mostly-sedated Kurigiri over to the other side of the glass.
"You're back," the villain said simply.
Aizawa nodded, not activating his quirk just yet.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" the yellow glow of Kurogiri's eyes tilted to the side like a confused puppy. The way Oboro used to do.
"Do you remember my last visit? Last week?"
Kurogiri looked around at the blank white room. "Time has no sense here. If you say it was last week, then sure, it was last week."
"Do you remember it?" Aizawa repeated.
"You kept talking to me like I was someone else. A friend, it seemed." The voice was cold, matter of fact. No inflection or clues in Kurogiri's tone. Aizawa frowned from the other side of the glass.
"You are - were - someone else."
"No," came the easy reply. "I am Kurogiri."
"You are Oboro," Aizawa said, just as assured.
"I don't know who you are talking about," the villain said, the slightest edge to his words.
"You spoke to me. You said my name."
Kurogiri went silent. Aizawa waited. One, two, five minutes passed, with no visible change. When Kurogiri spoke again, it was strained. "I... remember."
Aizawa moved closer, towards the edge of his seat.
"I have something... that you want."
"Information," Aizawa said quickly.
"No," Kurogiri said. "That's not why you're back."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed as his hair started lifting off his shoulders and neck with his quirk use. "You can help me save so many people."
"Where is Tomura Shigaraki?" Kurogiri asked instead.
"You tell me."
"It is my duty to care for him." Once again, there was a strain to his words. "I always was good with children."
"You know he's in there," Aizawa said, eyes starting to water. "Can you talk to him?"
"If... you want... to talk, we have to be... honest," Kurogiri got out slowly.
"Honest?" Aizawa latched on. "How?"
"Why are... you here, Pro Hero... Eraser Head?"
Maybe Aizawa was imagining it, but he could see a face among the smoke. Like what he saw a week ago. "For intel."
"No," Kurogiri said forcefully, the face becoming blurred behind the smoke again. "Admit it."
His eyes were stinging now, trying to concentrate. "What?"
"Admit it, and you'll... get what... you crave."
"I know Oboro can fight his way out," Aizawa said, determined. "I know he can help."
"Why are you here?"
"You have information?"
"Why... are you here?"
"I need more details."
"Why are... you here?"
Aizawa didn't realize he was biting the center of his bottom lip, trying to stop the words from escaping. The sentence had already fallen out of his mouth before he could stop it. "To see him."
There was a flash and the smoke cleared for a second to show a smiling, familiar face, flowing hair, a trademark piece of tape over the middle of the nose. The words that came out weren't in Kurogiri's voice, but they weren't Oboro's either. Instead they floated out of the face in a mismatched, hacked together tone straining between effort, affection, derision, and pride. "You're...a...hero..." Oboro's face said, before the smoke enclosed him again. Aizawa turned to the observation room.
"Did he short circuit again?" Aizawa asked into his headpiece.
"No, sir," the tech said. "I don't think so."
Shaking, standing (when had he stood up?) Aizawa turned back to Kurogiri. It's not like there was a face to make expressions on the other side of the glass, but Aizawa couldn't shake the feeling of curiosity that seemed to be emanating from the villain.
"Shouta Aizawa," Kurogiri said, his tone almost sing-song. "I know why you're here."
"We've already gone over this." Aizawa grumbled.
Kurogiri hummed, like a thinking computer. "I can give you what you want. For a price."
"This is not a negotiation." Aizawa took a long drink from his water bottle, letting his eyes close and rest. When he opened them again, Oboro's eyes were staring back at him through the smoke, most of his face obstructed.
"No?" Kurogiri teased, and the smoke closed in around Oboro's face again. "I want information. Assurance. About Tomura Shigaraki."
"Too bad," Aizawa said, trying to seem unaffected and failing.
"Next time, come prepared," Kurogiri said, and slumped slowly in his chair, going silent.
Aizawa looked at the observation deck again, and the tech assured him that Kurogiri was still conscious. Aizawa sat there for another half hour until slowly getting up and leaving, while the villain gave no indication he was still awake or aware of the hero's presence.
On his way out, walking quickly, Aizawa grumbled "I'll be back again," to the front desk. He drove home in silence, listening to old reruns of the podcast Mic used to make when they were students. It was the cassette already in his car's stereo. He didn't really expect it to work in the first place, but it was better than nothing.
"You didn't text," Mic said when Aizawa walked into their apartment. It wasn't accusatory or disappointed. Mic had already expected it.
"Sorry," Aizawa said simply.
Mic nodded. "Are you going to go back?"
"Yeah."
In private, Mic hesitated a lot. Or maybe just with him, with Aizawa, in the comfort of their own home, Mic gave the silence its space between them. It didn't feel uncharacteristic for Mic to wait before continuing the conversation, even though it would have thrown up a red flag for anyone else. Even Nemuri. "I'll want to come with you."
"Eventually," Aizawa agreed. Mic nodded.
"We should tell Nemuri."
"No," Aizawa said, even more forcefully than the first time the idea was brought up. Mic dropped it quickly.
Aizawa sighed under his breath, letting his shoulders drop and relax with the motion, before walking slowly over to the couch and settling in next to Mic. There were books spread all over the table, open to different pages, a bit too many to actually be useful, but just the right amount that Mic always used when he wanted to pretend that Aizawa caught him lesson planning when he got home late.
"I listened to your podcast on the way back," Aizawa said, leaning his head on Mic's shoulder. Mic gently brushed some hair out of Aizawa's face where it had fallen with the motion.
"Yeah? How'd you manage that?"
"It was in my cassette player," Aizawa confessed.
Mic kissed the top of his head gently. "You taped it?"
"Every week."
"And the tape still worked?"
"I was surprised too."
There was a slight chuckle against the top of Aizawa's head as Mic rested his chin against it. "You really are a softie sometimes."
"Don't you dare tell anyone," Aizawa warned, his eyes getting heavy with sleep.
"Which episode?"
"The one about...the English words Shakespeare invented."
"Oh, good one," Mic said smugly. "Elbow," he offered. Aizawa nodded softly.
"Swagger," Aizawa provided through a yawn.
"Lackluster."
"Lonely."
"Green-eyed."
"Sleepy."
"That wasn't one of them," Mic said automatically, before realizing what Aizawa meant. "Oh. Me too."
Aizawa smiled softly and peeled himself off the couch with great effort, grabbing Mic's hand in the process to lead them both to bed.