Archive of Our Own ^beta

Agent Mikumo walks with a limp.

Yuma has known this since he wandered out of that press conference, with shuddering breaths and shaking knees.

Yuma has watched as he paces the length of the hallway, grabbing fiercely at his side and stepping harder with his right foot than his left. He has observed his captain biting down on pencils hard enough to snap them in half as he waits for the pain to subside. He stares helplessly at Osamu as the taller boy writhes on the couch, caught off-guard by the worst breed of flare-ups.

Agent Mikumo races forwards with a limp, and lets nobody- even Tamakoma-2 -tell him to slow down.

Always stressed about not being enough; not smart, intuitive, strong, quick, agile enough for anybody, not even for himself. Or so he thinks.

Of course Yuma doesn’t know the internal battles his captain faces. Of course he’s almost completely clueless as to what brews behind Osamu’s eyes.

But he can piece together what he does know.

Osamu Mikumo is one of the toughest individuals Yuma’s ever met.

Sure, in the Neighborhood there is constant war going on, and each person must grow to be as strong as possible if they hope not to die. Osamu, however, is not as naturally gifted or passively strong as those individuals.

He has built himself from the ground up for other people’s sake, and suffered for it.

Yet he forces himself to stand back up and do it again each time.

Agent Mikumo strides ahead with a limp, not letting one glance- be it pity or aggro -break through his shields.

Though Yuma does not know the wars waged inside Osamu, he has seen what happens when the bombs are dropped on his inner cities- what happens when those wars escape.

He finds his captain shaking like a leaf, tucked away in some old storage closet in the pits of the night. Mikumo yanks at his own hair, like those old car manuals about jump-starting, or medical videos featuring the AED. It’s made idiotically clear that something inside of his captain has shattered and crumbled to ash in the wind.

Tears fill his eyes, but do not threaten to fall. It seems Osamu has trained every part of himself, forcing even his tear-ducts to be likened to that of a drought. Yuma finds it quite sad. Doesn’t he know hiding away won’t fix anything?

A captain leads his crew, never the other way around, Mikumo would probably say.

Yuma has no answer.

He just slips the glasses from Osamu’s face and sets them behind himself on the tile floor.

Mikumo breathes, but it’s more like gasping- what with all the shallow breaths and gaping like a fish.

Yuma recalls a counting exercise his father taught him, timed in threes.

The panic subsides.

Agent Mikumo shuffles with a limp, stumbling over his own feet.

Sometimes they’ll hold hands, numb fingers interlocked with soft ones.

Yuma always goes to press their arms together; desperate both to feel the contact, and to dull the pain in Osamu’s arm. It doesn’t provide warmth to the old wound, but his captain always smiles and Yuma’s sure it’s good enough.

Even though Yuma would fight half the neighborhood for his captain, putting his all into the battle the very moment Osamu speaks the command into existence- just this, this contact, is enough.

If there’s no battle Osamu feels he needs to fight, Yuma is perfectly fine with simply staying by his side. After all, that’s what you do for someone you love.

Someone who gave you a reason to live by just being himself.

Yuma crawls into Osamu’s small twin bed every night, just to hold him like Osamu holds the world, knees wobbling under the weight.

Yuma strokes his hair and wipes his cheek with a cold thumb, not minding that his captain, the “Unshakeable” Agent Mikumo, is sobbing puddles into his shirt.

He’s just glad to be here- that Osamu trusts him enough to unlock the vault containing his heart.

Agent Mikumo takes careful strides with a limp, his Ace at his side.

If he thinks back, he really has been at Osamu’s side- nevermind his very beck and call -since he arrived in Meeden.

He goes with him wherever he’s allowed to, from school to his hospital room, to physical therapy, and to his most recent appointment with his doctor.

The room is melancholy white, but seems to only get darker the more Dr. Watanabe speaks.

“The incident caused significant damage, and I believe a kind of mobility aid or crutch could be necessary if this constant pain and struggle with practical movement continues.”

Osamu sits up on the examination table with his pant leg rolled up, and clutches Yuma’s hand so tight it feels as if it could pop off. The doctor says something else about compression sleeves and refilling prescription medication that Osamu’s mother agrees with, but Yuma’s focus is entirely centered on his captain.

Distress rolls off him in waves, eyes as wet as they can get without tears actually falling.

The cold bubble of air around the pair follows them until Osamu’s mother closes the door in front of them outside his captain’s house. Something about how they could make it to Tamakoma residence on their own. Yuma pays her cold remark no mind.

Osamu still has his complete attention, holding his hand all the way to the park and pressing a small kiss to his forehead as his captain begins to shake.

His entire mind is focused on Osamu, his sorrowful cries and trembling limbs.

“Not another setback,”

“I can’t have another disadvantage, Yuma, I can’t.”

“I’m already a liability.”

Yuma’s words get caught in his throat, much like stones block a stream. A stream of so many things to say;

“You’ve never been a liability,”

“Your mind has never failed us- your strategies and passion are unmatched.”

“We’ll get through this, I promise. I’ll be right here as long as you need me.”

“This just shows how strong you are. I love you so much.”

He hopes the words flow through the hug they share.

Agent Mikumo, with an arm around the shoulders of his Ace, walks with a limp.

The arm crutch fits perfectly.

Osamu tears up every time someone mentions it on-base. Yuma takes the time to glare viciously at those who lie about not judging or assuming.

He watches with gritted teeth as Osamu turns his trigger on, then fights with himself and his crutch. Throughout all of his usual exercises and tactics training, he becomes more frustrated with even the concept of holding the crutch while he fights or as he runs across a map.

Yuma is always right outside the door, ready to scoop up the pieces now and put them back together later.

He waits for later to come, but sees a change.

Slowly, Osamu picks himself back up.

Sure, Yuma helps him in all fronts of an Ace and a boyfriend, but the heavy lifting is all his captain.

Every evening when PT doesn’t take over the day, he’ll find himself walking beside Osamu towards the training rooms, and observing him as he finds these endlessly unique ways of fighting.

Yuma quickly comes to realize that his captain, when given the time to think, shines through as a genius.

Osamu uses his good leg to propel forwards and around on the axis of his Border-branded crutch. It’s clever- the tactics -and the ways he moves once he’s cracked the code of his "liability."

Of course there are flaws to the idea, but Yuma is always there to help him perfect what he’s going for. Not that he needs much, the new idea alone gives him a lot of the determination he needs.

Yuma can make assumptions of what goes on inside Osamu’s mind, as many as he pleases, but paying attention to the outside, and the miracles he commits himself to cast- they’re the most powerful message.

Agent Mikumo, despite the setbacks, despite the pain and struggle to adapt, walks with support.