Chapter Text
Your clammy grip kept sliding off the balcony, threatening to send you down hundreds of feet to your death. Granted you could easily break your fall with a vine, but that killed the dramatics. Every rushed, anxious thought zipping through your head became muddied in the roar of the crowd. They waved signs and banners with well wishes to their favorite pros. On the main stage the top three stood proud. Behind them were the top ten. The rest of the hero crowd sat in the first few rows before the stage, occasionally turning back to wave at an adoring fan or two.
A warm hand rubbed your shoulder in small, awkward circles. Sasha tried her best, but feeling her anxiety through her touch made your heart beat faster. If Sasha was shaken, you were fucked.
"The music will queue up in five minutes," she said, tapping uselessly at her tablet to distract herself. "I'll give you the signal when it's go-time."
You didn't reply, instead focusing all your attention on the empty space at the very front of the main stage. It was subtle, a little circle of soft yellow light illuminated your landing zone. Most in the crowd probably couldn't even see it. It was blinding to you.
Times like this flooded you with envy. The top three looked cool as cucumbers on stage and hadn't given a hint of stage fright before the ceremony either. Then again, why would they be nervous? Best Jeanist had that gentleman-like charm and clean air to him that, while making one feel underdressed, never failed to put one at ease. Hawks had achieved what no other had done before, being as young and successful as he was. Granted so had you, being the first woman in the top three and all, but he had been younger than you when he entered his #2 rank.
And Endeavor was... well Endeavor. You suppose someone couldn't be nervous with a head so far up their own ass like his was. Everything about his aura screamed superiority without a lick of actual sincerity. It made you mourn the loss of Japan's previous #1. All Might may not have ever been America's hero (although his costume and theme song would suggest otherwise), but you held him close in your heart.
After all, there probably wasn't a single pro, nay a single person in this arena who wouldn't credit All Might as one of their main inspirations. Even Endeavor had used him as a guiding light, although you doubt he'd ever admit to that.
A sudden dim in the lighting snapped you out of your thoughts. "Get ready," Sasha said.
The music changed to a melody you knew terribly well. A handful of years ago, just before you entered the hero scene, a trend had begun and stuck. People had been making fan songs of their favorite pros for a while, but that inevitably turned into people making theme songs for them. After a French hero by the name of Oie Jaune selected one of the fan-made songs to be his official theme song, it spread across the globe. Soon every hero worth their salt had a theme song made personally for them.
Yours had been a tough decision, since with your fame came many song submissions. Eventually you landed on one that you felt best fit your style and character, and still years later you were confident it was the right choice.
A familiar buzz trickled back into your veins, vines reaching out towards the far sides of the balcony. You lifted yourself up and balanced on the very edge on the railing. Then in time with the beat, you dropped in a swirl of vines and butter-yellow petals. They swirled around you at your whim, carrying you down softly and gracefully.
The petals flitted across the crowd, tickling their faces as they eagerly shoved them in bags and pockets. They wouldn't stay there, of course. After all, they were a part of you. Molecules from your skin would transform into those petals, leaving your skin fragile and susceptible to attacks. That's why you hardly used them in comparison to your vines, unless you needed to swarm a villain or a large scale distraction. At your will, they turned to dust and flitted back to you, soaking back to your skin.
You let them linger in the hands of small children for a moment longer, until they too had to pout at the loss of a piece of you. Thankfully, you couldn't feel much of their touches with so many petals produced. The more of them there were, the less you could feel through them.
It was the difference between one person touching you versus thousands. Still, you had to suppress shivers every time. It wasn't entirely pleasant.
You bowed your head low. You hung there for a moment, trying to remember what the hell you'd written for your speech. The crowd, the music, the lights- it all worked in tandem to scatter your thoughts. As you popped up and approached the mic, you still had no idea what to say.
The music quieted to a whisper and every light settled on you. A jumbotron, no doubt live recording your face, illuminated the front rows of heroes, press, and some minor celebrities. You caught the metallic gleam of Gunhead's face. He had a little paper fan with your likeness drawn on the front.
You smiled and addressed the crowd. "Before anything, I'd like to thank you for such a warm, hospitable welcome." Another round of cheers from the crowd stopped you for a moment. "It is truly an honor to be here. Japan might be my favorite place I've ever been to, but don't tell America I said that."
The laughter around you settled your nerves, if only a little, yet it was enough to get you through the rest of your speech. In all honesty, you blacked out for most of it. You knew you were saying stuff, important stuff, but you couldn't remember exactly what. People cheered a lot, laughed a bit, but that was all you could recall. Sasha seemed proud, so you must've done good. She would've told you if it sucked.
After you gave your final sentiments and bowed, you'd been whisked away for some interviews and press photos. There was a lot of buzz around you and the main three, particularly you and Hawks. It was all, "Are you here to steal our #2's spotlight?" and "Are you excited to work with Hawks as the #2 duo?"
It was exhausting to hear his name so many times, but you might as well get used to it now. Besides, it wasn't completely nonsensical. The two of you were going to be working in the same agency these next few months. Although, you suspected that wasn't because your stats were the most compatible or any other logical, data-based metric. Being as new and young as he is, Hawks probably got the short end of the stick on everything concerning the HPSC.
You tried to feel sorry for him. Losing empathy was too easy in a job that required you to beat people up for a living, but you came up empty for most of the night. You'd gotten close during an interview with a particularly obnoxious reporter. The two of you were giving joint statements about your fast approaching partnership when he started nailing Hawks over the head with his latest stats.
They weren't pretty to say the least, but that's exactly why you were here in the first place. No one, not even All Might, could handle Japan's rising villain problem single-handedly. Still, you knew that sting. Stats weren't just numbers; they were lives lost and communities destroyed.
Then he promptly ruined your sympathy in the next interview when all he and the reporter were interested in were flirting with one another. (You've been guilty of this too on occasion, but at least you managed to be suave about it).
"Keep safe out there, Birdie!" Hawks smiled and waved as the reporter walked away.
It would've been easier to hate him if his care didn't seem so genuine. If he actually did or not was still up for debate, but just the appearance of sincerity from him irked you. Anything positive about him had to be false. How could someone so annoying have any good attributes? You may have only known him for under a dozen hours, and only about two of those had you actually been anywhere near him, but you knew enough.
That and you needed to put your anger onto something. He was an easy target.
The beginning of the banquet was announced, and you all began to file into the main hall away from the crowds. You gave a few final waves and kisses, but made a note not to read any of the signs. You needed a clear head for this next part of your night.
Your steps faltered as you entered the banquet hall. You wanted to laugh, cry, scream, and hide all at once at the sight before you. There was only one word that truly encapsulated what had inspired the hall's design.
Dandelion.
Pastel yellow tablecloth. Yellow flowers on every table, wrapped around every column, and large flower-shaped paper lamps dangled from the ceiling. You noted that there were only a few actual dandelions. Most were yellow roses, tulips, and buttercups. You know- actual flowers instead of what you really were. A weed.
But you tried not to think about that.
You were led to your seat at a table near the front with enough chairs to sit the top three and their respective agents, as well as you and Sasha. A few of the lower ranking heroes had brought plus ones instead of agents, but top dogs didn't get that kind of privilege. For the other pros, events like these could be networking and a night for a little carefree drinking. For you all, it was a business meeting in fancy clothes. Fancy, grotesquely yellow clothes in this case.
Best Jeanist found a seat on your left, sitting down with all the elegance of a prince. "How are you holding up, Miss Dandelion?"
"Better than expected, thank you." You took a sip from the sparking flute in front of you.
These fuckers even put dandelions in the champagne.
Now you knew the HPSC was trying to sabotage your debut. No one, not even their grandma, could find this classy. Even Martha Stewart would've been overwhelmed. The question now was why? Hadn't you done enough for the HPSC to keep them satisfied?
"Do you look forward to your partnership with Hawks?" Best Jeanist interrupted your thoughts.
You gave the #2 a look over before you answered, not wanting to lie but not sure how to gracefully word the truth. "I have to admit I'm a little nervous. I've never worked with someone quite like him."
Best Jeanist raised a brow. "I'm sure you've had your fair share of interesting coworkers back home?"
You laughed. You have no idea. "Our #1 is a character in his own regard. He's just more of the friendly, ditzy sort." You wanted to say 'sorta like All Might' but that wound still felt too fresh. When it came to All Might, you thought it might always be too soon to talk about it.
"I thought as much when I caught his interviews on TV. You will have to tell me who his tailor is, Miss Dandelion. You Americans do know your denim, and his overalls are nicely done." When you agreed he added, "You're always welcome to stop by my agency if you need a break from that bird brain." He chuckled at his own joke. "Although, I wouldn't worry. He's smarter than he looks."
"And here I was starting to worry he'd be an air head."
"Oh I didn't say he wasn't. He's just a smart one. When he decides to think," Best Jeanist murmured that last bit. The two of you shared a laugh. It astonished you how easy he was to talk to. He had every quality an unapproachable socialite had. Rich, polished, and dripping in designer clothes. It only made it worse that said designer clothes were from his own line.
Yet here you were, laughing alongside him and finding yourself accepting his offer to a tour at his agency in the next following days.
Plus, you still had a mission (besides helping to save Japan).
You needed those custom made jeans.
You gave Hawks another look over, only to find his eyes on you as well. You smiled, refusing to be embarrassed. He smiled back as if that was his plan all along.
"Tell me-" you leaned back into Best Jeanist's side, enjoying feeling like two gossiping high schoolers- "Should I be more afraid of his smarts or his air headedness?"
Best Jeanist put a finger over where you imagined his chin must be. Sometimes you wondered if his costume was designed to hide an unsightly long neck or perhaps a nasty pair of lips. If you caught Hawks at the right time, you might just ask if he knew anything about it. "Smarts," he finally replied. "It surely damages my ego when I see him solve a case faster than I. And he does it all whilst looking like a frumpy college student."
That last bit felt particularly personal, but you'd have to ask about that later.
"That's good to know. I'll make sure to keep it in mind." Before he could say anything in reply, a waiter's arm with the appetizer came in between you.
All conversations turned towards the food as you struggled not to slide under the table. White and yellow flowers of every variety were incorporated into every last dish, drink, and decor. Sasha gave you an apologetic nudge under the table, and you could tell based on her equally displeased pout she hadn't known about this either.
What's worse was that Hawks felt the need to comment on it all.
"It really blossoms on the tongue, ya know?"
"I'm sure thistle be the best dish yet!"
And the worst of it all-
"That was a daffodil-ight to eat, if I do say so myself."
He kept giving you these pretentious little looks too. Smirking as he said it like he knew how much it embarrassed you. You dug deep for your confidence to keep your face out of your hands.
At least the food still tasted good.
The rest of the night passed you by in a flurry of plastic flower petals and more sweaty handshakes than you could've imagined. You said your thank you's and goodbyes to many of the celebrities and pros (signing a few autographs in the process) and piled into a limo beside Sasha and a few personal security guards. (And no, the irony of you, the #2 hero of America, having bodyguards wasn't lost on you. You'd try to pay the commission to send them home, but they wouldn't hear of it.)
Finally, you collapsed in a pile of petals and silk on the hotel bed. For a moment, you just laid there, slowly suffocating with your nose and mouth pressed into the sheets. Vines subconsciously formed and wrapped around your waist in an effort to hug you. You'd thought by this point all the stress would have melted away and you'd be raring to go on patrol early tomorrow morning.
Yet you felt the opposite to be true. Everything had snowballed into one large lump of anxiety whose weight seemed to push you further into the bed. "You think I could burrow myself in here forever?" You mumbled into the sheets.
The mattress dipped under Sasha's weight as she sat next to you. "Not if you want to keep your job," she said flatly.
You rolled onto your side, eyes snapping closed at the dramatic shift in light. "What's going on with you?" Clearly sleep had deprived you of all grace, but Sasha preferred the straight-up approach.
She laid down next to you, and just like that you became two teenagers laying in bed talking about crushes and homework long past your bedtime. Back then you two had been so hungry for the hero scene, you'd forgotten to enjoy the meal of childhood right in front of you. You only got a taste of what could've been in quiet moments like this.
Suddenly, your hero costume felt too tight and the softness of the sheets made your skin itch. Sasha slipped her heels off and curled her legs into her chest, attempting at getting cozy whilst dressed in her sharpest business formal. You two could try and be kids, but it'd never be the same.
"Everything's changed so fast," Sasha said, voice fragile. "Only a year ago we were drowning ourselves in champagne because you'd broken the top ten, and now... I'm just worried we won't be able to keep up. You know what happened to the previous #2, and I can't stomach the thought that the same thing might happen to you."
She rolled away from you as the truth began to unwind. Her voice wobbled, but Sasha took long pauses and deep breaths to keep it from fully breaking. "I've plotted every possible outcome of your- our careers. I've made every calculation, prediction, and spreadsheet I possibly can but... but I can't bring myself to draw up a plan if the same thing were to happen to you."
Flashes of blood and bone on the TV screen. Civilians screaming as their #2 turned into a corpse right before the eyes of the country. The city was unscathed and the sky still cotton candy blue. The message was crystal clear to every last American hero.
We're not here for your citizens. We're here for you.
You wrapped your arms around Sasha, pressing a light kiss on the back of her neck. "There's still so much we don't know about... that. I've been perfectly fine up until now, haven't I?"
"I watched you flatline once."
Oh. You forget about that fight, mainly because you'd been high as a kite off adrenaline and painkillers. But there hadn't been any civilian casualties. That's all that mattered in the end.
"I'm still here," you said firmly. "And I plan to be here until I make Gran Torino look young."
Sasha didn't laugh, but how could you expect her to? You asked the impossible of her everyday, and everyday she obliged.
Finally she turned around and looked at you with teary, bloodshot eyes. No more was the young, determined girl you'd met all those years ago. Laying before you was a woman beaten by the years; who looked thirty when you'd celebrated her twenty-second birthday just last month.
"If there's any sign of it happening again, promise me you'll stop this. That you'll leave the hero scene and we'll... well I don't know yet, but we'll figure out a new plan. Okay?"
You bit the inside of your lip. Maybe it was the lingering jet lag or the new pressure of your ACH position, but you felt like "it" was already happening again. It'd surely explain why the HPSC seemed out to get you in the media. But thoughts like that might get you killed, or worse.
"I promise," you whispered.
If you were wrong about the HPSC, then you'd never have to make good on that promise. It'd be a white lie until you'd both forget it was ever told. But if you were right... Well, let's just hope you were wrong.