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Silver Fire

Chapter Text

A pair of hands, dark-skinned and perfectly manicured, slammed down on the desk in front of you. Without looking up from the paperwork you were filling out, you hummed acknowledgement. The owner of the hands was panting, having clearly run from her own office to yours. You used the time it took her to catch her breath to finish filling out your report.

"Start packing," she finally said.

"Excuse me?" You muttered, turning the page over to start filling out the back side.

"There's gonna be an emergency, and you have to be there to heal someone, but we're in the wrong country."

"And what country are we supposed to be in?" You asked, finally looking up from your papers.

"I... Don't know." Her hair was in a bun at the base of her neck, but the run from her office to yours had knocked a few micro braids out of it.

"Have you ever had a premonition that specifically told you to go to another country before?" You stood, tucking your own (h/c) hair behind an ear.

"No, but I'm absolutely certain that we're in the wrong country right now." You could tell that it was a true premonition because her normally brown eyes were glittering gold.

"Okay, Inara, sit down. Let's figure the details, and go from there." You went to the mini fridge next to your desk and pulled out two bottles of water, passing one to Inara. Inara did as she was told, taking deep breaths to settle herself.

"(Y/N), I think this is the biggest premonition I've had since that earthquake two years ago," Inara said, staring down at her hands.

"That's alright," you said calmly, settling back into your chair. You tucked the unfinished paperwork into its respective folder and set it aside, pulling out your notebook instead.

"Let's start with when ," you said, clicking your pen.

--

The trip from America to Japan was more exhausting than expected, and Inara suggested getting a hotel immediately. The walk to your hotel, however, brought you past a restaurant that smelled too good to ignore. A tug on Inara's sleeve and a finger pointed at the building was all it took to convince your childhood friend that the detour would be worth it.

You were teaching Inara how to hold her chopsticks when someone decided to interrupt. That someone was an oversized crocodile-looking fellow that insisted his plate didn't match what he'd ordered. How that drove him to swinging a clawed fist at the waiter was beyond you, but you didn't get your hero's license to watch waitstaff get smacked around. With a sigh, you set down your chopsticks and stood up.

"Leave it alone, friend," you said tiredly. "No one wants trouble here. Why not have the staff bring out the plate you did order?"

"NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" He yelled, turning toward you. You glared at him, crossing your arms.

"Why not? Getting arrested over some sashimi doesn't seem worth it to me." He just roared, charging you now. Inara yelped, falling backward out of her chair as she tried to stand up.

Just as you shifted your weight to better receive your new guest, the door to the restaurant slammed open and your opponent stumbled to a stop, turning toward the interruption.

"Hey, you. Villain. Stop interrupting people’s dinner.” The man standing in the doorway was tall, muscular... And quite literally on fire.

"WRONG PLATE!" The crocodile yelled, now turning toward the flaming man.

" He's lost it," you noted drily as Croc charged Fireball. Fireball didn’t hesitate, putting his hand directly in the crocodile’s face and shooting fire right into it. You watched with a mixture of horror and amusement as the crocodile sank to the floor, unconscious.

Looking around, you spotted the waiter that had been struck and walked up to him. His face was a bloody mess, three or more cuts running from one corner of his face up and around to his forehead. It was hard to see details through the blood. The woman he'd collapsed into was in hysterics, but at least your new patient was unconscious.

"Settle down, Miss," you said in your best hero-voice. It wasn't much, but Inara was already approaching, so you let your friend take the woman's attention while you turned to the waiter.

Turning him so that he lay flat on his back, you pressed a finger under the corner of his jaw and touched your other palm to his forehead. Silver lines spread from your touch across his skin at jagged angles that reminded you of lightning bolts. Lightning quirk? You wondered, only vaguely curious. Such a small injury healed almost instantly, the skin pulling back into place and closing itself up neatly. Though his face was still covered in blood, you could tell he wouldn't have a scar. A quick check on his brain told you that there was no concussion; he'd probably passed out from simple shock. His nose had nearly come off, after all.

You were wiping the man's face off with a nearby napkin when a shadow passed ominously overhead. Ignoring Fireboy, you reached for a glass of clear liquid from the bar in front of you. Sniffing it, you grimaced.

"Sake," you muttered, setting the drink back down and looking around.

“Did you just use your quirk on this man?” His voice was gruff, and you had the impression that he was one of those people that was perpetually unhappy.

"Yes," you said shortly, "and now I'm looking for water to clean his face off. He'll wake up soon." As if on cue, the man on the floor let out a small groan.

"That’s against the law without a hero permit,” he said. You straightened up, turning to look at him. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and you realized that his beard was on fire. Or, more accurately, his fire was in the shape of a beard.

"Well, good thing I have one of those," you answered, stepping around him to reach for promising-looking cup. Another sniff, and you were disappointed again. You should have known from the bubbles on the side of the glass that it would be soda.

"I don’t believe you. Show me your license, foreigner.”

"Only if you help me find a cup of water," you growled, already reaching into your pocket. He narrowed his eyes at you, then turned to one of the waiters that had gathered nearby.

"You. Bring a cup of water."

"Y-yes, Mr. Endeavor!" The waiter answered nervously. He practically tripped over himself to get behind the restaurant counter. By his reaction, you guessed you ought to have recognized Fireboy already. Pulling your hero license out, you offered it to the flaming idiot in front of you.

"I haven't gotten a Japanese permit, yet, but I'm told that an American license is still enough around here."

"...It is," he said, inspecting the plastic ID carefully. The inspection took longer than it should have, but finally he let out a huff of annoyance. "Dr. (L/N)." He handed the license back to you, and you shoved it back into your wallet.

"Thank you," you muttered, turning toward the waiter as he returned with an entire pitcher of water. The man on the floor had sat up, looking up at Fireboy - no, Endeavor -  with fear in his eyes. You took the pitcher of water and sank down to the man on the floor, dipping another napkin into the water.

"Thank you, Endeavor." The injured waiter said nervously, completely ignoring you. With a grimace, you took his chin in your hand and forced him to turn toward you.

"Thank him later," you ordered, "I need to make sure I healed you properly, first."

"(Y/N)," Inara said in her most exhasperated voice, "he's clearly meeting someone he idolizes." Inara spoke in English, still a beginner at Japanese. You grunted in response, wiping the man's face off with the damp cloth.

"That’s a certified hero you’re talking to, boy. Treat your doctor with respect.”

"Well, you'll be alright," you said, straightening up, "but please eat more broccoli." Endeavor was still glaring at you when you turned away from the waiter. You frowned up at him, wondering why he was still around.

"Why you would tell him to eat more broccoli?" He asked, scowl still in place.

"Iron deficiency. Don't you have a crocodile to arrest?" You turned back toward your table to find Inara standing uncomfortably close, staring openly at the big man. "Inara." She jumped, blushing at your raised eyebrow.

"I didn’t account for his reptiilian anatomy," he admitted. "You should probably heal him or he’ll have to be admitted to the hospital."

"Fine," you grumbled, shoving her hands into your pockets and turning back toward the entrance. Two tables had been overturned in the chaos, but the waitstaff was already picking it up, some of them still sneaking glances at Endeavor.

The villain was, indeed, injured by the flames. It barely took a tap from your finger to fix him up, sending a rush of cooling energy and healing some minor burns, and by then the police had arrived. You watched with detached interest as the police interviewed Endeavor and packed their latest villain up into the back of one of their trucks. When they turned to you, you had to resist the urge to scowl. Was being left alone long enough to eat dinner really too much to ask?

Several minutes of answering questions - and a few compliments on your Japanese from the officer that interviewed you - and the police were on their way. Endeavor looked around, as if deciding where to go next, and caught your eye once more. You returned his look with a raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" You asked drily. Inara was standing behind you again, though this time she wasn't standing as close. That only really happened when she was nervous, and the danger had passed.

"Just stay out of my way, next time.” With that, the giant fireball produced flames out of his hands and feet and flew away. You watched him go for a moment, impressed by how fast he managed to move.

"Let's get back to- Inara?" Inara was staring after Endeavor, eyes glittering gold and full of tears. "What is it?" You switched to English, knowing that she would be too distracted to translate from Japanese.

" That's it," she whispered as a tear trickled down her cheek. You grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her and sending in a little bit of comforting warmth with your quirk. " That's what we're here for."

" What is, Inara?" You asked, shaking her slightly. You'd never seen her so upset by one of her premonitions - not even when she'd sensed the upcoming death of your father. "Inara!"

" He is," she finally said, eyes fading back to dark brown. She stepped closer to you and rested her head on your shoulder, shaking with sobs. After a moment of hesitation, you wrapped your arms around your friend, letting her lose herself into your shoulder.

Chapter Text

You’d never considered yourself the teaching type, but Inara insisted that you would do well at it. You’d taught once or twice in learning hospitals, giving on-the-job training in emergency rooms and the like, but you’d never been put in charge of a classroom. And certainly not in charge of a classroom full of teenagers.

Thankfully, your new employer - Principal Nedzu, who wasn’t human but didn’t seem to be a mouse, bear, or any other definable animal - didn’t throw you into the fire on your first day. He put you with other teachers, some of whom welcomed your assistance in the classroom and some of whom ignored it entirely. You’d arrived at the end of the school year, with only a few weeks left before graduation and the start of a new year.

Since you only worked part-time, you were able to spend your free time building a curriculum for a general health education class the coming year. The school nurse, Recovery Girl, had taught a few lessons over the years, but Principal Nedzu wanted a greater focus on health and basic first aid for the next year of students. When you saw a student try to make a friend’s leg stop bleeding with a tourniquet, you could understand why. Letting a hero loose in a rescue situation when their first instinct was to cut off all bloodflow to an entire limb, instead of literally anything else, would lead to disaster.

Lost in your thoughts about heroes and first aid lessons, you didn’t really pay attention to where you were walking. Getting lost in the city could be dangerous, you knew, but you also knew it was the best way to learn your way around. And an even better way to find a good restaurant or two to try out.

Naturally, you were more than a little surprised to hear a familiar voice yelling your old hero name, Silver, from across the street. Turning to look at the source of the noise, you winced. Standing on the sidewalk across the way was a gangling boy with bright green, spiked hair and way too much plaid on. He was grinning, using his entire arm to wave at you frantically. With a sigh of resignation, you waved back at him and crossed the street before he could come rushing over.

“Mike,” you said as soon as you were within hearing of the boy, “what are you doing in Japan? You’re only - what - fourteen? You shouldn’t be alone in a foreign country.”

“I’m fifteen!” He only seemed mildly offended that you’d forgotten his age. “Almost sixteen! And I’m not alone, I came here with Tremor!” Ice ran down your back when you heard that name, and it took you a moment (and a deep breath) before you could respond to the boy.

“Tremor. Is in Japan. Mike, why are either of you in Japan?”

“To visit you, of course! I wanted to catch up, since we haven’t spoken in six years. And Tremor said he needed to tell you something. I think he wants to apologize, since you two split on pretty bad terms.”

“Right. Great. I’m sure he wants to apologize. Listen, Mike, let’s go somewhere quiet. We can catch up in a tea shop or something.” You looked around, trying to decide which way would work best.

“There’s a cafe one block that way!” Mike said excitedly, pointing. You nodded and got to walking.

“Where exactly is Tremor right now, Mike?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I told him you would probably come this way, since you turned left last time and you’re learning the area again.”

“I’m… what?”

“You learn the area every time you go to a new city by choosing random directions to walk in! You turned left when tracked you on the camera systems yesterday, so I knew you’d turn right this time. At that one street, with the convenience store.”

“Mike, that’s… really creepy. You were watching me with cameras?”

“Yeah! I showed it to Tremor, too! He says it would be really good for hero work in the future. He thinks I’d make a good side-kick, can you believe? Maybe I can be your sidekick, when you come back to the US?”

“I.. we’ll see.” You were going to have to make some very serious phone calls when you got home today.

--

Inara was trying desperately to find a word she recognized on the menu in front of her when one of her premonitions struck. The whole world got just a little bit glittery, and she had the sudden urge to turn to her left - toward the street. Grimacing, Inara set the menu down and stood, exiting the restaurant as inconspicuously as she could manage. A girl with dark skin and golden eyes wandering the street wasn’t quite as strange as a girl with dark skin, golden eyes, and a panicked look on her face would be.

As soon as she was in the street, that little tug at the back of her head told her to turn to her right. As soon as she did, a man who glowed gold appeared in her line of vision. Blinking several times, Inara was able to get the worst of the glitter out of the way so she could make out who she was looking at.

He was a big, buff man in a dark blue onesie and covered in fire. His boots were on fire. His shoulders were on fire. His hair was on fire - hell, the man’s beard was on fire. Inara recognized him through the haze of her quirk and grimaced. She hadn’t been overly impressed with the man’s attitude at the diner when Inara’s best friend had tried to take on a crocodile, but at least she knew the man was capable of fighting.

“Excuse me,” Inara said, approaching the flaming guy directly. There was no point in beating around the bush here - he was needed, and Inara’s quirk wouldn’t leave her alone until he knew when and where he would be needed.

“I don’t have time for autographs, girl,” he said dismissively, stepping around Inara. Scowling, she grabbed his arm.

“I don’t want your autograph, asshole. My quirk lets me see when and where someone needs to be, and right now it’s telling me you’re needed elsewhere. You’re a hero, right?”

“Why should I believe anything you say?” He snapped, towering over Inara. If her quirk hadn’t been active at the moment, Inara would have been afraid of the man. That, or very turned on by all the muscles she could see through his skin-tight jumpsuit. But, for now at least, all Inara could see or think about was the gold flakes gathering in his eyes and fists.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Ask me which direction you need to go. I can’t just tell you; my quirk doesn’t work that way.” He seemed to consider Inara’s offer, eyes narrowing. Inara, impatient, crossed her arms in front of her and glared right back. He seemed to approve of her boldness, and finally grunted, some of the tension in his shoulders easing away.

“North or South?”

--

You didn’t know if Mike was in on Tremor’s plot, or just extremely easy for the man to manipulate. But there he was - sitting at the first table to the right of the cafe’s entrance, in his costume and staring you down with eyes so green that they seemed almost to glow. His black hair was long and tangled, coated in enough grease to make your skin crawl. He had a scruff of a beard, and you began to wonder how long it had been since he’d showered or shaved. Even his uniform, black, white and green, looked unwashed and wrinkled. The moment you saw him, you turned around and walked right back out of the cafe. Mike stood in the entryway, looking absolutely dumbfounded by your response. Clearly, the boy had thought you would be happy to see Tremor.

The boy didn’t know how much Tremor wanted you dead. As you power-walked in a random direction, you remembered the first day you’d met Tremor. He’d unburied you from a pile of rubble, apologizing for not getting to you sooner. Those bright green eyes had been full of kindness and genuine concern. His costume had fit perfectly, drawing attention to exquisitely toned muscles in all the right ways. His hair had been trimmed roughly, as if by his own hand, into something resembling a fade. Just the right amount of rough-around-the-edges to draw your attention. Damn, what a fool you'd been in those days.

It didn’t take him long to catch up with you. In your near-panicked state, you felt like you could feel every move he made, sense every soul on the street. He would take out the whole block if you didn’t stop him. As a hand reached toward your shoulder, you ducked to the side and spun, stopping just behind Tremor and glaring at his sweaty back. Before he could react properly, you aimed a fist at his side, putting all of your weight behind the punch as it collided with his lowest rib. He groaned, stumbling to the side. Dancing away, you started to miss your old weapons.

Though you got the first hit in, the fight didn’t actually go in your favor. Tremor had always been better at close combat than you, and he had a quirk that made his punches considerably more effective in a fight: anywhere those hands came into contact with would be struck with a... well, tremor. His hits had the force of a small earthquake behind them, and you’d seen him destroy someone’s arm so badly that the doctors had opted to amputate rather than piece it back together.

As soon as Tremor started fighting back, you were reduced to dodging and dancing out of the way of those deadly fists. Deflecting his shots worked well enough, but you were losing ground quickly. Looking behind you for an escape route was the mistake of a lifetime.

--

Inara followed the flaming hero as he walked in the direction her quirk had indicated, stunned that he’d even listened to her in the first place. The man definitely struck Inara as the stubborn ‘I don’t need to listen to anyone else’ type, but he’d humored Inara all the same. Maybe there was a little bit of sense in that flaming head of his, after all. Or maybe it was the gold eyes - a lot of people got weird about Inara’s eyes turning gold.

The two rounded the corner and Inara’s quirk finally faded, all of the glitter leaving the air around her. Finally able to make out the details of the world around her, Inara recognized a street she’d explored two days prior. There was a fine cafe only two doors down, where she’d even found a waitress who spoke English. That wasn’t what she was here for, though, she reminded herself.

The semicircle of cheering bodies seemed to be what she was here for. Staying only a few inches behind the burning hero - Inara realized she still didn’t know his name - she managed to get through the crowd with relative ease. It seemed everyone stayed out of the way of this man, though Inara had a feeling that their wariness had little to do with the fire on his costume.

Two people were outright brawling in the street. One of them was wearing a black and white skinsuit, with green accents. Recognizing the curly, matted hair of Tremor, Inara felt her stomach do a backflip. The other person, dodging and dancing in and out of Tremor’s range, was Inara’s best friend in the world. Tremor’s ex-whatever-they’d-been, and his sworn enemy. Inara had seen madness in Tremor’s eyes the last time they’d spoken, and she saw even more of it now. When (Y/N) stumbled, looking for an escape, Tremor squatted to the ground and punched. A few people screamed, several fell over, and Inara grabbed the fiery hero’s arm to keep herself from crashing to the ground as it shook with the force of a small earthquake. Inara watched her best friend fall to the ground, and screamed.

Chapter Text

You’d spent years training with Tremor. Years of him beating ‘never turn your back’ into you. And what had you done? Turned your back, of course.

The ground disappeared beneath your feet, and you heard half a dozen screams. The fight had drawn attention from onlookers - it wasn’t common to see two people fighting without their quirks. Of course, what the onlookers didn’t realize was that Tremor was using his quirk - he just hadn’t had the opportunity to properly demonstrate it yet. That is, until you turned your back and practically begged him to destroy the road.

The ground came up to meet you, knocking the air out of your lungs. You landed sprawled on your back, staring up at Tremor. The maniacal grin on his face spread as he realized he’d won, and you struggled to get your feet beneath you. You weren’t fast enough to dodge his next attack, so you caught his fist in your own, instead.

The world turned white as every bone in your hand and wrist shattered. Expecting the next fist to land in your stomach - or worse, on your face - you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The attack never came.

The world was exceedingly fuzzy as you opened your eyes, and for a moment you thought the bright light in front of you might be the sun. Maybe you’d died, after all, and this was the ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ everyone always talked about. Blinking repeatedly, however, you were able to wash away the blurriness and make out the torso of a man on fire. Recognizing Endeavor, you managed a small smile.

“Good timing,” you muttered, looking up at him. He glared down at you for just a moment before turning away. Looking in the direction he’d turned to, you saw Tremor struggling to his feet, blood trickling from his nose. As Endeavor stomped away, Inara appeared in front of you, instead. There was panic in her eyes as she stared at your shattered hand.

“I’m so sorry! I thought we were fast enough, but -”

“Inara, I’m alive . I wouldn’t be alive if you weren’t fast enough. Please get back - you know how bad Richard is for bystanders.”

“But-” Inara started again, helping you to your feet. You glared at her out of the corner of your eye as you called on your quirk. Shutting down the pain receptors of your brain was a risky decision, but you couldn’t see through the pain in your right wrist, so you did it anyway.

“Actually,” you muttered, remembering something, “before you go..” Reaching under your best friend’s skirt, you found the knife she kept strapped to her thigh. Tugging it from its holster, you shoved your friend back toward the crowd. “Thanks, Inara. Now keep the crowd back, yeah?”

“Don’t reach up my skirt like that!” She snapped, blushing furiously and tugging the hem of her skirt down further. You grinned and winked before turning back toward the fist fight between Endeavor and Tremor. As you watched Endeavor dodge another punch from your old partner, you wondered why the flaming man was holding back. With a shrug, you ran forward.

Tremor was exceedingly good at close combat, but Endeavor was just slightly better. Adding you to the mix, the crazed ex-hero realized he was outmatched. Scowling, he stumbled backward in an attempt to get away. You ducked under Endeavor’s next swing and leapt into the opening it created, aiming the handle of your knife at the side of Tremor’s head.

Just before you could make contact, a hand appeared out of nowhere and reached out to catch your wrist. Turning to look, you found yourself face-to-face with a small Japanese woman, a smile on her face that sent shivers down your spine. Her eyes shifted from black to bright blue, and before you could react, you found yourself falling. Looking down, you realized you’d been teleported several hundred feet in the air. Her hand on your wrist disappeared, along with the knife you’d been holding, as the ground approached with increasing speed. You heard Inara scream from below as you closed your eyes, trying to think of some way to stop your fall.

An arm appeared around your waist and behind your knees, and you came to a jarring stop as Endeavor caught you, an annoyed scowl on his face. You stared up at him, startled by his sudden appearance. Judging by the heat below you, the man was using flames from his feet to hover in the air. Looking down, you realized you were only a few feet away from smashing into the pavement. Shuddering, you closed your eyes again. Taking a deep breath, you patted Endeavor on the shoulder.

“Thanks again, Endeavor,” you muttered. “You can set me down, now, though.” He dropped your legs first, the arm around your waist tightening as he lowered you to the ground. You slid from his grip a few inches from the road and landed on your feet, looking around in search of Tremor and the mysterious teleporter.

They were nowhere to be seen.

--

Endeavor was more than a little annoyed that Tremor and his new friend had escaped when he looked away, but surprisingly he didn’t outright blame you for their disappearance. He took off immediately to search for the pair, as Inara tried to convince you to check into the nearest hospital. You stayed behind, instead, explaining the fight to the police officers who’d shown up toward the end. Looking through the crowd of bystanders, you were unable to find Mike. You couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing - you didn’t want to face your very own stalker, but you did want the boy to get back to America as soon as possible.

The Number 2 hero showed back up as the police were wrapping up the scene, his scowl worse than ever. Inara planted herself between you and the big man as he glared down at the two of you, clearly convinced that he was a threat to your health. After a moment of him glaring silently at your friend, you put a hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“If he wanted to hurt us, Inara, he would have done it already. Let him be.”

“Tell me about this man,” Endeavor ordered as you stepped out from behind Inara. “Who is he, and why was he attacking you? He had the costume of a hero, but I didn’t recognize him.”

“He was an American hero, a few years ago. He’s wanted in America now, for attacking another hero without cause.” You’d wrapped your broken wrist up in a towel you’d found at a nearby store, and Endeavor glared down at it now.

“Was that hero you?” he asked.

“Yes. I’d rather not discuss the details. Tremor’s quirk allows him to create waves of destructive energy with his fists. If he’d landed a blow on you, you might have died from it.” You offered the big man a small smile as your quirk hilighted a cut on his shoulderblade, half-healed and clearly from a previous fight. “Thanks again for stepping in, Endeavor. I owe you.”

“You should get medical attention,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him. You were starting to see through those glares of his, and beginning to suspect that there might be a decent person behind them. Inara, grumbling from her place just behind you, didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll need surgery, I suppose,” you admitted, glaring down at your hand for a moment. “Mind if I heal you, though? That cut on your shoulder isn’t anything compared to your saving my life, but it’s a start.” You offered your left hand to the hero, and he glared down at it.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“I owe you,” you responded, meeting his stubborn glare with an equally stubborn smile. After another moment of hesitation, he took your offered hand in his own. You closed the distance between the two of you before he could realize what was going on and reached up to put a hand on his flaming cheek. The fire was warm, but - as you’d suspected - harmless. You sent a rush of healing energy throughout the big man’s body before he pulled away, and gave him your best wicked grin as he scowled once more.

“What was that about?” He snapped.

“I need direct physical contact,” you explained, “and you’re wearing gloves.”

--

He almost hadn’t recognized the healing hero from two weeks prior. The brawl in the middle of the street wasn’t really his business until the man in black, white and green used his quirk. Heroes weren’t police officers - Endeavor worked to help regulate the misuse of quirks, not to stop random arguments in the street. Feeling the ground shake beneath him, Endeavor realized that the man had likely been trying to use his quirk the entire time. A hand on his arm made Endeavor look down at the black woman with gold eyes that had approached him minutes before. A look of pure horror was on her face as she watched the fight in front of them, and she let out a scream that made Endeavor wince.

He wasn’t quite fast enough to stop the man from aiming a punch at the healer sprawled on the ground, and Endeavor was forced to watch as his punch was caught in a fist that shattered on impact. Furious at himself for hesitating, the flaming hero aimed a punch at the man’s face before he could kill the prone hero before him.

“Good timing,” Endeavor remembered the hero name Silver from the license he’d inspected before. Glaring down at Silver for a moment, he was surprised to feel a glimmer of happiness in his stomach at the compliment. Giving himself a mental shake, Endeavor turned back toward the madman in the street.

Despite his bloody nose, the man went blow-for-blow with Endeavor. Endeavor paid extra attention to those hands of his, forced to stay mostly defensive as he fought. Flames didn’t seem to bother the other man, and Endeavor saw raw madness in his eyes as he fought. No amount of intimidation would get this man to back down. For some reason, the other man stumbled backward, looking for just a split second to be worried. Someone appeared under Endeavor’s arm as he aimed another punch at the ex-hero, and Endeavor realized that Silver was back in the fight, the blunt end of a knife aimed at their mutual enemy. Before Endeavor could fully process the fact that this hero was still willing to fight despite a completely shattered hand and wrist, someone new appeared.

A small woman with long black hair and an aura of bloodthirst stood between Endeavor and the man he’d been fighting, one hand wrapped around Silver’s wrist. He didn’t have time to react before both Silver and the new woman disappeared. Looking back toward Tremor, he saw the other man’s attention in the sky above him. Hearing another scream from the woman with gold eyes, Endeavor followed his gaze upward.

Falling from an extreme height, Silver stared down toward the ground with an odd look of resignation. The healing hero didn’t appear to be afraid, instead looking faintly annoyed as they hurtled toward the ground, eyes closed. Grimacing, Endeavor focused his flames on his feet and rocketed into the air.

Silver’s good hand was curled against their chest as they looked up at Endeavor, not even the slightest bit of pain in their face. Endeavor had trouble looking away as the hero in his arms looked from his eyes to the ground and back up to him again. A soft pat on his shoulders brought the hero back to reality.

“Thanks again, Endeavor,” Silver muttered. “You can set me down now, though.”

Setting Silver back down, Endeavor looked around to find his quarry gone. The teleporting girl must have taken off with him, he realized with increasing annoyance. Scowling, Endeavor took off once more in search of his newest enemy. After nearly forty-five minutes of searching, he was forced to give up. Returning to the shattered road where the fight had taken place, Endeavor was stunned to find the hero Silver still there, broken wrist wrapped and eyes still glittering silver.

Endeavor had never met someone who was so totally unafraid of him. This Silver, however, was quite clearly unfazed by both his anger and his flames. The cool touch of Silver’s hand on his cheek was enough to keep him from pulling away instantly. For the first time in what felt like years, Endeavor wasn’t burning with the heat of his quirk. Too soon, the cooling wash of Silver’s healing was gone.  Before they went their separate ways, Silver made their friend write down contact information for Endeavor.

"If you're ever in need of healing," Silver said, that tiny smile still in place, "give me a call."

Chapter Text

You were stepping out of the bathroom, half-dressed and still more or less asleep, when Inara rounded the corner and threw something at you. Barely managing to catch it, you realized it was a buzzing phone - your phone, with a call from an unknown number. Showing Inara your middle finger for throwing something at you when you were half asleep, you tapped the green 'answer' button with a finger wrapped in a cast and put the phone to your ear. From down the hall, Inara stuck her tongue out at you.

"Doctor (L/N)," you said, forcing yourself to sound more awake than you were, "what can I do for you?" The phone started to slip from your hand, so you swapped ears to hold it with the uninjured one.

"This is Endeavor," his voice was just as deep and gruff over the phone as it had been in person, and you could almost imagine his scowl as he spoke. "Do you have time to meet for an interview?"

"Uh," you muttered, rubbing at your forehead and trying to process what he was asking. "Do I have time for... An interview for what, exactly?"

"The ex-hero Tremor is still missing. I'm assisting with the investigation, and I need to know more about the man. You knew him quite well, after all."

"Did I." It wasn't a question, really. You hadn't admitted to Endeavor outright that you'd known Tremor as anything other than another American hero, but the man sounded absolutely certain that you knew him better than that. Not that he was wrong.

"Yes," Endeavor grumbled. You could just barely hear papers shuffling in the background as you made your way down the hall toward the kitchen. "As did your friend, Doctor Currier. Do you have her contact information? I need to speak with her, as well."

"She's my roommate," you shook your head at Inara when she gave you a questioning look, "so I can just bring her with me. What kind of questions should we be expecting, Endeavor? I don't intend to discuss anything.. personal. I can give you his personality, what kind of food he likes. Maybe help you track down his hotel or something..."

"I'm aware of the extent of your relationship with him, Doctor (L/N). I've put together a general timeline of his adult life. I need you and Doctor Currier to fill in the details."

"Endeavor," you sat down in one of the chairs at the dining table, trying not to betray your annoyance over the phone, "you don't have the slightest clue of the extent of my relationship with Dick Smalls."

"...His birth certificate lists him as Richard Smalls, not 'Dick'. Did he change his name? I'll have to update the record..." For the first time since you'd met him, Endeavor didn't sound angry. His extreme focus on the case in front of him made him sound somehow... softer... as you spoke to him.

"No, his name is Richard. 'Dick' is a nickname. Uh, okay, Inara and I can meet you in three hours. Would that work for you?"

"Yes, I can be available then. My agency is..." He started to give an address, but you cut him off.

"Wait, wait, I don't have a hand to write any of this down," you switched to English and turned to your roommate, "Inara, get a pen and paper, Endeavor's going to give us an address."

"You don't have a hand...? I didn't think your injury was that bad-"

"Oh, no, it wasn't. I just meant that my hand is in a cast, so I can't write and hold the phone at the same time. Inara has a pen and paper; I'm putting you on speaker."

--

Endeavor's agency building was impressive, even from the outside. It towered above the buildings around it, and you were happy to see that nothing appeared to be on fire. Inara glared up at the building, still annoyed that she'd been dragged into this. Inara hadn't known Tremor nearly as well as you, and she felt that this interview with Endeavor would be a waste of her day off. It didn't matter how many times you reminded her that it was an investigation to find and take out Tremor; Inara insisted that she could be spending her time better elsewhere.

You hadn't really expected the interview to be with Endeavor himself, but he was the only person in the room when you arrived. The room in question was absolutely massive, and largely empty. In the center was a huge, intricate rug beneath a couch, a coffee table, and two recliners. Endeavor's desk, perfectly cleaned and topped with a single lamp, was nearly four feet away from the nearest couch.

The flaming hero led you and Inara to the recliners in front of the coffee table before settling onto the couch himself, legs spread wide so that he could lean forward and use the coffee table like a desk. Glancing at Inara, you saw a mixture of confusion and amusement on her face at the scene. Poking her in the side with your elbow, you glared at her until the half-smirk on her face faded.

His questions were quick, impersonal, and to the point. From the pile on the desk before you, you could tell he'd done his share of research. There were pictures scattered among the papers of Tremor both in and out of his costume. When you recognized the one Inara had taken of you and Tremor on your first patrol, you tried to figure out how to take it without Endeavor noticing. That picture needed to burn - not just because it was a reminder of everything that had gone wrong, but because it had you in your first hero costume. After nearly an hour of Endeavor grilling yourself and Inara about Tremor and his daily habits, he finally seemed satisfied. Standing up, the three of you turned toward the exit. The receptionist who had brought you and Inara to Endeavor's office stood outside, a professional smile on her face.

You shoved your hands in your pockets as you walked, Inara already looking on her phone for a nearby restaurant to get lunch at. Just as you got to the doorway, however, you felt a hot hand on your shoulder. Startled, you turned to see Endeavor frowning down at you. Inara stopped, looking from you to Endeavor and back to you again.

"May I have a private word with you, Doctor?" Endeavor asked, as politely as he seemed able. Inara raised her eyebrows at you, and you gave her a tiny shrug, just as confused as she was by the sudden request.

"Of course," you agreed. "Inara, I'll let you know when I'm leaving."

"I can wait in the lobby," she offered. You thought about it for a moment, glancing at Endeavor again. His hand had left your shoulder almost as quickly as it had appeared, and he stood waiting for you, a wrinkle between his brows.

"No, that's alright," you decided. "Go ahead and look around the area. Let me know if you find anything interesting."

--

You settled into the recliner once more, staring at the design in the carpet for a moment before Endeavor cleared his throat. He was sitting on the couch across from you once more, and you offered him a customer-service smile.

"What do you need, Endeavor?"

"A consultant," he answered, somehow managing to look down on you from across the way. You raised an eyebrow in a silent question. "My quirk can cause damage to my body if I overuse it. I'd like to consult with a doctor about how to minimize the damage when I overreach."

"Oh. Most peoples' quirks harm them if they overreach," you reminded him. "But I can understand a Pro Hero wanting to consult about it. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone here in Japan that specializes in quirks. If you were hoping for a recommendation-"

"I intend to hire you," Endeavor interrupted. You stared at him for a long moment, trying to process what he'd just said.

"I... I don't specialize in quirks, Endeavor. And besides, I'm not really looking for work. I already have a job at U.A."

"I'm aware that you don't generally work with quirks," Endeavor said, pulling a folder from the bottom of the pile of paperwork on the table between you. "And I'm aware of your job at U.A. You'll be teaching my son in the coming school year. But your job at U.A. is only part-time. I would pay you considerably more to work for me."

"I'm not going to quit U.A.," you said, startled.

"I'm not asking you to, Doctor. I would only be consulting with you weekly, or possibly bi-weekly. Your ability to determine what vitamins and minerals a person needs most would greatly benefit me as a professional hero."

"Oh," you managed. "And the fact that I don't generally work with quirks? My specialty is soft-tissue, Endeavor. I work best on lacerations and internal tissue damage, not on anything quirk specific. I can do a fair bit of brain surgery, too, but unless your quirk is damaging your brain..."

"It is. My quirk causes my body to overheat, including my brain. I often show signs of heat exhaustion after a day of work. I believe your quirk would be able to negate some of those symptoms."

"Yes," you agreed, starting to follow his train of thought, "it would. I noticed when I healed you the other day that your core temperature was higher than average. I thought it was just a side-effect of your quirk, but..." You activated your silver, looking directly at Endeavor's chest. The signs of overheating you'd seen before were gone. Leaning back in your chair, you shut your silver off.

"It is a side-effect," Endeavor said gruffly, crossing his arms, "a damaging side-effect."

"So I would be checking on your health weekly, for signs of long-term damage from your quirk. I'd also be tracking your nutritional needs, to maintain your health at its peak. Is there anything else I'd be doing?"

"That's all I could think of," he said, looking thoughtful. You decided you liked this side of Endeavor - he wasn't as gruff as before, and though you weren't being overtly rude, he didn't seem to mind the informality with which you addressed him. "But if you can think of something else...?"

"No, not right now. I'll have to do some research, find out what else I might be able to do to help you with your quirk." You rubbed your nose with your cast, staring at the carpet again and thinking about what Endeavor had proposed.

"I won't ask for your response today," he said. You looked back up at him and smiled slightly.

"Thank you. I should be able to give you an answer in two days, if that isn't too long."

"That's fine." You started to get back up, but he didn't budge. "One more thing, Doctor."

"Yes?" You asked, sitting back down. What else could he want?

"What are you doing to protect yourself until the police and I can find and arrest Richard Smalls?"

"Well," you muttered, blushing slightly. You hadn't really thought about it, to be honest. Inara had brought up that Tremor was still after you while you were waiting for Recovery Girl to finish piecing your hand back together, but you'd been to focused on the surgery to listen. "I suppose I'll change my traffic patterns up so that I'm harder to follow. Try going to a few different grocery stores, maybe take different trains to and from work..."

"You should train to fight again," Endeavor said, opening that folder he'd grabbed earlier. Clipped to the inside of the folder was the picture of you and Tremor in your debut. You winced when you saw yourself - decked out in studded black leather, with a messy haircut and chains wrapped around your arms. Endeavor flipped a few pages back to show a series of photos of you in combat, chains moving fast enough to blur in the photographs.

"I suppose," you agreed, glaring down at one of the photos, "but that means I need to get another one of those chains. Though I'm not going back to the costume."

Chapter Text

Enji Todoroki didn't consider himself to be an impulsive man. He had a short temper, certainly. And, occasionally, he would make a poor decision simply because he was angry. But impulsive? Not in his nature. He considered every possibility, thought of every possible scenario, before making a decision. And he only chose the best. He couldn't earn the role of number 1 hero in Japan by doing any less.

So when he put a hand on Silver's shoulder, he was just as startled as everyone else. Enji hadn't really been planning on hiring Silver as a personal consultant, though the thought had occurred to him. His quirk bothered him sometimes, certainly - he'd married a woman with ice powers for that very reason, actually - but he'd been dealing with the side-effects for years. He'd met with doctors dozens of times, seeking various treatments and meal plans. Eventually, he'd condensed everything the doctors told him into one simple, easy-to-follow diet and exercise plan, and moved on. He could take care of himself. Silver's cooling touch might be convenient, but it really wasn't necessary.

For the fourth time that night, Enji rolled over in bed to check his phone. He knew Silver wasn't going to give an answer to his job offer at 2 in the morning, but he couldn't stop himself from checking. He was losing sleep over this, and there was no justification.

It was noon two days after their meeting at Endeavor's agency when his phone finally rang.

--

You hadn't had a medical bag in three years, and you'd forgotten just how annoying it was to carry. The bag always bounced against your leg in the most annoying way possible, no matter how you adjusted the length of the strap. Grimacing, you adjusted the length anyway and opened the door to Endeavor's agency.

Though Inara had pointed out that the size and luxury of the agency was beyond necessity, you had to admit that it was nice. Walking down a long hall with perfectly polished hardwood floors, you couldn't help but admire the overall beauty of it all. Whoever had designed the interior of this building had good taste. You slowed down as you passed a very expensive-looking vase, admiring the way it had been patched together with gold, and nearly missed your next turn. The receptionist that was escorting you to Endeavor was polite, but somewhat cold. She didn't seem to notice that you weren't keeping up.

The door she opened at the end of the hallway was made of solid oak, stained a dark red. You took a moment to admire the color before stepping through the entryway. Inside was a fully-equipped gym, large enough that you had to search to find Endeavor among the equipment. There were stationary bikes, treadmills, elliptical machines, and some machines you didn't recognize running along one wall. The other side of the room was dedicated to more weight machines than you'd seen in your last visit to Planet Fitness, and Endeavor was at a simple bench-press, probably lifting more than your weight with only a slight sheen of sweat to show for his effort. In the center of the room, taking up the most space, was a massive floor mat; clearly an area designed for sparring. Adjusting your shoulder strap again, you made your way through the maze of equipment.

Stopping a few feet short of Endeavor's bench, you set the bag down and massaged the shoulder where it had been. He wore a pair of black basketball shorts and a white tank-top, grunting quietly as he pressed the bar in short, perfect repetitions. Looking at the amount of weight he was lifting would make you feel inferior, so you chose not to. Instead, you walked around behind him - he was too wrapped up in his lifting to notice you yet - and put your good hand on the bar he was lifting. His eyes widened in surprise at your sudden appearance, but he didn't jump or lose control of the weights.

"My first recommendation," you said with a slight smirk, "is to always have a spotter when you're lifting." Endeavor's brow furrowed in his trademark scowl, which only amused you more.

"Are you supposed to be my spotter, then? You wouldn't be able to do anything with just one hand."

"Sunshine, I wouldn't be able to slow this much weight down if I had both hands." He glowered up at you, getting in four more repetitions before setting the bar down and sitting up. You admired the muscles of his back and shoulders as he wiped his face off with a nearby rag.

"You're early," he finally said, turning to glare at you over his shoulder. You shrugged, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"What can I say? My father was a military man, and in the military, 'on time' is late." His response was a short grunt. You turned toward your brand-new medical bag, opening it and pulling out the clipboard Inara had bought you. Naturally, it was silver. Sometimes, you really hated your friend. "Unless you have objections, Endeavor, I was planning on giving you a full physical today. It'll be easier for me to tell when you're unwell from your quirk if I have a solid picture of your overall health when you haven't used it for a while."

"I went on a patrol this morning," he said, pulling the stopper on a water bottle. You watched his Adam's apple bounce for a moment before giving yourself a mental shake.

"Then I'll have to do a full physical again, when you haven't been patrolling for at least twelve hours."

"It would have to be first thing in the morning, then. Before nine." He finally stood, wiping his face and neck with the towel once more. "I have a table and chairs in the next room."

"I'll send you my U.A. schedule, then," you offered, grabbing your bag and following him. "As long as I don't have work that morning, I don't mind coming out early."

"Good," he grunted, opening the door. The room he'd led you to was spacious and nearly empty, a single table and a few chairs in the middle of it. You had a feeling this was meant to be a conference room. "What do you need me to do?"

"Go ahead and sit down," you said, setting your bag on the table. Rummaging through it, you found your stethoscope and got to work.

"I thought you'd be using your quirk," he said as you put the ear pieces in. You shrugged, taking one of his wrists in your hand.

"I will be, by the end of today's session. But I try not to rely entirely on my quirk when I work. There's no reason to use a bunch of my healing energy gathering information that can be gotten just as easily with tools."

"I gave you a copy of my medical records," he complained as you wrote down your first readings, "you can get all of this information from them."

"I read your records," you said, pulling the file from your bag. "They're very thorough, so thank you for that. But I like to see things for myself."

"You like to waste time, you mean," he growled. You glared at him, dropping the folder back into your bag.

"I didn't realize you were a medical expert," you said drily. His scowl deepened, and you wondered how much longer it would be before his beard caught on fire.

"You've just admitted that my previous records are thorough, yet you insist on going in behind them and taking your own readings. How is that necessary?"

"I've seen medical records twice as thick as yours and half as accurate. There are bad doctors everywhere in the world, and if I blindly trusted every doctor I met, people would die."

"I only hire the best," he grated from between clenched teeth. You crossed your arms in front of you, frowning at him.

"Then why did you hire me?"

"You have the highest recovery rate of any healing-quirk doctor in the United States of America," he snapped. "The only blemish on your record is your father, and you don't show any signs of following in his footsteps - yet - so-"

"Don't bring my father into this," you said flatly. "Besides, I think you got your numbers wrong. My quirk is extremely limited."

"You don't know your own statistics? If you were to work at a hospital full time, you could likely out-heal Recovery Girl." He stood, suddenly extremely close as he towered over you. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt the heat rolling off of him, but the moment passed as he turned away. There was a desk in the corner of the room that you hadn't noticed earlier, and he approached it now.

"Don't flatter me, Endeavor. I wouldn't be able to out heal Recovery Girl if I tried. She can heal wounds I wouldn't dream of touching."

"Comparing your early work as a doctor to your father's," he'd produced the file from your last visit, "you showed considerably more promise than he did. And before he became a drugged-up criminal, your father was the leading trauma surgeon in the United States Navy."

" 'Drugged-up criminal'? Don't insult my father, Endeavor."

"He was given a dishonorable discharge from the US Navy following a guilty verdict on charges of theft, malpractice and drug use. I have the photo of his arrest-" You snatched the photo in question from the big hero's hand and shoved into your pocket, furious.

"I didn't come here to be insulted," your voice was shaking with fury, and you turned back to your medical bag, shoving the clipboard back into it. You were almost out of the door before he spoke again, his voice suddenly far less hostile.

"That was... out of line. I apologize." You stopped in the doorway, counting to ten as you glared at a nearby treadmill.

"My father was a great man, Endeavor," you said quietly, thankful that your voice was no longer shaking. "A great man who made a lot of mistakes. I would appreciate it if you didn't bring him up again."

"...Understood."

Taking another deep breath, you turned back around. Endeavor had set the file down and stood next to the desk, looking faintly apologetic. Putting your bag back on the table, you cleared your throat.

"Well, let's stop wasting time, then."

Chapter Text

You worked quietly, surprised by how obedient Endeavor was now that he understood why you were working with regular tools instead of your quirk. Clearly, he'd had a few physicals in his time; it only took a touch or a short gesture for him to understand what you needed him to do, and he responded immediately. When you pressed your stethoscope to his back, he took a deep breath. As you rolled his wrist over to expose the inside of his elbow, he straightened the arm out and flexed so that you could find a vein to prick a little bit easier. You used the tiniest bit of your quirk to find the vein, drawing three vials of blood before closing the puncture wound up with a touch.

The only time he hesitated was when you pulled out your tongue depressor and told him to make an 'aah' sound. He opened his mouth and let you press the wood to his tongue, but he didn't make a sound. After a moment, you snapped your eyes up to meet his.

"I need to see the muscles of your throat working," you said firmly. His eyebrow twitched, and he finally made the noise, the tiniest blush appearing on his cheeks. When you finally set your clipboard down and turned back to him, the big man looked almost docile in his chair, the usual scowl replaced with a pensive frown.

"Do you have somewhere to test that blood," he asked, "or will your quirk allow you to study it?"

"Recovery Girl has agreed to let me use the small laboratory she has at the school, outside of school hours. I'm just running basic tests, but if there's a test you don't want me to run, just let me know."

"What test wouldn't I want you to run?" He asked as you straightened the contents of your bag. Zipping the thing shut, you turned toward him with a shrug.

"No idea. Everyone is entitled to their secrets, Endeavor. I'm not going to sell the results of your tests or anything, but you have a right to refuse any treatment or test I offer you."

"...I see," he muttered, a tiny wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. For just a moment, the big man actually looked... cute.

"Well, I'm finished with the traditional testing," you said, taking off the gloves you'd put on before drawing his blood. Those you put in a tiny plastic bag marked as hazardous waste - the same bag you'd put the expended needle. "Now is when I'll use my quirk to evaluate you. I want to go over a couple of things, first, though." You pulled a nearby chair up, sitting down just within arm length of Endeavor. You could feel the heat rolling off of him, reminding you that his core temperature had been just on the edge of what a normal person would consider a fever. Given that he was showing no other signs of illness, you had to assume that the higher body temperature was at least mostly normal for him. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking down at you with turquoise eyes.

"What do I need to know?"

"In a normal healing, I only deal with what's injured. My quirk sort of... carries... my mind to the injury, where I can assess it up close and deal with each individual problem as they present themselves. The process isn't particularly invasive, and it's entirely... uh, I don't know the word in Japanese." Impersonal, is what you were going for, but you couldn't translate it just now. "It's not as... uh..."

"I think I understand what you're getting at," he grumbled, somewhat annoyed, "move on."

"Mmm. Okay. Anyway, when I do a full inspection - like I'm going to do shortly - I'll be looking over every inch of you, from the inside out. I usually start with the brain and check every organ and bone all the way down to your toenails. It's slow, and very... Well, I've already admitted I don't know the right Japanese terms for it." You didn't even really know the right English word for the sensation, though you weren't going to admit that. You had some pride as a doctor, after all.

"I imagine the sensation is... strange," he managed, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening. You wished he'd stop being so distractingly attractive. It made translating your thoughts into Japanese considerably harder - you weren't usually this bad at articulating.

"Yes, I've been told it feels somewhat invasive. Too personal. if you get my meaning." You scratched the side of your nose. "What I'm trying to get at here, is that I understand if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I don't think I would want someone's mind rooting around in my internal organs, even if it were a doctor doing it."

"Won't know until you get on with it," he grunted. You glared at him for a moment.

"Consent is important, Endeavor," you said shortly, "and I won't be able to hear you if you tell me to stop. When I'm working directly with my quirk like this, I don't see, feel or hear anything that's going on around me. That's part of why I failed as a pro hero - when I stopped to heal in a fight, I left myself completely exposed to the enemy. I have a few scars to prove that, actually."

"That is a serious weakness," he agreed, looking thoughtful. "But if you're able to manipulate the bodies of anyone you make physical contact with..."

"I'm a healer, not a manipulator," you were scratching at the cast on your right hand, trying to keep the conversation on track.

"But your quirk could very easily be formidable in a fight," Endeavor insisted, leaning forward. You leaned back in your chair, trying to keep a respectable distance from him.

"Yes," you agreed quietly, glaring down at your injured hand, "I can deal a good bit of damage. But I chose to use my quirk for healing, Endeavor, not for fighting."

"You were seriously injured," his hand appeared, taking your uninjured fist away from the cast and setting it on your knee, "because you were unwilling to use your quirk to its full potential."

"My quirk's full potential," you said firmly, "is best used to help, and not to hurt. The body wants to heal, Endeavor, it doesn't want to destroy itself. I use twice as much energy hurting others with my quirk as I use healing them. If I were to use my quirk in a fight, I would waste all of it in battle and have none left for the aftermath. Some sacrifices are worth making."

"You're short-changing your quirk-" he started, but you held a hand up to hush him.

"No, I'm not. We're getting off-subject here, Endeavor. I was telling you how to keep my quirk from making you uncomfortable." He just grunted, leaning back again and crossing his arms once more. "I won't be able to see or hear you if you're uncomfortable, so you'll have to stop me yourself if you feel that my quirk is crossing a line."

"How would I do that?" He asked, sounding marginally polite.

"Break contact," you said with a shrug. "Simple enough. If I lose contact, my quirk pulls me back into my own head and you're good to go."

"Would that hurt you in some way?" He asked.

"It's... uncomfortable. I'll have a headache afterward, certainly... But my quirk gives me more headaches than toddlers give their mothers, so I'm used to it. Don't worry about hurting me, Endeavor. I'm more concerned with your comfort than my own in this case."

"Very well," he said after only a moment of thought. You shifted in your seat, aware that your legs would fall asleep while you worked if you sat wrong. Once you'd settled into a more comfortable position, you reached up with both hands and placed your fingertips on either side of the flaming hero's forehead. Settling your breaths into a deep, even pattern, you closed your eyes and called on your quirk, slipping into the brain under your fingers.

--

Silver had been right about the sensation of their quirk feeling invasive. Enji stiffened when he first felt the cool touch of silver in his own brain, startled by how slowly it moved through him. Silver's quirk felt like stepping into a cool bathtub, though the feeling started at the fingertips pressed to Enji's skull instead of his feet. He could feel each shift of the energy as it moved through his brain and down to his nose and mouth, making him shudder as it ran gently over the back of his neck.

In front of him, Silver's eyes were closed, their breaths coming in a quiet, even pattern that Enji found himself mimicking instinctively. The embers of anger he always felt burning in his chest seemed to die out for just a moment as the coolness reached his shoulders. A tension he hadn't noticed before relaxed, and he wondered if it was Silver telling his muscles to relax, or if all it took was the cool presence of their quirk. Enji watched the spread of Silver's quirk over their closed eyelids, entranced by the subtle way it glittered in the light of the room. His eyes wandered up, taking in the knit brows of a concentrated face. There were shadows of wrinkles there even when Silver wasn't frowning, signs that the little wrinkle between Silver's brows was there more often than it wasn't. Silver had a widow's peak, barely visible through bangs that looked like they fell wherever they wanted. Silver didn't appear to be the type to worry about appearances, but Enji realized they'd been blessed with enough good looks that it didn't really matter.

As the cool touch of Silver's mind reached his upper chest, Enji turned his attention elsewhere. Silver's jaw was clenched slightly, and Enji could just barely see their heartbeat in the vein of Silver's neck. He watched the beat for a moment, feeling Silver's touch on his own heart as he counted their heartbeats. Through the cloth of Silver's button-up shirt, Enji could just barely make out tension in their shoulders. Silver's outward appearance was absolutely calm and relaxed, but the longer Enji looked, the more tense they seemed to be. Realizing he was staring, Enji looked away.

He found Silver's arm, instead. It was impossible to look anywhere but forward with Silver's fingers on either side of his temple. Silver wore long sleeves in a pale purple that worked both professionally and fashionably, drawing a bit of color out of their skin despite the overall paleness of it. Silver definitely seemed like the type to stay indoors most of the time, Enji decided. And here he was, looking at the skin of their neck again. It looked soft, and for a wild moment Enji wanted to touch it to find out. Resisting the urge - this was his doctor, not his lover - Enji closed his eyes.

The cool sensation moved on to his stomach, and Enji shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the sudden proximity of Silver's quirk to his pants. He hadn't really thought about this possibility, he realized. This was about to become very awkward, very fast. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to think of anything other than the cool touch of Silver's quirk as it approached his groin.

How Enji managed to sit through Silver's full inspection without breaking contact was something of a mystery. He stared down at Silver as they hunched over their clipboard, scribbling notes in English characters. They didn't seem to notice the tension, or even the slight heat Enji felt in his cheeks as he watched them work.

"What language is that?" He asked when he realized he couldn't understand what Silver was writing down.

"English short-hand," SIlver muttered, not looking up. "I'll rewrite everything in Japanese when I get home and bring a copy with me to our next meeting." Finally, they put the pen in its little holder at the top of the clipboard, meeting Enji's eyes with their own. "That's assuming you still want another meeting."

"Why wouldn't I?" He asked shortly, furious that he still felt a blush on his cheeks. Silver shrugged.

"I've had a few patients decide not to keep coming to me after one of my examinations," Silver admitted.

"Nonsense," Enji grumbled, forcing himself to look away from those (e/c) eyes. "I didn't hire you just to send you away after the first session."

"Alright, then," Silver said cooly, standing up and unzipping their bag. "I'll be back next week, same time. Do you have any questions before I go?"

"No," Enji said shortly, still glaring at the table.

"Call if you think of anything, or if you're injured," Silver said, bowing slightly. Enji stood and returned the bow. "Have a good day, Endeavor."

Enji, his blasphemous mind tried to correct. He bit his tongue, glaring at the floor.

Chapter Text

"He's so. Damn... hot." You mumbled, head in your hands.

"Is that a pun?" Inara drawled, poking you in the side. You took your head out of your hands to glare at her.

"Yes. It's also the truth. When was the last time you looked at his ass? It's hotter than that stupid beard he wears."

"Does he do that on purpose? Or is it... is it part of his quirk?" She asked, leaning in closer. You could smell tequila on her breath, and her eyes were slightly unfocused.

"I don't know! And how am I supposed to ask, anyway?" You snapped, putting your head back into your hands in despair.

"Hey, Endeavor," Inara said in her best -and most insulting- impression of your voice, "nice ass. Also, do you set your hair on fire or does your fire set your hair?"

"That didn't translate well, Hun," Kayama said from her seat across from your friend. She wasn’t nearly as drunk as Inara, but her cheeks were reddened all the same.

"Shut up. I'm drunk." Inara mumbled, pointing in the woman’s general direction.

"We all noticed," Aizawa said drily before taking another sip of the sake he’d ordered earlier.

“Why are you so drunk but Silver is barely dizzy?” Yamada was sitting next to Aizawa, and he reached across his boyfriend to poke you in the arm. You looked up through bleary eyes, wondering what he was talking about.

“This is Silver drunk. This is. Dude, Silver never talks about boys.” Inara slurred, leaning against you now. She couldn’t even sit up in her chair, you realized. Maybe that last shot had been a bad idea, after all.

“He’s not a boy. He’s a man. Wait, no he has the personality of a teenager that thinks everything is supposed to go his way. Hmm.” Your hand was squished into your cheek now, and you stared off in a random direction, eyes unfocused as you remembered Endeavor’s perfectly sculpted shoulders. What an asshole.

“A hormonal teenage boy trapped in the body of a grown-ass man.” Inara offered, giggling.

“Yeah. That sounds right. You seen his biceps? He could bench press me.” You let out a sigh, imagining it.

“You want him to bench press you?” Inara asked, giggling louder now.

“....You don’t?” You asked, genuinely surprised.

“I want Nemuri to bench press me.” Inara turned her brown eyes to the woman across from her, who grinned and winked, the blush on her cheeks deepening. Inara wiggled her eyebrows and you groaned.

“You’re a pervert.” You said, shoving Inara’s side. She slid out of the bar chair, somehow managing to stay on her feet.

“You have no idea.” Inara drawled, climbing back into her chair and draping herself against your side once more.

“I don’t think I could bench press you, my dear. But I can think of some other things we could do…” Kayama’s wicked grin spread, and you felt yourself blushing at her implication. Inara only giggled.

“I’m in. I’m. Wait, no, I just met you.” Inara’s eyebrows screwed up in a frown as she looked at the other woman.

“Is that really an issue?” Kayama drawled, leaning forward. Inara was blushing so hard that you could feel the heat against your skin.

“You know who else is really hot?” Yamada asked, suddenly perking up. He was somewhere between Inara’s level of drunk and Kayama’s.

“...All Might?” You offered, remembering his muscles from the news you’d been watching last night. What was in the water in this country that all of its heroes were so damn buff?

“Well, yes. That’s. That’s a given.” Yamada admitted, blushing slightly.

“But not who you were going for?” Inara asked, leaning around you to get a better look at the voice hero.

“No. Look. Look, he’s right here. Look at this masterpiece!” Yamada was pointing at Aizawa with both hands, his entire face turning red and his green eyes glittering behind sunglasses that had slid halfway down his nose.

“Shut up, Hizashi,” Aizawa muttered, but you could see a tiny smile on his lips.

“Never! You’re the hottest man in the room. You’re a hunk. You’re-” Yamada tried to keep going, but Aizawa cut him off.

“You’ve had enough. Time to go.” Aizawa said shortly, standing and dragging the other man with him.

“Yes, boys, go back to your apartment. And do some nasty things together.” Nemuri cooed, looking at them as they left.

“Nasty things. I’m up for nasty things.” Inara mumbled, watching the boys go. You could tell by the direction of her eyes that she was watching their asses as they walked.

“Inara, please,” you muttered, embarrassed for her.

“You’re up for nasty things, too, you’re just too shy to admit it. Nasty things with fire-boy. Matchsticks. Flaming Hot Dorito. Firefarts-”

“I’m cutting you off,” you said, blushing and taking Inara’s last shot. You knocked it back, hoping Kayama would attribute your deep blush to the alcohol. It didn’t seem to work, based on the look on her face.

“Hey! Don’t drink my shots!” Inara protested.

“You’re too drunk!” You said firmly, trying to pull her to her feet.

“You’re not drunk enough!” Inara insisted, looking around for the waitress.

“You shouldn’t try to keep up with me!” You snapped, pulling her arm down before she could wave the waitress over.

“You’ve had nearly twice as much as everyone else here! You should be dead!” Kayama looked genuinely concerned, and you gave her a small smile - mostly happy that the subject was no longer Endeavor.

“My quirk metabolizes alcohol faster than most-”

“Silver cheats. Silver is a cheater and you should never challenge a cheater to a drinking match.” Inara was hard to understand, her Japanese heavily accented even before she’d added alcohol to the mix.

“Then why did you challenge me?”

“To get you drunk! So you would talk about Endeavor! You’ve been tight-lipped since that stupid interview! You don’t even make fun of him when he’s on TV any more! And you’ve met him, like, twice!” Inara was talking too loudly, but there was nothing you could say or do to make her quiet down. You glared at her.

“He’s fun to look at, sure! But when he talks. Inara, I wanna slap him in the face when that man talks.” You needed your friend to understand that you wanted nothing more than to look at the man. He was way too short-tempered for your taste.

“That still sounds like lust to me…” Kayama purred. You felt your face heat up even more.

“It’s- it’s not- Inara, we’re done. Let’s go.”

“I wanna go home with Nemuri…” Inara whined. You stopped, looking from your friend to the other woman.

“I. Oh. Uh, okay. I’ll just-”

“No, Honey, not tonight. You’re too drunk to make that decision.” Kayama stood to kiss Inara on the forehead. “Go home with Silver now.”

--

You woke up with a hangover the next morning, but Inara’s was considerably worse. She was sprawled out on the couch, groaning and glaring at a bottle of aspirin as if doing so would make it work faster. You made breakfast while she continued to whine from the living room, begging you to heal her hangover. You refused - hangovers, in your opinion, were justified punishment for the decision to drink too much.

You were halfway to work when your phone buzzed: a message from Power Loader about the weapons you’d asked him to recreate for you. You’d asked for another set of chains, like what you’d used to fight during your time as a professional hero in America. Though you weren’t overjoyed to be returning to the world of violence, you knew it was necessary. Tremor was out to find you, and he had company this time around.

The school year was nearing its end, and you spent most of the day helping Cementoss and Ectoplasm setting up the arenas where the practical exam would take place. By the time you were able to get to Power Loader, normal class hours were over and the students were filing out of the school.

Your new chains were about the same length as the previous ones, though the links were smaller and the metal wasn’t one you recognized immediately. As you lifted the chains in your hands, testing the weight, you had to admit that you were impressed; though Maijima hadn’t been given your old chains as a reference - only a picture - he’d managed to create a new version that weighed almost exactly the same as the old one. There were weights at each end of the fifteen feet of chain, shaped like handles and etched with a simple design to give them friction in your hands.

You spent another hour at the school, using one of the training arenas to see how out of practice you were. Thankfully, the use of your chains seemed to be like riding a bike: you were lost for the first few swings, but it came back to you naturally after a little while. Your arms were sore when you finished, but you knew you’d be able to get back to full strength with just a bit more practice. Smiling, you wrapped the chains around your waist like a belt and left the school grounds for home.

Chapter Text

Endeavor was late. His receptionist told you that he was caught up in a battle of some sort, and asked you to wait for him to return in case he needed healing when he got back. You agreed, wandering through the halls of his massive agency until you were able to track down the exercise room from before. You set your medical bag down on the bench he’d been using at the beginning of your first session and looked around, wondering what to do while you waited.

You considered doing some lifting of your own, but decided against it; it really was best to have a spotter of some sort while lifting, and it would be embarrassing for Endeavor to return and find you buried under a pile of weights. You weren’t sure what would be more embarrassing about that: the idea that you would drop them on yourself, or how little weight you would be lifting compared to what he usually lifted.

You wandered through the exercise equipment for a few minutes before opening the door to his conference room. The chairs were exactly as you’d left them during your last visit: apparently, this room wasn’t used often. The desk in the corner of the room had a folder sitting on it, and you suddenly remembered the argument from your last visit. Approaching the folder, you saw your name written in Kanji at the top. Curious, you flipped it open.

 

HERO NAME: Silver
REAL NAME: (F/N) (L/N), PhD
DOB: - -XXXX
HERO STATUS: Inactive
QUIRK: Healing Silver
QUIRK SYNOPSIS:  With physical contact, Silver can use their personal energy to alter the physical body of whomever they touch. Silver uses this power to heal.
BLOOD TYPE: A-
HEIGHT: 5’8”
PARTICULAR TRAITS; APPEARANCE: Wears semi-formal clothes in most occasions, such as button-up shirts and slacks. The costume worn during their time as a professional hero was black leather and dark jeans, with chains wrapped around both arms. The chains worked both as a combat and a capture weapon.
PARTICULAR TRAITS; PERSONALITY: Tends to be quiet and keep to themselves. Silver isn’t known for acting out publicly but several heroes interviewed admitted that they have a short temper and little tolerance for inappropriate behavior. Not one of the heroes interviewed about Silver was able to give any personal details on the hero.

Power: 2/5
Speed: 2/5
Technique: 4/5
Intelligence: 5/5
Cooperativeness: 4/5

 

Power: 2 of 5? That seemed a bit harsh. And here you were, thinking Endeavor thought highly of your quirk. Flipping to the next page, you scowled. It was the picture of your debut: your all-leather, biker-style jacket and dark jeans, chains wrapped around your arms. Your hair stuck up in every direction, and the smile on your face was almost maniacal. You’d practiced that smile for months before your debut, hoping to scare people off before they could see that your quirk had no combat capabilities. Flipping the page again, your scowl deepened. It was a two-page synopsis of your life, gathered - presumably - from various public records and conversations with the various American heroes you’d worked with. Some of the lines were highlighted in yellow, as if Endeavor had been taking notes.

The first sign of Silver’s quirk was during a schoolyard fight. The other student’s personal energy was drained until they were hospitalized. Silver’s father was able to return all of the other student’s energy.

You’d always hoped that would be magically erased from public records. Naturally, it wasn’t. There was even a newspaper clip of it, which made you cringe. Rummaging in the desk’s top drawer, you found a pencil. That little brat deserved it, too, for stealing Suzie’s pen. You wrote in English, just to annoy Endeavor. If he was going to take notes on your whole life, you were going to make sure he knew you knew about it.

Silver graduated from medical school as valedictorian, with four (known) job offers from various prestigious hospitals. None of the job offers were accepted, and Silver chose to work out of a local emergency clinic instead.

The hospitals wanted my quirk, not my skill. The clinic wanted both.

A building collapse caused during the debut of a new American hero named Tremor caused Silver to be trapped beneath the rummage for approximately six hours. Tremor dug Silver out, which was the beginning of their relationship.

You had nothing to add to that. Remembering that day, you grunted in annoyance.

The American hero accreditation program is not very different from the Japanese program. Silver graduated two years after meeting Tremor, with full marks on paper and a passable grade on the practical exam.

I didn’t become a hero to fight, after all. You flipped the page over, finding a detailed listing of your ‘statistics’ from your time as a hero. Typed at the bottom of the page was a ranking you didn’t know heroes had. Or possibly, a ranking reserved only for healing-type heroes.

Recovery Rate: 96%

Written below it in a penmanship that looked too elegant to be Endeavor’s was the name of U.A.’s school nurse, and the number 94. You had to assume that it was her own ‘recovery rate’. If you were the proud type, you imagined that those numbers would have inflated your ego a little bit. As it was, you just scowled at them. Reducing the lives of those you and Recovery Girl had saved or failed to save to a string of numbers felt like an insult.

The fun of reading through your file was officially gone, so you flipped the folder shut and stalked back out into the exercise room. What was taking Endeavor so long, anyway?

Scowling around the room, you spotted the giant cushioned mat between rows of exercise equipment. Pulling the chain from around your waist and putting your shoes on the floor next to your medical bag, you made your way out onto the mat. Might as well work off some of this steam.

--

When the receptionist told Enji that SIlver was still waiting for him, he turned from the door that would take him to a shower and went instead toward the training room. It was polite of Silver to wait, but he would have preferred to take a shower and relax for a few minutes. The fight hadn’t been particularly painful, and he wasn’t injured, but it had lasted far longer than necessary. He was exhausted, and very much overheated.

He opened the door to the training room to find Silver, in a light grey button-up shirt and black slacks, standing in the middle of the practice mat. A single, long chain was stretched between both of Silver’s hands, the ends circling at an impressive speed. Silver’s right hand was wrapped in bandages, and the chain swinging from it didn’t move quite as fast as the one swinging on the left. As Enji watched, Silver shifted one arm and brought the weighted end of the chain in their left hand slamming down onto the mat with a resounding whack . Silver’s face and neck were glistening with a thin layer of sweat, and Enji could see them taking heavy, even breaths in through their nose and out their mouth. He watched as Silver made three more powerful swings of the chain, hitting imaginary targets with stunning force. Curious about their aim, Enji lifted a hand and tossed a fist-sized ball of flame over Silver’s left shoulder.

The weight at the end of Silver’s chain sailed through the puff of flame only an instant after they saw it, so Enji threw another one. Silver didn’t look his way, but continued to strike his fireballs with impressive speed and accuracy, using only their left hand to fight. Enji threw fireball after fireball, varying speed and angle as he went, watching muscles move beneath the thin cloth of Silver’s shirt. The cloth began sticking to Silver’s chest and back, drawing more attention to each muscle as it moved. Still behind Silver, where they couldn’t see his eyes wandering, Enji drank up the curves of their body. His fingers suddenly had the itching urge to run along the curves and dips, to explore every inch of skin.

Finally, Silver let the chains spin to a stop, turning as they gathered the links up and tied them around their waist as they approached Endeavor. His eyes lingered on the shimmer of sweat along their collarbone: the top button of Silver’s shirt had come undone, revealing a slight flush on their chest.

“Thanks for the practice, Endeavor,” Silver said cheerfully, slightly breathless, as they came to a stop a foot short of him. He could just make out the scent of apples beneath the sweat. Silver met Enji’s eyes, and he realized that their quirk was activated. The silver glint caught him off guard, and he found himself remembering the cool sensation of their quirk in his chest. Running down to his stomach - icy coolness sinking below his waistband. “You look like you’re overheated.” You could say that, he thought.

They reached up and put a hand on Enji’s cheek, and coolness flooded him from head to toe. He didn’t think about what he was doing as he slid a hand around Silver’s waist.

--

Endeavor was definitely overheated, you decided as you slipped into the silver of your quirk. He didn’t appear to have any injuries other than a couple of minor bruises, but you healed those anyway. Pulling out of your silver, you were startled to find a hand on your waist and Endeavor’s eyes locked onto yours. There was a heat in those turquoise eyes that had nothing to do with his quirk. The hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer. Before you could pull away or say something, Endeavor’s lips were on yours.

You react without thinking about it, kissing him back almost instantly, your hand on his cheek sliding back to wrap around the base of his neck. He pulls you ever closer as the fingers of your right hand, wrapped in bandages but no longer in a brace, trace the muscle of his upper arm.

His heat is wholly different now: no longer an oppressive burn, but instead a lingering warmth that radiates from everywhere you touch. His teeth tease your bottom lip, a hand untucking your shirt and slipping underneath. When you gasp at the hot fingers on your lower back, he responds by slipping his tongue into your mouth, running it over your teeth. Your grip on the back of his neck tightens and you deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth, as well. His fingers follow the curve of your back as yours slide down to trace the bone of his hip.

It isn’t until his thumb traces the scar on your rib cage that you come back to your senses and break the kiss, turning your head away. Instead of stopping or pulling away, Endeavor runs his tongue down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches. You gasp lightly when he presses his lips to the side of your neck. You pull your hand away from the back of his neck as he begins to suck on the skin of yours, and push gently on his shoulder. Still, he doesn’t stop. The hand under your shirt traces your scar toward your sternum and you gasp again, this time beginning to panic.

He finally stops when you put a hand on his forearm, pushing it back down and out from beneath your shirt. You’re both panting slightly as he brings those burning eyes up to meet yours.

“I’m not... I can’t. Not--” you can’t find the right words, your mind lost somewhere between the feeling of his skin against yours and the memories attached to the scar on your rib cage. Your heart is racing, but you can’t tell if it’s from the excitement of Endeavor’s kiss or from fear of the memories threatening to surface. This was exactly how your first kiss with Tremor had been, and now he was all you could think about. The world suddenly seemed to be crashing down around your ears.

Endeavor took a step back, glaring down at you. There’s a question in his eyes that you’re afraid to answer: Don’t you want this?

Yes . You absolutely wanted this, whatever it may lead to. But you couldn’t stop thinking about Tremor. Richard Smalls - ruining your life one day at a time. You stared at the ground, unable to bring yourself to say what was wrong. After a long moment, the hands on your hips fell and Endeavor turned away with a huff of annoyance.

“The time scheduled for today’s session has already passed. I apologize for keeping you waiting.” There was anger in his voice, but not the kind of anger you were used to hearing. It took you a moment to realize that the anger was hiding hurt behind it.

Disappointment .

Still unable to explain yourself, you bowed to Endeavor and turned away to shove your shoes back on your feet. As you closed the door behind you, you glanced back to see Endeavor attaching weights to his lifting bar, a scowl on his face.

 

Chapter Text

Enji sat down at the desk in his conference room with a sigh. As he opened the folder in front of him, a pencil rolled out. Frowning, he flipped through the first several pages, looking for signs of tampering. The building's cleaners knew better than to touch anything in the private conference room, particularly if it was on his desk. When he saw neat, tiny English words, he realized what had happened.

That little brat deserved it, too, for stealing Suzie’s pen.

He could hear Silver's voice as he read the words.

The hospitals wanted my quirk, not my skill. The clinic wanted both.

Exactly the kind of comment he would expect from a healer as skilled as Silver had proven to be.

I didn’t become a hero to fight, after all.

Enji stared at that comment for a long time. Silver might not have started as a fighter, but he'd just seen a clear demonstration of their skill. Whether Silver wanted to fight or not, they were more than capable. Any concern Enji might have had about leaving Silver to their own devices with Tremor on the loose had disappeared when he saw the brutal accuracy of that chain. Flipping through the rest of Silver's timeline, Enji found no more comments. Pausing on one of his highlighted lines, Enji ran a hand down his face.

Tremor confirmed his relationship with Silver during an interview with Fox News, describing a practice session that had dissolved into a passionate affair. Silver refused to comment on the matter.

Enji groaned, putting his face in his hands. He'd just repeated the beginning of Silver's relationship with Tremor - and the scar he'd felt under Silver's shirt... Enji flipped to the back of the packet, turning to a newspaper clipping from six years before.

Professional hero Silver is in critical condition after a violent confrontation with pro-hero Tremor. Tremor is wanted by the police for three counts of murder. He is considered extremely dangerous and should not be approached by civilians.

A phone on the corner of the desk rang. Grimacing, Enji clicked the speaker button.

"What is it?"

"Phone call for you, Sir, from a Doctor Currier. She claims it's an emergency."

"Send her through."

--

"(F/N)."

"Dick," you answered coldly, "here to turn yourself in?"

"Turn myself in? For what? I'm a professional hero, Silver. I'm here to capture a villain." He took a step forward, and you took a step back.

"You're the only villain I see around here," you said as you reached for the chain around your waist. Too bad you were still sore from your practice earlier. And distracted by that kiss - he never would have gotten this close normally.

"Don't play stupid," he snapped, "you let all those people die. You're the worst kind of villain there is."

"Whatever you say, Dick," you drawled, shifting into a fighting stance.

"I've told you not to call me that."

"But it suits you in more ways than one," your chain was spinning now, building momentum. Your right wrist groaned in protest, still not fully healed from the last time you'd argued with this particular madman.

"Tish," he said, looking at something over your shoulder. Shit. You'd completely forgotten the girl who could teleport-

The world shifted to black for just an instant, and when the light returned you were face-to-face with a white wall. Your chain crashed into the wall, ricocheting wildly. The hand on your shoulder disappeared as the woman who'd snuck up on you tried to dodge the chain. Years of working with the weapon told you which direction it would spin off in, so you didn't bother to dodge. Instead, you turned, hoping to put the wall between yourself and the teleporter Tish.

She was several feet away now, an arm around Tremor's waist. He'd cleaned up: his uniform was cleaned and pressed, the scruff on his chin gone in a clean shave. There were still shadows under his eyes, but he'd gone back to his normal haircut. He glared at you from across the room, seeming to consider his options.

"No flaming ass to save you today," he growled, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"Not sure I want him to save me right now, anyway," you admitted. You still didn't know how to explain yourself to Endeavor, though facing Tremor and his new girlfriend didn't seem like a much better option.

"I'm going to kill you," Tremor's voice was venomous, and you felt a chill run down your back at the emptiness in his eyes. This man was more than cracked - he was completely insane now, so lost to his own hatred to see how far he'd fallen.

"You're welcome to try," you bluffed, swinging your chain once more.

"You're injured. You might as well just give up. We'll make it quick, if you do," the girl's voice was low and husky, her eyes half-lidded. The lust in her eyes wasn't for Tremor's body, you knew. This was an entirely different kind of madness. A much more frightening kind - you decided she needed to be taken out first, and shifted your attention accordingly. Naturally, Tremor took the opportunity at once, dropping into a squat and planting a hand on the floor.

Before the floor could collapse entirely, you threw all of your weight into your chain, aiming at the madwoman next to Tremor. Her eyes flashed blue, and as you fell to the floor below you knew she'd teleported at the last second.

You stood to find Tremor's fingers inches away from your face. Ducking to the right, your new view was Tish's low-cut shirt, the glint of a knife appearing in the corner of your vision. Scowling, you dropped to your knees and rolled left, barely dodging a punch in the thigh from Tremor. Jumping to your feet, you got your chain spinning again - just in time for a sharp pain in your shoulder. Turning the trajectory of your chain, you heard a thwap as it made contact with Tish - who groaned and reappeared directly in front of you, knife dripping blood. Tremor was ranting again, telling you how he felt about your work in the states. You ignored him, far more concerned with the psycho in front of you. Her eyes glittered blue, and you brought your chains to swing around your body, gaining momentum as they wrapped around your waist. Another whack, a yelp from the woman, and Tremor charged, drool on his chin. You rolled again, detangling the chains from your waist as you went.

As you got back to your feet, fingers wrapped around your chin from behind, yanking your head back. You felt the cold press of a blade against your neck and your heart skipped a beat. Dissolving your mind into your quirk, you felt the heat of your blood on your clothes as Tish slit your throat.

--

"Three blocks east, two floors up in an abandoned warehouse."

"Yes, that's all correct. You're pretty good at this, you know," though Doctor Currier had remained curt at best, Enji could tell she was genuinely impressed by the detail he'd drawn out of her quirk.

"I spent some time studying the details of your quirk for the investigation."

"That's a little bit creepy, big guy." Currier sounded amused more than disturbed, but Enji took note, anyway. He was a professional hero - being creepy would be bad for his reputation.

"You say you're not certain who I'm rescuing?" He looked down at his notes, reading them over for the third time and trying to figure out what else he could possibly ask.

"Yeah, they're flickering in and out of reality. I don't really know what that means, since it doesn't happen often. Last time someone stopped existing in my quirk, they'd died. So, you know. Hurry it up, Flameo."

"...Try to be professional, Doctor."

"Never, Endeavor. Toodles." Currier's line went dead a moment later.

"...I don't understand these people," Enji muttered, standing up. And here he'd thought his night was finally over. As he raced out of the building, turning east, he tried not to think about Silver.

At first, Enji thought the walls and floor of the building had been painted red. He charged directly at the man he recognized as Tremor, aiming a flaming fist directly at the man's face. Tremor dodged him with surprising speed, but slipped in the puddle on the ground. That was when Enji realized what the red was.

Silver lay in a pool of blood, the woman from the last fight standing over her with a bloodstained knife in hand. The grin on the woman's face was absolutely vicious, her excitement so plain it made Enji's skin crawl. Enji stomped on Tremor's leg as he glared at the woman, deaf to the other man's scream as the leg broke. The woman's eyes flashed blue, and before Enji could react, he felt a sharp pain in his bicep.

Enji reached across himself, trying to catch the vile woman before she could teleport again. He wasn't quite fast enough, feeling the cloth of her shirt slip through his fingers. Growling in annoyance, Enji set himself on fire. Below him, he could see Tremor crawling through the puddle of blood toward Silver, broken leg dragging behind him. As he reached for the unconscious form, the teleporting girl appeared next to him, pulling his arm around her shoulders. Enji stomped forward, building balls of fire in each hand. He couldn't let Tremor get away, and the girl still needed to answer for the blood on her hands.

Once again, he missed. This woman was too fast, and too dangerous. Tremor was chump change compared to her - and now they were both gone. Looking at the space where they'd just been, Enji's heart dropped. Silver was gone, too. Outside, just barely audible through a nearby window, came a bloodcurdling scream. Enji blasted the wall out of his way, looking down into the street below.

Standing in the middle of the street was the woman, Tremor sinking to the ground next to her. She was the source of the scream, and as Enji followed the path of the chain tangled around her ankle, he saw why. Silver stood two feet away, soaked in blood and scowling, chain tangled around their half-healed wrist. Somehow, Silver had managed to wrap their weapon around the woman's ankle. Enji jumped down from the second story of the abandoned warehouse, landing several feet behind Tremor and his new girlfriend in a pile of rubble he'd created by blowing out a wall. As he straightened up, Enji heard Silver speak in a bone-chilling drawl.

"You're in for a very bad day, little girl."

Chapter Text

Wrapping the chain around Tish's ankle seemed like a good idea at the time. She was going to get away, and she would bring Tremor with her: even through the daze of blood-loss and the overuse of your quirk, you knew that would be bad. You'd been living life on the edge of a knife since his first appearance in Japan, and you had no intention of living that way for the rest of your life. Tremor needed to go down, and his psycho girlfriend needed to go with him. So, when her ankle appeared just within reach of your chain, you let instinct take over.

Travelling via Tish's quirk without direct contact was unpleasant, to say the least. She seemed to disappear and reappear in a fraction of a second, and when she'd teleported you earlier, it had felt like you were in the black emptiness for less than a second. But, being dragged by your chain as she teleported, it apparently took longer. The darkness was all-consuming, the silence deafening. You thought you were going to lose your mind before you finally arrived once more in the present: in the middle of the street, in the same position you'd been in when you'd reached for her ankle to begin with.

Between recovering from the black chasm of Tish's teleportation and your own blood loss, standing up was a chore. Every nerve in your body screamed in protest as you stood, and the world around you spun when you looked up to glare at her. She stared at you with a look of abject horror, and it took two deep breaths for you to center yourself enough to speak. The fear in her eyes was something you could use, so you made an empty threat.

"You're in for a very bad day, little girl."

She flinched as if you'd struck her, fear making the blood drain from her face. The knife in her hand hung limp, forgotten: Tremor, clinging to her shoulders with a broken leg, sank to the ground. His face was as pale as hers was, but he wasn't a threat to you any more. Tremor was a force to behold when he was angry, something to be feared. But when he was afraid? The man was useless, as harmless as a toddler that hadn't yet manifested a quirk. No, you didn't care about Tremor any more.

As you started to swing the other end of your chain, hoping you had a casual ‘I have all the time in the world’ look on your face, she seemed to come back to reality. She blinked several times, and adjusted the knife in her hand. When her eyes turned blue, you felt yourself flinch instinctively, not at all looking forward to another trip into the nether. Adjusting the trajectory of your chain at the absolute last moment, you took in a sharp breath to prepare yourself for what was to come.

When light returned, you felt yourself falling, and heard a crack as your chain made contact. She screeched, and before you could process where she'd teleported you to, the world went black once more. When the ground appeared beneath your feet again, you withdrew the length of your chain and got it started once more, grinning at her viciously. You'd successfully tethered yourself to her with your chain, and though using your right hand risked undoing all of Recovery Girl’s work, you knew you had her cornered. What use was teleportation in a fight if the person you were fighting came with you every time you moved?

It took two more jumps before she understood the problem. In that time, you landed two more hits: one to her shoulder and one to the side of her knee. As she limped forward, mad fury in her eyes, you brought the chain around in another swing, this time aiming at her head. She ducked just in time, lunging forward with that deadly knife in hand. A sidestep, a swing of your chain, and she took another hit, this time to the small of her back. She yelped, redirecting her knife at your side. You caught her with your right hand, hoping it had enough strength to hold her off. You were nearly tripping over your own chain now, but you had one thing going for you: clearly, this woman had no idea how to fight without the use of her quirk.

Feeling the chain from her ankle rubbing against the side of your leg, you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. With just a jerk of your leg and a twist of your upper body, you managed to spin the woman and put all of your weight into her side, slamming her into the ground. Her knife clattered across the pavement, useless, as she stared up at you in horror. With a grunt of effort, you brought your left hand up in an awkward uppercut, somehow managing to hit her at just the right angle and knock her out. With a groan, you rolled off the woman and looked around for Tremor and Endeavor.

Tremor lay on the floor a few feet away, Endeavor's boot against the side of his neck. He looked at you with a mixture of fear and fury, a little bit of drool trickling from his lips. DIzzy and silly from blood loss, a giggle escaped your lips as you looked at him. His face screwed up with confusion, and you laughed outright, flipping him the bird.

"What was that about not having the flaming asshole to save me?" You asked, still laughing. Somewhere far above you, you felt the heat rise. Endeavor didn't seem to appreciate your humor, but you were too lost in amusement at the look on Tremor's face to care.

--

"You need a doctor."

"I am a doctor, Endeavor. What I need is a shower. And a bed."

“Where will you go?”

“Home. Where else? I’m not going anywhere ‘till I see these two in police custody, though.” You were sitting on the pavement several feet away from the unconscious Tish, your chain still wrapped around her ankle. Looking at it through your quirk, you could see some stress fractures: you were afraid to look at your wrist. If the strain of carrying you through her quirk had damaged her ankle, that meant your already injured wrist would be damaged once more. You weren’t looking forward to explaining this one to Recovery Girl.

“You can’t travel like that.”

“...Huh?” You looked down at yourself, and realized that you were absolutely drenched in blood. Your shirt, once a decent shade of light grey, was blackened with half-dried blood. Your slacks, slightly loose so you could breathe in them, were now sticking unpleasantly to one thigh. Your entire right arm and hand were reddened with blood, and the bandages that had been supporting your half-healed bones were unrecognizable. “...Oh, I guess I do look like a horror movie extra.”

“Silver. I was referring to your injuries.”

“Endeavor. I just told you I’m fine.”

“Your throat was slashed. I saw the pool of blood, Silver. You can’t tell me you can recover all of that blood in a matter of minutes-”

“Because your little file tells you I can’t? Public record doesn’t have everything about my quirk, Sunshine.” Normally, you could produce blood to help yourself recover from blood loss. But the process took a lot of your quirk, and you were running rather low. Dangerously low. So you’d recovered what you needed to function and keep yourself awake, and left the rest to nature. Not that you were going to admit that to Endeavor.

“I’ve told you, Silver, that file was to assist in the investigation against Tremor,” Endeavor sounded nearly as exhausted as you felt, and suddenly you remembered how late he’d been to your appointment. He’d been dangerously overheated then, too - and the idiot had picked up some weights as you were leaving. For a man who wanted to be Number 1 so badly, he didn’t seem to know how to take care of himself sometimes.

“I could understand your files on me if they were exclusively about my time with Tremor. But that folder starts off with me in grade school, Endeavor. There’s no way it could possibly be beneficial to your investigation.”

“...Can this conversation wait until another time?” He asked, rubbing his face. You noticed blood on his bicep, and narrowed your eyes.

“Yes. Are you injured?”

“It’s a minor cut,” he said dismissively, turning toward the sound of sirens. Scowling, you moved to stand up.

“It’s a stab wound, Endeavor, and there’s no reason to leave it bleeding like that.” You paused after you stood, waiting patiently for the darkness at the edge of your vision to disappear as you took a deep breath.

“It’s fine,” he insisted, sounding annoyed. You were getting annoyed with him always being annoyed. Once your vision cleared, you reached out and put a hand on that cut, healing it in a quick rush before he could pull away. He spun around, catching your hand before you could drop it back down to your side.

“Please let go,” you grumbled, glaring at his gloved hand. He hesitated, but let go anyway.

“You startled me. There was no need for you to use your energy on that, Silver.”

“You got hurt defending me, Endeavor. That’s all the reason I need to heal you.”

The police approached a moment later, drawing Endeavor’s attention away before he could argue with you further. You stayed in the background as the pro hero took over, explaining everything that had happened and describing the details of Tish and Tremor’s quirks to the police. You watched the two get bundled up by the officers, detangling your chain and wrapping it once more around your waist. When it became clear that you were no longer needed by the police, you turned to leave. Before you got far, a hand grabbed you by the shoulder.

“Endeavor-” you started, but he cut you off before you could get any further.

“You cannot travel covered in blood and dizzy as you are. There are showers, beds, and changes of clothes in my agency building for my sidekicks. And since it’s only two blocks away, it would make more sense for you to go there than for you to travel home.” Something cold was pressed into your good hand, and when you looked down you found it was a bottle of water, already open. Endeavor let go of your shoulder, seemingly remembering you asking him to let go earlier.

Endeavor had a way of getting on your very last nerve before turning everything around and proving himself to be a decent man, after all. You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead. He’d made too much sense for you to argue.

“Alright,” you finally muttered.