Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Chin up. Your petals are starting to wilt."

Despite your agent’s comment, your pout only deepened. If you had to keep a brave face on for the entirety of Japan for the next fourteen hours, you'd get all your childish antics out now. Although your agent, Sasha, wasn't wrong. The petals of your hero uniform were starting to wilt. The downside of having a beautiful, custom-tailored costume tied to your quirk was just that-- it was tied to your quirk.

You took a deep breath to settle your nerves. It's just another assignment, you told yourself for the hundredth time. All I have to do is impress all of Japan. That's simple enough.

Your stomach lurched.

Outside the plane window, rice fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. Japan was certainly not humble when it came to its landscapes. While America was the country you called home, Japan stole your breath away every time you visited. There were worse places to settle down, but this was only temporary. After the agreed six months of your stay, you'd be back in America.

Still, you'd soak up as much of Japan as you could.

You gripped the armrest as the plane titled down to land. "I'm gonna throw up," you said, face drained of its color.

"No, you won't. Not until..." Sasha checked her watch, "10 o'clock tonight which is when you'll check into your hotel."

Sasha was always a stickler for the schedule. Her white blouses were always wrinkle-free with freshly starched collars. Her slick back bun snatched her face into a sharp scowl. Yet underneath her stern rules and sharp eyeliner, she was the closest thing you had to a sister. The two of you had grown close before your hero career began, and she joined your agency soon after it was verified. While it was hard to admit this in the current moment, you'd be lost without her.

Presently though, she was a thorn in your side.

A ping sounded overhead, announcing that it was safe to unbuckle and get ready to head out. Through the aluminum walls of the plane, you heard the chatter of the paparazzi.

"Come on, Dandelion. On your feet." Sasha helped you from your chair and fixed your uniform until not one petal was out of place. Each petal had a subtle texture like that of your skin. In a way, the petals and your skin were one and the same. 

Once she was satisfied with your look, she took you by the shoulders and looked you square in the eye. "Who are you?"

"What?"

"I asked, who are you?"

Your brain buffered for a moment. "I'm..." You sighed, the tremors wracking through you beginning to dwindle. "I am Dandelion, the #2 hero of the United States of America. I have one of the highest approval rates in hero history, and I'm the first woman in the world to be in the top three." You rattled off a long list of your stats- on-job fatalities, your response time, the number of villains caught. You weren't one to brag, but you were pretty damn impressive.

"I am Dandelion," you concluded, voice strong and steady.

"That's right. Now knock 'em dead!" Sasha pushed you towards the door before you could devolve back into panic.

White flashes from dozens of cameras blinded you. Your feet stumbled down the gangway as you blindly waved to the crowd hoarding the plane. It was like this every time you left the house. Crowds, cameras, chaos. All the while you were expected to keep a soft, pleasant smile on your perfectly glossed lips.

And you did.

You were effortless as you glided across the landing zone, shaking the hands of various officials. It wasn't business people in suits who made you nervous. Their battle fields consisted of manila folders and paperclips, opposing yours of cracked concrete and bloody knuckles.

It was the two men at the end of the greeting line that made your stomach churn. Endeavor and Best Jeanist stood proud. They had yet to pay attention to you. Best Jeanist waved to cameras while Endeavor glared at the horizon.

It wasn't only the fact that they were, in a way, your competition for the next six months. It was the underlying expectation that you were there because they couldn't do their jobs right. The thought had been nagging at you for the entire 12+ hour plane ride and the weeks leading up to your trip.

The prissy little American hero thinks she can swoop in a save the day, doesn't she?

The official message from the H.P.S.C. was, "Due to a recent uptick in villain attacks, an Aid in Crisis Hero (A.C.H.) from the United States of America will be given temporary assignment in Japan." Paragraphs of corporate talk later, and you found yourself packing everything you owned into two, large suitcases.

They can call me an A.C.H all they want, you thought. Doesn't mean the pro's won't hate me for taking their assignments.

A blazing heat snapped you out of thought. Standing tall and proud before you was the number one hero in all of Japan.

"Ende-"

Denim flashed between you and the hero. Your hand was being shaken before you could fully process who the new man in front of you was. Electric blue eyes with flawlessly gelled hair.

"A pleasure, Ms. Dandelion." Best Jeanist's voice was smooth and controlled. Despite his mouth being covered in denim and the paparazzi screaming for your attention, you heard him crystal clear.

You bowed your head. "The pleasure is all mine." Secretly, you were a bit of a Best Jeanist fangirl, and your voice hardly contained your excitement. Always suave and composed, you strode to command the same attention he did. One of your most prized possessions  was a pair of jeans from his personal line. Aside from bringing the crime rate down, your number one goal was to get a custom-made pair with his signature embroidery. A girl could dream.

He held your hand a moment longer than needed, and when you tried to pull it back he kept his grip firm. "Don't let him tie your thoughts into a knot.” A smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “He only looks scary." With a wink, he pulled away and stepped aside.

Keeping calm was easier said than done. Endeavor towered over you. On instinct (built up by years of PR training), you stuck your hand out.

Endeavor grimaced, like the act of unfolding his arms caused him physical pain. He shook your hand once, long enough to feel the ghost of his flames lick across your skin. Then he turned away and looked for his ride out of this place.

You folded your hands in front of you, trying your best to ignore the sympathetic gaze of Best Jeanist. There wasn't time for sympathy anymore. If you were supposed to be the brave new face in Japan's elite force of heroes, then shaking someone's hand was the least of your worries. You'd accept pity looks when you were "out-of-commission.”

You turned from the crowd after having reverted back to plan "just smile and wave". 

"Damn, am I late?" Sauntering across the asphalt was the lucky charm of Japan himself.

Hawks.

His wings fanned out behind him like the rays of the sun. Loose feathers swirled at his feet only to twirl back up to rejoin the others on his back. You weren't sure if it was because he was your direct counterpart, being number two and all, but your heart kicked into overdrive.

You weren't particularly familiar with his work, but his brand was hard to miss. A cool-headed wild card with a dashing smile. In a way, both of you were a lot alike apart from your #2 ranking. Both of you put in an incomprehensible amount of effort to appear effortless. He could flaunt his "I woke up like this" bed head all he wanted. You two played the same game.

"Right on time, actually," you replied. You flashed a smile and received his 100 watt smirk in return. It was silly-looking if you were being honest.

His eyes narrowed, confused as you shook his hand. You pulled your hand away and rubbed your palm. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all." Then he turned his attention to the crowd. 

For the first time ever, you were thankful for the paparazzi. They distracted him as you scrubbed your hands against your skirt. Were they sweaty? That had to be why he made a face. God, you were so not playing it cool right now. He probably saw right through the act you’d worked so hard for.

Whirlpools of panic started in your mind, threatening the fragile infrastructure of your confidence. Of course he would judge you for sweaty hands. Hawks was Japan’s precious #2 with an approval score 0.3% higher than yours. He had the record for the youngest person to start their own agency. As far as he was concerned, he was better than everyone. 

At least, that’s what you told yourself as he turned back to face you. Suddenly, his confident smirk turned infuriating. “Everything alright, birdie?”

“Naturally.” Birdie, really? You knew it was a popular nickname he gave to his fans, but one, you weren't a fan, and two, wasn't he the bird between the two of you? Although, you couldn't judge too much. You called your fans "sprout" along other equally cringey plant-based names.

You were guided into a sleek, black limousine. The other pros along with their respective agents filed in, and to your absolute horror, you found yourself seated beside Endeavor. His flames waved over your skin but never burned. It was like a warning-- piss me off and see what happens.

He was nothing like your #1 back home in the states, that's for sure.

"We'll drive through the heart of Musutafu, but you won't make your official debut until tonight's ceremony." Sasha, ever the practical, tapped on her iPad from across the limo. She looked unbothered squished between the other three agents, but you knew every inch of her skin was tingling. If there was one thing Sasha hated more than disorganization, it was skin to skin contact.

You wiped your sweaty hands on the petals of your skirt. "Sounds good!" Your voice cracked as you spoke.

Endeavor shifted in his seat, the flames along his arms growing hotter. "I don't see why we have to waste patrol time driving Dandelion around like a circus monkey."

"Come on, it'll be fun to catch a break." Hawks had made himself uncomfortably comfortable in his seat. His hands stretched behind his head with an ankle resting atop the opposite knee. "Besides, I'm sure the people are dying to their #1's smiling face."

Someone please shut him up. While you were thankful for the defense (if you could even call it that), Endeavor's flames were growing hotter by the second. You were pressed flush against the limo door, but that wasn't far enough.

What's worse, the moisture from your skin and petals were drying at an alarming rate. They must've sat you next to him on purpose. You couldn't fight corporate if you were dried up to dust.

"Is everything alright, Ms. Dandelion?" Best Jeanist asked from his seat beside Hawks.

You nodded too quickly. "As right as rain!" The petals of your skirt said otherwise. Instead of their usual silky gold, they were brown and bone-dry. If you weren't careful, your costume might accidentally disintegrate off your body. The color drained from your face. That was something you wouldn't be able to live down.

Sasha perked up from her iPad. "Switch seats with me." It wasn't a request but a command. You took her place between the other agents, mouthing a 'thank you' as you passed her. If she hadn't been dead set on office work, Sasha would've made an excellent hero.

"Endeavor too hot for you?" That's it. You were going to kill the bird-man. How does someone always manage to say the wrong things at the wrong time? Not more than ten minutes in his presence and you were finding him unbearable.

"Actually yes," Sasha deadpanned from her new seat. Despite being only half Endeavor's size, she didn't look dwarfed by him. As Hawks barked out a laugh, she continued. "Like most plants, Dandelion's quirk requires a sufficient amount of moisture both in and outside of her body. Endeavor's heat was sucking that moisture out, and we can't have a wilting Pro Hero right before her debut."

She plucked a water bottle from her purse and tossed it at you. "Thanks," you mumbled. After being a pro for a few years, you were used to your quirk details being easily accessible to the public. However, it still made you feel awkward when it was explained right in front of you.

You kept yourself busy with your water as Sasha (unfortunately) kept talking.

"It would be wise to maintain a distance between Dandelion and you, Endeavor. Unless you can keep this to a minimum." She swatted at the flames on his arms as they encroached on her personal space.

He jerked his arm away from her and directed his gaze at you. His eyes bore into your soul as he spoke, voice low and gravely. "How do you plan on staying useful outdoors?"

Your initial reaction was to throw your water bottle in his face. The absolute nerve of these heroes! The plastic bottle crinkled in your hands as you fought to stay in character. While you wanted to scream, Dandelion had no such disposition. Dandelion was warm, pleasant, and graceful. You repeated those three words to yourself before you spoke.

"I'm actually my strongest outdoors." You prayed your smile was sugar-sweet instead of manic. "The sun may be drying, but it's also quite nourishing for me. Like real flowers I use it as my primary energy source. I also tend to keep water close by." You lifted your now empty water bottle to emphasize your point.

Endeavor huffed and said nothing more.

It was silent for a moment, nothing but the road zipping underneath your feet to fill the space. And then- "This has been a pretty enlightening talk." Hawks scanned each face in the limo for a smile. He caught not one. Although, it's not that you didn't find his pun funny. Sadly you lived for bad humor. No, you just didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Then the limo slowed. "Alright everyone!" Best Jeanist clapped his hands together. "Look sharp."

Sasha shot you a look, a polite "don't fuck this up" smile on her face, as windows rolled down on all sides of the limo. Camera flashes flooded your gaze as you greeted the crowd.

Not to brag, but you had the perfect princess wave. Or so the New York Times said in their latest publication. There was something so regal in the way you held yourself. A few American publications had speculated that you'd bring monarchy back to the states with that wave alone. Unbeknownst to them, you'd spent hours in front of the mirror back when you were still in school to achieve your grace. And when the cameras were off and you were behind closed doors? You sat like a shrimp and dropped the occasional plate like everyone else.

But they didn't need to know that.

Many in the crowd held poster boards over their heads with your name written out in big, yellow letters. It was an explosion of hearts, stars, and yellow flowers. You placed a hand over your heart as it fluttered. All of this was for you?

You blew kisses and laughed, not having to force the joy anymore. If the rest of the six months went like this, you might as well consider this assignment a vacation.

There was a poster near the edge of the crowd that caught your attention as you drove by. A young girl with pink bows in her hair held a sign proudly above her head. It was dark with red lettering, a stark contrast to all the yellow and pink.

あなたは私たちを救うことはできません

The warmth in your stomach ran cold, the blood in your veins leaden. Another lightening-white camera flash stole your vision. In the ether, you saw the faces of those you hadn't saved. You hadn't been close enough, fast enough, strong enough. They morphed to fit the shape of the cheering faces passing on the street. Their posters burnt and blackened, faces bruised and bloody.

The petals of your skirt lost their color, fading to mute shades of green and yellow. Under most circumstances that wouldn't have phased you. Being the first woman in the top three came with its fair share of non-believers. But this wasn't most circumstances. Out of anyone in the world Japan could have called on, they called you.

Failure wasn't an option.

You would save them all. You had to.

The tinted windows rolled up, casting the limo back into the low, blue light of the LED's lining the doors. "It took me years to get that kind of crowd," Best Jeanist said, a hidden smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I might be a little jealous."

"Thank you." But your gaze was lost in the fading crowd. You dug for a shred of courage, letting it lift your chin and rejuvenate your smile. Voice strong yet hands shaking you said, "I hope to make them proud."

"Well look who it is!"

Not more than two steps into the venue hall and you were wrapped up in someone's arms. Their grip cracked your spine and probably rearranged some internal organs. Judging by their impressive muscle mass and overwhelmingly tall stature, it had to be none other than one of your favorite pros.

"Gunhead!" You wrapped both arms and vines around him. When All Might was still in commission, Gunhead had been an A.C.H. in the states for a handful of years. During that time, you'd been able to train underneath him while interning at an agency. Thinking back on it, those must've been some of the best years of your life.

He pulled back to get a good look at you. Despite his lack of face, you felt him smile, warm and soft. "What's with the eye bags?"

You laughed, slipping from his embrace and straightening out your now vividly colored dress. "I was just so excited to see you! Hardly slept a wink for months." Technically neither of those things were lies. They just didn't exactly correlate with one another.

"Tell you what-" he slung an arm over your shoulder- "let me treat you to a drink after the welcome party."

One of these days you were going to litter his face with heart stickers, but that would have to wait. "Sounds like a plan!"

Sasha cleared her throat, standing a safe distance from the two of you. Couldn't risk getting caught up in the hug fest.

"I remember you!" Gunhead strolled over to her, undeterred by her death stare. "Still a little prickly I see."

She batted his offending hands away, earning a surprisingly cute pout for a man who had a gun as a face. "We're only here to rehearse Dandelion's entrance for the public ceremony, and we're working on a very tight schedule. This can wait."

Without pause, Sasha began walking down the hall. Granted, she was always standoffish, but this was a little much for her. You knew Gunhead meant the same to her as he did to you. It took steely metal to break through Sasha’s walls, and Gunhead had gotten through. With no father in the picture, he’d meant the world to her. 

As you parted ways with your former mentor and chased after the sound of Sasha's heels, guilt started to creep into your mind.

You hadn't thought to ask her if she was doing okay. You'd been so caught up with your own problems it hadn't crossed your mind to. You made a mental note to ask her first thing after the ceremony.

"We'll be heading to the fourth floor balcony." Sasha's eyes were glued to her tablet as she clicked the up arrow for the elevator. "The commission thought a flashy entrance would best suit you."

"I guess they're not wrong." But then you saw the diagram on Sasha's tablet. "I'm sorry-" you stopped dead in your tracks- "they want me to do what?"

A rough blueprint of the main arena lit up the tablet's screen. A little flower emoji (meant to represent you of course) sat at the top floor balcony. A dashed line marked its descent down all four floors of the arena until it stopped on the main stage.

"They want me to catapult myself off a balcony?" Your stomach began to churn.

Sasha shut the iPad off and held the elevator door for you. "You say that like you don't launch yourself off skyscrapers on the daily."

You stepped inside, leaning against the wall while you had a private minute to relax. "This is completely different. That's for work, this is just..."

"PR," Sasha finished. "I thought you'd be used to it by now."

You wrung your fingers together, mind going a mile a minute. "I dunno. Doesn't this seem a little... stereotypical? Considering the whole American thing and all?"

Sasha looked you up and down, a smile playing on her dark-red lips. "That's the point, love."

You melted further down the wall. Dread filled your stomach, overflowing into your chest. Even your gallbladder was feeling the stress- whatever that organ was. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? A little warning would've been nice."

"Then you would've spent all your time worrying about your entrance instead of your impact." Sasha turned her gaze onto you, voice softening. "I know you, so trust me that I know what's best."

You didn't respond aside from a small nod.

Sasha guided you through the preplanned entrance. Everything had already been decided by the HPSC, even down to the music and lighting. The plan was simple enough. You'd leap off the balcony in a whirlwind of your signature petals and vines, land center stage, and give your welcome speech.

If you ignored the enormous margin for error, it wasn't that big a deal.

Although, a thought still nagged at you from recesses of your mind. It felt a little premeditated, for lack of a better word. As if the HPSC knew how bad this could look. No matter how well you performed they wanted that drama. You tried not to think about it. You had amazing ratings, why on earth would they try to decommission you? Still, you'd thought that about the previous #2 hero of America...

You pushed the thought from your head. There were bigger fish to fry.

There was only an hour or so left before the ceremony began, so you decided to find a quiet place to practice your speech. That place came in the form of the metal beams stretched across the ceiling of the main arena. It's not like anyone else would be up there.

Leaning on the balcony, you extended your hand toward the nearest beam. The skin of your wrist turned green until a thick, smooth vine emerged from your veins. It swirled through the air like a snake until coiling around the beam. You gave a firm tug before pulling yourself up.

The vines were extensions of yourself, so you could only make so many at a time. The thicker or longer they were, the less you could make. While the process of making them might look painful, it actually hurts more when you don't do it. It was like restraining a part of yourself, forcing it to fester inside you until your innards were a mess of thorns and weeds.

It was best not to think about it too hard.

You laid down on the beam, staring at the blank expanse of the metal roof. With the growing crowd so far below you, nothing else but you and the vines wrapping around your ankles existed. You could forget about the whole A.C.H. assignment, that dreadful paparazzi sign.

A metallic clang stole you from your thoughts. There was something, or someone, sitting far down the beam hidden behind a curtain of red feathers. Hawks clearly hadn't seen you. He lounged back on the beam, taking a deep breath through his nose.

It seemed the time to repay his "favor" had arrived.

On light feet, you walked down the length of the metal beam. A small crumb of guilt formed in your stomach. He was no doubt up here for the same reasons you were. Wasn't it a bit cruel to steal away his short-lived peace?

Nah. Besides, this was too much fun to pass up.

You got surprisingly close without alerting him of your presence. A little concerning if you'd been a villain, but that was a worry for another day. You leaned down as one would do when speaking to a child. "Peekaboo."

Despite the lack of threat or volume in your voice, Hawks startled and turned his visor-covered gaze onto you. The jump was slight, yet all his shock revealed itself in his feathers. They puffed and vibrated. Some even dislodged themselves from his wings and floated in the air, razor sharp.

"You got me, Birdie." He puts his hands up in defeat, boyish grin sparkling in the dim light. Really? No stammering, no blushing, no nothing? Talk about boring.

He got to his feet, feathers settling back into place. "Didn't think anyone else would be up here."

"Well, you're not the only one who needs to hide from admirers," you replied smoothly.

“Is that so? I’ll need to stay on my guard then.” He rolled his shoulders as if bracing for a hypothetical impact. “You liking Japan so far?”

You made a point to give him a look over before replying. “The sights sure are nice.” You even did the stupid looking up through eyelashes thing, yet he seemed utterly immune to your charms.

Instead his smile widened and he leaned into your ego fodder. “Better than the states?”

You shrugged, looking off into the distance with a pout. “I suppose. It’d be great if I could have a guide, though.” With carefully placed timing, you shot him an expectant look. Take the bait. Let me make you look half as dumb as you made me.

“There’s a tour guide agency down the street from here actually! I could give the information to your scary agent friend.”

His stupid grin, stupid hair, and stupid clothes. You cursed every part of him. Either Hawks was dense or he could play you like a fiddle. You outright refused to entertain that it could be the latter.

Fine, the basics didn't fluster this guy. That much was obvious. That left only one option if you had any hope in winning back your shredded pride.

Your hand crept up to his jacket collar. The white fluff was silk underneath your fingertips, ridiculously soft and spotless. How he kept something white looking fresh whilst doing hero work was a mystery for the ages.

“Soft,” you said at last. “Didn’t know you could have good taste.”

Hawks opened his mouth to respond-

"All heroes report backstage. The doors will be opening in five minutes," a voice announced over an intercom.

Your hand remained frozen on his collar, still unabashedly feeling-up the high quality fabric. You’d need to tell your team about this and get a new winter uniform made stat.

“Pity.” You clicked your tongue and released your grip on him. “I was starting to have fun with you.” Again he remained neutral to your words apart from an amused smile. Then, with a flick of your hand, you descended down the arena with a vine wrapped around your wrist to break your fall.

Seems you’d have to try a little harder next time to earn your win against Hawks in your silent, one-sided charm war.

Red feathers followed you down in a swish and swirl, but you lost Hawks the moment you stepped backstage.

Behind the curtain, a hodge ​podge of colorful latex had formed. Heroes you'd grown up watching on TV were surrounding you. Many even went up to you, bowing their heads and saying the few English phrases they knew.

But they left as quickly as they approached, leaving you to spectate. A very literal wallflower. It was a nice break from the chaos back home. The big three never caught a break even when the crowds and cameras were gone. You may have been the shiny new A.C.H. but that didn't change the fact that you had no status in Japan. Not yet, at least.

Something cold tapped your shoulder. Your surprise hardly showed, but that was mainly due to the jet lag setting in with a vengeance. You hardly had the energy to turn and face the cocky smile gleaming at you.

Hawks held a water bottle to you which you took, gracious yet befuddled.

"All those lights and people might make you a little toasty. Thought you could use a drink," he explained. He said it so casually, as if this was a completely normal thing for him to be doing.

Maybe he did have working brain cells. Your shock mirrored your gratitude and you popped open the cap. Color flushed your skin and the vibrancy of your skirt petals returned. It’d been such a busy few hours you’d hardly noticed how dehydrated you'd gotten. You’d have to start setting a reminder.

"I think I got you all wrong." You bowed your head, suddenly feeling immature. "I apologize."

A gloved finger lifted your chin, and you swore your heart stopped. Alert, alert! Japan's #1 heartthrob is currently touching my face. "So serious!" He flashed you one of his laid back grins. "Just do me a favor and stay hydrated, alright? I need you in working condition."

Your heart fluttered. Like a stupid little butterfly, it fluttered. Of course it did, though! A cute guy was saying cute words. To top it all off, the cute guy in question was the literal #2 hero of Japan. Everyone in this arena either wanted him or wanted to be him.

That's another thing you two had in common, you supposed. Back home, you were the sweet, charming #2 with millions of admirers. It had actually started getting a little out of hand. You could fill an eighteen wheeler with all the bras thrown at you over the past few months. Hopefully, Hawks would keep all the fans' attention to himself, and you could lay low for a bit.

Music queued up followed by the excited screams of thousands. Hawks lifted his wing to peer behind him. A member of the stage crew was waving him over.

"See you on the other side, Birdie."

The fluttering stopped as he strolled away, replaced with a heavy pit of dread in your stomach. It wrapped around your insides and tightened, as if the vines from your quirk had indeed formed inside your chest.

Oh right! How could you forget?

You have terrible stage fright.

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.