Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shouto murmured quietly to himself as he carefully calibrated the conduit beneath his hands. The repair had popped up on his heads-up display approximately seventy-two minutes ago and Shouto wanted it to be optimal by the time ensign Tokoyami returned from his sleep cycle. It wasn’t strictly necessary to repair it so soon since it hadn’t even been reported by a crew member yet, but Shouto had already been en route and didn’t mind the deviation from his schedule. He preferred to keep a ship at peak performance before problems arose.

The recalibration was delicate work, but not so much that it distracted him from his meandering thoughts, his steady hands maneuvering his microtools with ease. This body was incapable of anything approaching inaccuracy in any case, his circuitry and design favorable for the sort of engineering work he was trained for. The only thing that could cause him to make an error was a lack of attention. But it was routine repair, one he’d done a thousand times (128 times this mission, his internal counter automatically supplied), allowing his mind to wander. 

The ship beneath his feet hummed steadily, her constant feedback a comfortable green in his sensors. The Falcon was state-of-the-art, though Shouto had wondered more than once why she was named after a long-extinct Terran bird species. Still, with the sleek interface, one-of-a-kind warp seven engine, and the first of its class to land a five-year deep space mission, Shouto was more than satisfied with his assignment. 

It was nearing the end of beta shift when Shouto finally closed the access panel, the corridors still quiet as not even the earliest of risers began to access their food replicators for coffee. It was Shouto’s favorite time of the cycle, when he could turn his sensitivity to the highest settings without fear of overstimulation. In this mode, he could sense the most minute changes in the ship's systems, from an impending warp core breach to something as insignificant as a malfunctioning thermostat; like little pinpricks across his pale, synthetic skin. 

It always brought a certain kind of rush, Shouto mused, one that he’d never experienced before this assignment. He’d never been so in tune with a ship before the Falcon.

That was to be expected, however, considering the experimental nature of his body.

Shouto stepped absently around a maintenance android, easily ignoring the mild proximity alert. It did not acknowledge him, its relaxed expression unchanging as it went about its duties. 

Shouto paused in front of the observation deck, staring into the nebula they were currently assigned to survey. It was a beautiful sight to behold, the interstellar cloud of dust painting red bursts across the vast emptiness of space, warping the light of the millions of stars through its ionized haze. Shouto knew next to nothing about interstellar bodies or the sort of life and resources the Falcon was searching for. He was an engineer, and a lowly one at that; just a maintenance worker fresh from the Academy. But that didn't mean he couldn’t appreciate the beauty of it when he saw it, or feel the sympathetic thrill of his stomach lightyears away in the stasis pod where it was stored, the echo of which he felt vividly with his sensitivity settings so high. 

Hm. Perhaps he should turn in for the cycle...he hadn’t allowed his mind to rest in over thirty hours and his power cell was running low. He must be getting tired if he was waxing poetic. He was still adjusting to the lack of muscle fatigue or any other chemical indicator his body would usually produce – 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a soft whisper came from Shouto’s right and he very nearly dropped his padd. He’d been so in tune with the ship he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. The sudden influx of stimuli as he shifted his awareness was almost overwhelming – the heat radiating from another individual, the brush of recirculated air over Shouto’s skin, the sound of a voice vibrating loudly in his ear –  before he could lower his sensors back to normal levels, focusing on the man several feet away. To his mild surprise, it was the captain himself. They hadn't yet been formally introduced, on opposite shifts since the day he’d been assigned only a few short weeks ago. In fact, Shouto hardly crossed paths with the crew at all, preferring to work the beta shift when most were asleep. That, and rumor had it that the captain had been running himself ragged dealing with the admiralty – something about a close call on a mission shortly before Shouto arrived.

Before Shouto could gather his somewhat lacking social skills together to answer, the captain – Midoriya Izuku, youngest in the fleet at twenty-nine – turned to look at him. “Oh!” Wide, doe-like eyes of the warmest green blinked at Shouto owlishly before something unidentifiable passed over his features. “I thought you were…sorry, I…” 

He fell silent, studying Shouto curiously as if he’d never seen him before. Which was fair. They had not yet crossed paths. Shouto took a moment to observe the captain as well, from his unruly head of hair to the dark circles beneath his eyes and the slump in his wide, defined shoulders. It seemed that the rumors he’d overheard were more than passing, at least when it came to the captain’s fatigue.

The moment began to wax perhaps longer than was appropriate, and was Shouto one to fidget he would have shifted under the concentrated perusal he was receiving, the captain scanning him from head to toe and lingering unsettlingly long on his face. As it was, Shouto was finding it hard to find words at all, his expression blank in his unease. Was there something wrong with his uniform? It came standard with his unit, and he kept it reasonably clean, though he supposed he’d never bothered to get a proper engineering uniform...

“Interesting,” the captain said, and Shouto wasn’t sure he was actually being addressed. “Never seen one quite like this before…” 

The captain fell silent again, still staring, and Shouto finally felt compelled to speak. “Captain. Is there something you require?” he asked, a bit more flatly than he’d intended.

Captain Midorya seemed to snap out of whatever thoughts he’d been in the midst of, eyes noticeably shifting back up from Shouto’s body, a light flush highlighting his freckles for some reason that Shouto couldn’t surmise. 

“No,” Captain Midoriya said shortly, but not unkindly, gaze slipping from Shouto as if he were no longer there to resume his contemplation of the stars. His hand raised to rest against his lips, a low muttering filling the silence between them as the man seemed to puzzle something out, the only word Shouto could decipher was ‘requisitions’ and something about a backlog of paperwork.

Shouto waited, but with nothing more forthcoming, he left without another word.

That was...odd, Shouto thought as he meticulously wiped down his synthetic skin, uniform already hanging next to his charging port. As he started to power down his functions for alpha shift, he decided to chalk the encounter up to his own awkwardness. After all, there was more than one reason he preferred the solitude of beta. 

If only that was the only odd encounter Shouto would face in the coming months. If he’d realized what was happening sooner….well, things might have turned out a lot differently.

“How are you feeling?” 

“I am well, doctor,” Shouto said, monotone. Doctor Aizawa raised a thin brow, the analog notebook he inexplicably preferred over a more sensible data padd open on his lap. Shouto didn’t know how he could read his own messy handwriting, but he supposed it wasn’t his concern. 

“I still don’t understand why you refuse to use a bunk like the rest of the crew,” the doctor sighed, jotting down another illegible note. 

“The charging port is convenient,” Shouto replied for perhaps the fourth time. “Taking a bunk would require –”

“Retrofitting the quarters and causing another crew member to be reassigned,” Aizawa parroted in an almost insulting imitation of Shouto’s voice. He did not sound like that. “Which is still not a valid reason not to go through with the modifications, for the hundredth time. Just because you’re not technically organic doesn’t mean we wouldn’t accommodate you.”  Shouto frowned slightly and the doctor sighed, moving on with his checklist. “Have you been using your simulated eating functions during standard mealtimes?” 

Shouto hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.” 

Aizawa scowled, unimpressed. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” He gestured to the screen beside him, numerous charts and readings that Shouto couldn’t begin to decipher flashing dizzyingly on the wide display. Correctly interpreting Shouto’s blank stare, Aizawa ran an irritated hand through his disheveled black hair. Shouto wondered vaguely if he ever brushed it. Then again, if he always ran his hands through it as much as he did whenever Shouto was around, it wouldn’t matter much. “It says here that you haven’t so much as entered the mess hall in three days, and that was to repair a malfunctioning access port.” 

Shouto’s frown became a little more pronounced, his facial mobilizers reacting to his annoyance. “I don’t need to eat.” 

“It’s not about the food and you know it, kid. The simulation is designed to keep you on a normal human schedule to minimize dysphoria.” Aizawa rolled his bloodshot eyes skyward, muttering under his breath, “can’t believe those eggheads thought it was a good idea to put a person into a tin bucket in the first place.” 

Shouto sighed internally. It was a tired argument between them, one he’d grown weary of over the past few weeks. He’d never had a ship doctor who cared whether he did unnecessary tasks like pretending to eat or lay down horizontally when he shut his unit down. Then again, this was only his second assignment as a drifter and this mission was going to be quite a bit longer than his last. Maybe the requirements were stricter? 

“I’m fine,” Shouto insisted. “The Drifter Program achieved proof of concept –” 

“Proof of –” Aizawa glared, jabbing his fountain pen threateningly at Shouto’s person. “Now you listen to me, kid. Humans were not designed to exist in a synthetic body, I don’t care how fancy the tech has gotten. It’s hard enough being in deep space for this long without the added hardships of psychological and physical disconnect –”

“The advanced sensors and anatomically correct design simulate –”

“Don’t lecture me about simulations, especially when you’re not even using them as they were intended! Besides, nothing can truly replicate the hormonal and electrical signals of an organic –” 

“The tests were extensive –” 

“They only tested the concept for a year! How could they possibly know all of the ramifications on the human psyche, not to mention –” Aizawa took a deep breath, physically leaning back from his hunched position. Shouto remained where he was, ramrod straight on the cot. “Look, I don’t care if you think it’s unnecessary or inefficient or whatever. I’m responsible for the welfare of every member of this crew, and that includes boneheaded kids who thought it was a good idea to put their body on ice and take a rustbucket on a joyride.” 

Shouto’s lips thinned. That was laying it on a bit thick. He was tempted to remind the doctor – again – that he was twenty-seven, but that hardly seemed to deter him.

“Oh no, don’t give me that look. The next time I see you, you better have been in the mess at least once a day. If you do that, I’ll stop harping about getting proper quarters for now. Deal?” Shouto nodded shortly if only to make Aizawa stop lecturing him. “Good. Now, have you socialized at all since dry dock?” 

Shouto was actually tempted to raise an eyebrow at that. What did socializing have to do with anything? 

“Oh, you have got to be – what do you want to do, be alone for the next five years?”

“...Yes?” He’d accepted this assignment for the ship, not her crew. The few of the crew he did end up interacting with barely acknowledged him beyond his current task, and that was the way Shouto preferred it. It wasn’t as if that was any different from usual.

Aizawa sighed again, and Shouto was really starting to wonder if he would get dizzy from too much oxygen. “Look, I don’t know what reasons you have for being out here or what possessed you to do it like this, but you can’t avoid the crew forever.”

“I’m not…” 

“Oh yeah? When was the last time you spoke to another member of the crew about something other than work?” 

Shouto was swiftly running out of patience. Why did this guy even care? “Last night,” he blurted, just to say something that would get him out of here faster so he could get back to work. “I...stargazed. With the captain.” 

That did give Aizawa pause. “Did you, now? And what did you talk about?” 

“Uh,” Shouto floundered. “The nebula? How, uh...pretty it is?” Which wasn’t...technically a lie. Even if that particular line of conversation was very brief. 

Aizawa narrowed his bloodshot eyes, scanning Shouto’s face for deceit. As always, Shouto gave nothing away. “I see. Well, it’s a start, if nothing else.” He jabbed his pen at Shouto, who actually flinched this time. “Mess once a day, and I better hear about at least three more social interactions. Don’t make me corroborate your stories, Todoroki.” 

“Yes, doctor,” Shouto said stiffly, inwardly seething as he beat a hasty retreat from the Medbay, the near-silent swish of the doors unsatisfying in his pique. 

A few crewmembers passed him in the corridor, laughing and jostling each other as they headed for the mess at the end of their shift. Shouto lowered his head, hiding his face behind his white – all white. He’d insisted, even if they wouldn’t budge on his natural heterochromatic eye color – hair. 

He wondered briefly if he should head to the mess as well, if only so that he wouldn’t have to interrupt his shift to perform the useless task. A little flare of rebellion pulled at his lips, but he was painfully aware that Doctor Aizawa was responsible for Shouto’s mandatory psych evals, something that would send Shouto right back to lunar base if he failed more than one. 

“Hey.” 

Aizawa was correct that the Drifter Program was still experimental; Shouto was only one of seventeen who’d actually managed to tolerate the transfer to a synthetic body. If the good doctor decided he wasn’t handling –

“Hey! Wait up!” 

Shouto paused automatically before the command even registered and blinked once in surprise as his vision was filled with a vibrating mass of pink.

A woman bounced into his path, bright pink face pulled into an almost manically happy grin. Even her antennas were bouncing up and down in excitement in her mass of bubblegum-colored hair. It clashed rather horribly with her standard red uniform, Shouto noted absently, then forced himself to focus on what she was saying. 

“Oh my goodness, this is perfect! Just what I need!” she gushed, placing both hands on his shoulders and looking at him with wide, dark eyes. “Wow, you’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” 

Ah. Shouto wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “How can I help you?” he asked politely, too stunned to pull away. 

“Stop bullying the bot, Mina,” one of the other crew called, and Shouto vaguely recognized him as the ship’s communications officer.

“Hush, Sero, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t tried to surprise Ochaco with a three-tier chocolate cake.”

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault that someone put the wrong dimensions into the replicator!”

“You were the one who put the order into the replicator, dumbass,” the third of their group drawled, a woman with short purple hair and a droll expression.

“Yeah, but it was Mina who–” 

“A-bup-bup-bup!” Mina nearly shouted into poor Shouto’s ear, still trapped by her strong grip and getting a little dizzy by the back and forth. “None of that matters now! All that matters is that Ochaco’s quarters are squeaky clean by the time she gets off shift!” She looked up at Shouto. “Can you handle that, sweet thing?” 

Shouto was about to tell her that he was an engineer, not a yeoman, but she was already rattling off the room location on the officer’s deck. With one last affectionate pat on his face and a bright ‘thanks babe!’ she was already falling back into step with her friends. They left, laughing and cajoling each other as they disappeared around the corner. 

Shouto stood there for several seconds, debating whether he should deal with it himself or get one of the janitorial androids to perform the task. Then he shrugged, heading for the corridor Officer Mina indicated. If nothing else, he could count this as one of Aizawa’s mandatory ‘social interactions'. Performing favors for acquaintances, even if that was a generous description,  counted, right?

As he found the right room and started to clean up the disaster of a replicated cake, he wondered briefly if the captain was stargazing again, but figured the man was probably on the bridge. Too bad. If Shouto had to socialize, he’d much prefer the captain’s quiet presence to that noisy group. 

Shouto finished cleaning the mess quickly and efficiently before finally getting to his shift.

Chapter Text

Shouto stared blankly from his charging port. The same fluorescent light greeted him as always, the ports for the other droids on the ship either empty – they needed much less charging than he did, able to run for over a week without returning whereas he needed to plug in every seventy-two hours – or standing silently, faces lax in their offline cycle. 

Most people would probably find it creepy that he stayed in a glorified storage room with emotionless robots. Shouto had never much minded. The sad truth was that he felt much more at ease amongst unfeeling bots than he did around people. It was relaxing not to have to interact with them, and at the same time, they made him feel slightly less alone. Though even he had to admit they weren’t exactly the most stimulating company.

He hadn’t moved yet. He hadn’t even thought about moving yet, though it had been several minutes.

Maybe he was just tired. The days seemed to be lengthening. His work was monotonous where he would usually find it stimulating. He’d fallen into a routine that almost grated rather than comforted, drained him in a way he didn’t quite understand or know how to remedy.

He didn’t know what the difference was between his time on the Falcon and his last ship. It was just as quiet here with only a few interactions with the crew when he couldn't avoid it, encounters he endeavored to make as brief as possible. The work was satisfying and the ship had not encountered anything more exciting than a new type of mineral deposit since dry dock. 

But even he was starting to realize that his nights weren’t as restful, that something was missing from his day-to-day that was wearing on him. He considered taking more breaks, but he’d never been good with idle hands. Instead, he’d been throwing himself into his personal projects with more of a vengeance than he’d done since his academy days. 

An incoming notification beeped silently in his peripherals and Shouto hardly reacted to the increasingly creative expletives Dr. Aizawa seemed fond of in his subject lines. Without a thought, he dismissed it rather than opening it. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Aizawa’s well-meaning threats. It filed itself neatly in a folder of unread missives titled ‘Insufferable Doctor’. He would get to them eventually. 

For now, he forced his muscles to move, the synthetic fibers and adamantium bones performing as smoothly as always for all that he thought he should feel like a creaky old man. He disengaged from his charging module and sluggishly used a small comb to make sure his frost hair was in order. 

The usual notifications for repairs and maintenance flooded the side of his HUD, and with a heavy inhale he didn’t need, Shouto left for his shift.

Shouto’s first assignment as a Drifter was as unremarkable as they came. Perhaps it was that his unassuming record delegated him to an equally unassuming ship. Or perhaps it was because he was the first Drifter cleared for intergalactic travel and the program was experimental at best. Shouto didn’t know what became of the other Drifters. He didn’t really care. He’d gotten what he’d wanted, and that was all that mattered. 

The time before that, he didn’t like to think about. Sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes, it was easier to pretend that he’d always been this way.

The freight vessel, appropriately named Sandrunner, was just that: a transport for terraforming materials to Sigma V, the newest colony in the Federation. She was hardly a modern piece of engineering with over one hundred fifty years of commission, retrofitted and repurposed from an intergalactic trade vessel between Earth and Vulcan to a glorified dirt transport. Not the most exciting mission he could have landed, but it served its purpose. 

It was far, far away from home. 

The Sandrunner’s captain, affectionately known by her crew as Captain Joke, was as easygoing as they came. She would have to be, Shouto had thought, to tolerate such a dull mission as this. The crew was a small collection of scientists and laborers. Some seemed to have a personal stake in the terraforming of Sigma V, and from what Shouto had overheard over his short six month commission, even had families on the new colony. But most were mysteries. They kept to themselves and Shouto found that he preferred it that way. None were from UA Academy like Shouto. Captain Joke was the only one of the crew who’d been to any notable academy at all. 

Captain Joke had taken one look at Shouto, with his blank expression and newly manufactured body, and laughed. Another misfit, she’d called him, and welcomed him to the family before assigning him to the most mundane maintenance tasks imaginable. 

Shouto, still fresh from the facility that remade him in more ways than one, took his assignments and her gentle mocking without complaint. The crew left him alone. He rarely spoke. He did his tasks with robotic efficiency until he could almost convince himself that he’d never been human in the first place. The ship’s hum was grating on his systems as she groaned through the safest and most uneventful path of Federation-protected space at a sluggish warp three. 

He’d told himself that this was a good thing. He’d told himself that he needed the time to heal (there would never be enough time to heal) and time was what the Sandrunner provided in abundance. So much, in fact, that he could finish his nine hour shift in one, leaving him staring in dismay at his unmarked hands.

It was only a matter of time before Shouto became bored. 

He started small. There was this mildly irritating flicker of light every time the Sandrunner met subspace turbulence. The crew didn't seem to notice it, but to Shouto, who only ever had experience with constitution class starships, it was as glaring as the rising sun. It was as simple as tracking down the affected conduit and replacing the failing wiring. The crew might not have taken note after so long dealing with it, but Shouto didn't mind. Once it was fixed, he found his concentration was less likely to be broken during any one task, and that was enough for him. 

The next instance wasn’t so much of a repair as a modification. Shouto noticed on one of his shifts into the engine room that the coolant systems worked at approximately fifty-three percent efficiency of what they were capable of. It took him several days to isolate the cause to an outdated subset of code incompatible with the modifications the ship had been through over the years, which explained why the computer hadn’t detected it. The code delayed the release of fluid by a few seconds, preventing the warp core from reaching maximum velocity by overheating the engines sooner than it should. It was such a simple thing to rewrite it in Shouto’s spare time and staved off the boredom for a little while. That the warp core ran quieter after that was a plus. 

The fact that the ship now ran at warp 3.5 was not so easily overlooked by the crew. 

When Shouto heard how pleased the crew was with the shorter travel time between docks, he couldn’t help but preen on the inside, even as he chastised himself for it. It seemed that he hadn’t outgrown his useless pride, that visceral need for approval. Shouto hated it.

So he withdrew further. He stopped going to sickbay entirely, the crew’s doctor satisfied with his logs. He avoided the mess like the plague unless work forced him there. Eventually, the buzz died down. Or perhaps he just didn’t notice it anymore.

It was during one particularly uneventful stretch of space on his fourth trip between Earth and Sigma V that Shouto’s fingers began to itch for something a little more challenging than the simple modifications he’d been pursuing. He’d made an error thinking he’d be content with this assignment. While he’d successfully avoided making any remarkable accomplishments at UA, he always had his side research to fall back on, things to tinker with. Out here, there was nothing but the old clunker of a ship to lay his hands on, and even he got weary of writing paper after paper of research – all stored on his internal memory, never to be published – when he no longer had anyone to discuss them with.

It was only a matter of time before he was caught. Shouto was elbow deep into the ship’s broad-spectrum transceivers when Captain Joke found him. Shouto had been so in tune with the Sandrunner’s systems that were so much more melodious than when he’d first arrived that he didn’t notice her presence. That is until she spoke. 

“Ensign Todoroki. What are you doing on my ship?” 

Shouto’s fingers paused in their task. Carefully, he extracted himself from beneath the console he was practically embedded in to regard her. “Captain?” 

The captain was not wearing her usual broad grin, but rather a small smirk as if she couldn’t stand to appear anything less than happy even when times were tough. It was the kind of grim look she wore when there was news of piracy on the route, when they were delayed, when the vast oppressive dark of space began to wear on the crew on their long shifts. She wore it now as she regarded Shouto with his grease-stained fingers and disheveled uniform, on the opposite end of the ship where his usual duties resided. As if she’d met a conundrum she couldn’t solve. 

Smiling a little more fully at his surprise, she pulled a padd from behind her seat on the adjacent console, idly flicking down a list of text. “I took the liberty of looking up your record. You went to UA Academy, the most prestigious school in the fleet. And yet, you graduated without honors, without, even, a single exemplary mark.” She glanced at his face, perhaps to gauge his expression. Shouto didn’t blink. “It’s not unusual for me to get the dregs of the Academy. People who joined for the stipend their family would receive, or for a specific mission, or hell, just to get off-world. I don’t tend to ask questions. But you. Oh, you. Your choice to join the Drifter Program notwithstanding, you seem to have quite the interesting tale to tell.” She uncrossed her legs before crossing them again the opposite way, licking her thumb as if turning the page to an actual book. “Despite your bland record, you were first assigned to the S.S. –”

“Don’t,” Shouto said before he could stop himself. Quickly he looked down, hiding his face behind his fringe. The hollow space where his heart would once beat rapidly twinged sympathetically for the panic he shouldn’t have been able to feel anymore. Not for the first time, he wished his new body’s simulations weren't quite so anatomically accurate. After several seconds of tense silence, he forced himself to speak. “I apologize, Captain.”

“No matter,” Captain Joke said with affected cheer. “As I said, I don’t tend to ask. But kid. For such an unremarkable engineer, you sure have made quite the splash aboard my ship. I don’t think the old gal has ever run so efficiently.” 

Shouto frowned at the deck, the praise scratching across his skin like a bad sunburn even as it warmed his insides. Stop it, he whispered internally. Stop liking it. 

He should say something. Defend himself, maybe. Instead, he stayed silent. She didn’t seem to mind. 

“Hey, maybe you don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. Lord knows there are enough people on this ship that have a story.” She chuckled darkly as if sharing an inside joke. “So I’m just going to ask straight up. Are you happy here?” 

Shouto had no idea how to answer that question. It had been such a long time since he’d thought about it. Happiness. When was the last time he’d been truly happy? Had he ever? He thought of Joke, with her ever present smile. He thought of the people he grew up with, used to serve with, the students at the academy that always seemed so much more alive than he ever did. Even before. 

Before.

The captain nodded as if his silence conveyed more than his words ever could. She waved her padd, gesturing to the room at large. “See, here’s the thing. The level of work I’ve assigned you is clearly not challenging enough for your particular talents. As you’ve broken enough protocols concerning unapproved modifications to be court-martialed for endangerment of the ship and her mission...” 

Shouto’s eyes widened behind his fringe, his vision blurring slightly even as his perception modulators tried to compensate.

“Captain, I–” Shouto started, stalled. 

“We should head this off before it becomes a problem, don’t you think? I’m not the only one who’s noticed.” 

Shouto closed his mouth.

The captain sighed. “Look kiddo, this isn’t a reprimand. You’ve done good work. But you’re clearly overqualified for this mission. I’m having you reassigned to the S.S. Falcon.”

Shouto’s head snapped up. He wasn’t sure what expression was on his face but it was enough to trigger Captain Joke’s booming laugh. Shouto could barely hear it. The Falcon. She’d only just launched from space dock a year ago, the most advanced ship in the fleet, and only the best of the best landed a place on her crew.

Shouto’s fingers twitched just imagining getting his hands into her gleaming, state-of-the-art technology.

But. He couldn’t. 

“Captain. I respectfully request that you reconsider.” 

Captain Joke’s laughter abruptly cut off, the ringing silence that fell over them only broken by the enduring hum of the engine. Shouto shifted, unsettled, somehow feeling that he’d overstepped. He couldn’t read the enigmatic smile on her face. In an uncharacteristically serious tone, she said, “State your reasons, Ensign.” 

Shouto’s throat convulsed. He spoke anyway. “As you stated, my record is average. I’m not qualified.” 

Joke’s smile fell completely and Shouto was concerned he would be thrown out of the airlock for insubordination. Vaguely, he wondered what that would do to his systems. Surely he wasn’t built so sturdy that he could endure the vacuum of space. What would happen to the real him if this body failed?

Morbid thoughts, but ones he couldn’t help but indulge in as the moment waxed interminably.

Finally, she sighed. “Kid, I’m only going to say this once. I don’t know what your reasons are for avoiding the limelight, but with raw talent like yours, there’s no way you can have an unremarkable career. You have the makings of one hell of a Chief Engineer someday.” She lifted her hand to stave off Shouto’s automatic protest. “The fleet isn’t in the habit of wasting talent when we have it and you are wasted here. If you truly wanted to stay under the radar, you shouldn’t have broken half a dozen protocols and forced my hand. Now, you have two choices; either take the new mission or accept an honorable discharge. That’s the best I can do.” 

Shouto gaped, unable to master his expression. She was threatening him? Into taking a promotion? All of that effort at the Academy, hiding his research, getting the dullest mission possible, and he was still headed for the command track. 

Before he could decide how to respond, her iconic grin was back. She placed her padd down beside her on the console and hopped down, brushing her golden uniform back into place. “The paperwork is all in order. I’ve got a friend on the Falcon who’s already expecting you, so don’t make me look bad, alright?” With a jaunty wave, she left him to his thoughts, the open panel beside him of half-finished modifications mocking him.

Shouto left the Sandrunner at Lunar Station, as unnoticed by the crew as when he arrived. His medical records were forwarded to the S.S. Falcon, assignment accepted, and he stepped onto her polished decks for the first time, certain that this time he would follow protocol. Maybe he could still be invisible, overshadowed by the best Starfleet had to offer. Maybe the ship’s modern design would keep him satisfied.

Maybe.  

Two months later on the Falcon and Shouto realized that his optimism may have been misplaced.

Shouto’s hands hovered over the console, the cursor blinking innocuously between two lines of code. He was at war with himself. 

This was the third database he’d come across in the past few weeks that displayed fluctuations in the ionic power grid. He knew how to fix it. He knew.

The only problem was that he discovered how to fix it through his own experimentation at the Academy, messing with the computer systems there when he had free time – which was often when he was only half-assing his classwork. They had the same quirk, the slight interruption in power when accessing some of the more distant subspace data matrices. It was clear that the Falcon had been equipped with a variation of the same protocols.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here, the end of his shift long passed. This wasn’t a malfunction. Shouto resisted the urge to look up and down the corridor. This was foolish. He should just leave it. 

He should be satisfied with his work now that he got to work on the newest ship in the fleet. He was satisfied. So why couldn’t he leave it alone? 

It could be better, he thought.

All it would take was a few lines of code, and he could eliminate the fluctuations altogether. It was just a little thing. No one would even notice. 

The next time Shouto blinked, the subroutine he’d been contemplating was already sitting idle in the testing environment. Before he could think better of it, he used it to access the furthest database he was aware of.

Shouto allowed himself a short moment of satisfaction as a flood of Quarian botany research filled his screen, a status update window flashing beside it. Perfect. The fluctuations were gone. Now he just had to push the code to the rest of–

“Whatcha doin?”

Shouto froze, then turned around slowly. He leaned back when he realized his space was handily invaded by a short woman to whom personal boundaries clearly meant nothing. Her large yellow eyes, bisected by what looked unsettlingly like the crosshairs in a phaser rifle, seemed to simultaneously peer into Shouto’s soul and look past him altogether. For a split second, he almost thought he’d been once again cornered by Captain Joke. But this woman’s hair was strawberry blonde, not green, and she was much younger.  

Lieutenant Mei, if his memory served. She worked directly under Lieutenant Commander Maijima, the chief engineer.  

It had been over a week since he’d spoken with anyone. So long that it took him longer than usual to realize that she’d asked him a question. It seemed she wasn’t waiting for his answer, however. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen a model like you before,” she said covetously, scanning him with almost feverish admiration. To Shouto’s mild alarm, she wiggled her fingers, a manic grin splitting her face. “What exactly is your skin made of? Is it as soft as it looks? Ooh, wait, wait, how long ago were you manufactured? You look way more advanced than the M-7 series.” Shouto reared back with a small noise when her hands brushed over the side of his neck, discomfort roaring through him at her unsolicited touch. His back thumped loudly against the wall panel, putting a solid foot of space between them. Her calloused fingers had nearly reached the port at the back of his neck, something none but he had accessed since he left the facility.

Her brows raised at what must seem to her like an overreaction, but to his relief, she was abruptly distracted as the console he was working on beeped in a reminder to finish submitting his code. Her eyes widened impossibly further as she took in the information rapid-fire. “Oh, ho! But what is this?”  

She exclaimed something more, gesticulating wildly, but Shouto didn't stick around to hear it. He was already beating a hasty retreat down the corridor, wide gaze locked on the deck and fingers digging mercilessly into his padd. It cracked, fractures webbing across the screen, but Shouto didn’t notice. 

He was reeling, sensors going a bit haywire at the unexpected influx of sensation, a background noise to his panic. Was he going to get reassigned again? He’d been caught red-handed. He rubbed at his neck, skin itching where his access port left a small seam. He shuddered, clenching his eyes shut–

Only to slam into someone walking down the hall in the opposite direction. Shouto reeled back, more out of shock than actual displacement; he was denser than the average humanoid, and whoever it was was smaller than him. 

“Oy, what the fuck! Watch where you’re going!” the person he’d run into shouted much louder than necessary, gravel voice ringing harshly in Shouto’s ears.  

Shouto tried to right himself only to grunt, startled, as he was slammed back into the wall with a rough hand against his collar. Shouto froze as furious crimson eyes bore into his with more intensity than he could remember receiving from anyone who didn’t wish him dead. Sharp teeth gleamed at him in a vicious snarl that pulled at tanned skin. A square jaw clenched with anger raised the tendons on the man’s neck, and the red of his uniform was wholly unable to match the heat of his gaze. 

Commander Bakugou. This time Shouto’s recognition was immediate. The man’s likeness had been displayed over the news channels often enough, from his characteristic scowl to his explosive blonde hair that fit in quite well on a ship with a crew that didn’t seem to own a single hairbrush between them. 

Shouto blinked a few more times, then looked down at his chest where the ship’s First Officer and head of Security wrinkled the front of his shirt. He stood a couple of inches shorter than Shouto, which was surprising considering how tall the media and his reputation made him seem. It didn’t stop the man from looking down on him. 

“OY! Did you hear me? I’m talking to you!” 

Shouto’s spine hardened at the tone and he looked directly into Bakugou’s burning gaze, anger welling up at the grating command, the threatening way he was being held down. It was familiar. It left a bad taste in his mouth. 

Bakugou’s scowl deepened, his command bars gleaming in the hall light, and Shouto abruptly came back to himself. This was the Falcon. A superior officer had just addressed him.  “Aye, sir,” he said stiffly, holding that gaze even as he forced himself to back down. Artificial adrenaline licked his sensors, proximity alerts screaming silently in his head at the unprovoked attack. He flicked them off with a thought, certain that he wasn’t in any real danger. 

Bakugou stared at him for a few more seconds before his expression eased. “Fuck,” he muttered, releasing Shouto’s shirt. Shouto didn't move. “You’re just a fucking–wait.” He took a closer look, and Shouto was getting sick of being stared at so openly, which seemed to be happening more and more frequently lately. He’d always hated being stared at. For who he was. How he looked. He’d thought he’d shed that when he’d left his original form behind, but it seemed like he would never be able to escape it. Scathing words built at the back of his throat on reflex. He nearly opened his mouth to say something he’d regret to his commanding officer when Bakugou handily scattered his thoughts to the winds. “You’re that bot that Deku was going on about.” 

Shouto paused, anger extinguished in his confusion. “Deku, sir?” 

“The nerd was right, you do look like a companion droid.” 

Shouto stiffened, unsure exactly what Commander Bakugou was implying. “I’m an engineer. Sir,” he said shortly, tacking on the title slightly too late to be proper. 

To his consternation, Bakugou grinned, his canines glinting in the fluorescent light. “Well, aren’t you a cold one? Not so companionable after all, ey, Frosty?” 

Shouto was spared from replying when the Commander’s communicator chirped. Without taking his eyes off Shouto, he accepted the call. “Bakugou here.” 

“Kacchan, I need you on the bridge. We’ve picked up a distress signal,” Captain Midoriya’s voice fell into the charge between them. Bakugou didn't blink, but he did lean back slightly. 

“On my way,” Bakugou acknowledged. He gave Shouto one last look, a flick of his eyes over Shouto’s entire form before abruptly turning and striding towards the turbo lifts with purpose. Shouto exhaled explosively once he was out of sight, feeling physically released from the man’s oppressive presence. He stood there, a full-body flush coloring his skin, certain that he’d just been assaulted by, then compared to what was essentially a sex doll by his superior officer. 

Shouto grit his teeth, the stress that had been dogging him for weeks manifesting in the form of blurred vision that he couldn’t seem to clear. While he wouldn’t feel the physical pain of a headache, he was painfully aware his mind could only take so much before he needed a break. It didn’t help that the asshole reminded him unsettlingly of someone else he would rather forget.

It was only Lieutenant Mei’s high voice down the hallway that kicked him back into gear. Shouto swiftly headed in the opposite direction. What was with the people on this ship? Did they all lack basic manners and professionalism? If that was the case, Shouto wasn’t sure he could handle this assignment. 

A reminder to engage with his meal simulation slid over his HUD and Shouto dismissed it automatically, on the swiftest path back to his charging port. He was way past his shift hours and could use a nice, dreamless reprieve from all the crazy. Despite how distressingly dull the Sandrunner had become, at least the crew did him the common decency of ignoring him.

By the time the ship went into yellow alert, Shouto was already offline.

Shouto wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t. But if the spot he happened to be standing in was out of sight from the corridor, well, it just meant he had a better view of the stars. The low likelihood of anyone finding him here was just a bonus, really. 

His mind was on autopilot. He was still waking up, though he’d technically been ‘awake’ for twenty or so minutes. It was getting harder to concentrate, no matter how much time he spent offline. The worst part was he still wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to ease his stress. 

“Did you hear?” a voice drifted from the hallway to Shouto’s (not) hiding place. “They were saying that the entire ship was gutted. It was a miracle the distress signal was still functioning.” 

“Yeah, I heard the away team didn't encounter anyone, though.” 

The words barely meant anything to him. He didn’t recognize who was speaking either, though that was hardly surprising. He just hoped they passed soon. And were kind enough not to notice him. 

Shouto was just beginning to go through the day’s assignments. That was the only reason he noticed the notification that he’d put on silent a while ago. He opened it without thinking and regretted it instantly.  Another missive from Aizawa. With a twinge of guilt, Shouto was reminded that he hadn’t been following the doctor’s orders to a T, exactly. Or. At all. He’d sort of forgotten. 

Deciding that he probably shouldn’t ignore this one, he skimmed a rather pointed demand for Shouto to visit sickbay before logging off today, or else. Shouto idly wondered how such a short note could sound so threatening. 

“They mean anyone, too. Not even a body,” the gossiper continued, distracting Shouto from his thoughts. 

“You can’t be serious,” another voice chimed in. They were getting louder, the group meandering past where Shouto stared blankly out the viewport at nothing in particular. 

“I am!” the first who spoke exclaimed. “I got the whole story from Lieutenant Kaminari!”

“Kaminari’s a gossip,” the other dismissed. 

“This isn’t the first incident like this,” a significantly deeper voice said darkly. “Do you remember the Stella a few months ago? It too was destroyed under such dark circumstances...” 

“Yeah, but–”

Their voices were growing fainter by the time Shouto’s thoughts finally caught up to what he was hearing, mind catching on a particular fact. Distress signal…? That was what Commander Bakugou was summoned to the bridge for yesterday.

Interesting. Shouto didn’t put much stock into ship’s gossip. But even he had heard of the destruction of the Stella, a small mining vessel. He didn’t know much, just that the ship was stripped of all her resources and the crew declared missing, presumed to be a pirate raid. Had they encountered another victim? 

Though he knew it was probably too late, he increased his hearing to see if he could catch more, half turning from the viewport. 

He caught another voice instead, familiar enough to give him pause.

“Wait,” Captain Midoriya’s unmistakable soft tones drifted to him, plaintive. Surprised, Shouto turned from the viewport, all thoughts of gossip fading away. Was the Captain stargazing again? 

Maybe he could...join him. If that wasn’t a bother. The idea wasn’t a bad one, Shouto found, the imaginary weight on his chest lightening ever so slightly. They could have a conversation. A real one. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel so guilty about ignoring Aizawa anymore.  

Though maybe ‘guilt’ wasn’t the exact word he’d use.

He just opened his mouth to answer when the slight smile Shouto didn’t even notice he was wearing dropped abruptly at the intrusion of a second voice. 

“Sure, like you expect me to wait when you’re looking at me like that, Deku,” Bakugou, of all people, husked in reply. His gravel tones were strikingly tender, almost enough that Shouto didn’t recognize it. Almost.

Guess the Captain didn’t need company after all. I should leave, he thought, the hollowness in his chest returning. I should get back to work. Anything was better than encountering that jerk again. 

Shouto couldn’t tell which direction they were, but they didn't sound far. He glanced left and right along the gentle curve of the ship’s disk, the windows passing out of sight in either direction. 

He took a quiet step, determined to disappear unnoticed – then paused. Did...Bakugou just call the Captain Deku? So Midoriya was the one who said Shouto looked like a companion droid? Shouto frowned and found himself flushing though he wasn’t entirely sure why. 

A second later he had a real reason to blush when he heard the unmistakable sound of a moan.  

“K-Kacchan, wait...anyone could come by.” 

“There are no life signs here but us, nerd, I checked,” Bakugou said lowly, voice muffled as if his lips pressed against skin.

A sharp intake of breath, shakily released, and Shouto found himself matching it, shocked. “A-ah! Don’t leave a mark!” came a strained whisper. 

“You like it,” Bakugou chuckled darkly.

Shouto stood rooted to the spot, gaze finally landing on a tuft of green stuck out slightly from a column a little ways away.

“Kacchan, we can’t! ” 

“Shh.” 

“W-wait!” 

Shouto was mortified. He couldn’t be hearing what he thought he was hearing. How were they doing that when he was right there? He should leave, he should–

There was the unmistakable sound of knees hitting the deck, of Midoriya’s cut off gasp and Shouto was gone, vacating the observation deck like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Breaths accelerated unnecessarily, he shut down his sensory input with prejudice before his body could react involuntarily to what he just witnessed, for once glad he had such minute control over his bodily functions. 

The usual warning about the dangers of lack of sensory input momentarily crossed his vision, but Shouto ignored it as he always did, sighing in relief when his temperature returned to normal. There was another message from Aizawa immediately after, but he ignored that too.

He should forget about it. It was none of his business. Bakugou probably forgot to check for him since he wouldn’t register as a life sign. He needed to stop thinking about it.

He needed to get to work.

“And where do you think you’re going, Ensign Todoroki?” an unamused drawl stopped Shouto in his flight, slim arms crossed over a crisp blue uniform radiating all the displeasure of a CMO who had gone ignored for too long. 

Slowly, Shouto dragged his eyes from the floor. “To sickbay, Doctor.” 

“That’s right. Sickbay. Now.”  

Chapter Text

It was with stinging ears filled to the brim with his CMO’s harsh reprimands that Shouto was able to drag himself back to his port that evening. 

He was lucky that Doctor Aizawa had chosen to haul him to his office rather than publicly rebuke him in Sickbay. Or worse, right there in the hall where anyone could hear. He certainly seemed incensed enough to do so, and Shouto might actually have deserved it for ignoring his orders so blatantly. But It seemed the good doctor was not so insensitive to Shouto’s reserved nature that he would do something like that. As much as Shouto found his mother henning stifling at best, he had to admit that Aizawa was nothing if not careful of his needs. Even if the insufferable doctor pushed him to do things that Shouto deemed unnecessary. 

If anything good came out of it, however, it was that Shouto was thoroughly distracted from inappropriate thoughts of his Captain and First Officer. Shouto used his annoyance like a shield from any further musings regarding the subject. It was none of his business after all. Easy to turn his energy towards his irritation at the CMO’s increasingly strict demands than something that was none of his concern. 

Shouto was drained, humiliated, and exhausted.  He wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes and sink into the nothingness of his blessedly dreamless sleep. 

Only one problem with that.

Shouto’s charging port was occupied. 

A janitorial bot stood innocuous and offline in his place, its pale features relaxed in its usual bland expression. It was a lot lower quality than Shouto’s model, and one of a dozen that came equipped with the Falcon. They were a little nicer than the models that came standard with most of the higher-end fleet vessels, actually sporting human features, though they all looked basically the same. 

Shouto glanced around the room, noting that all of the other charging ports were occupied as well and wondered when they’d gotten another unit. He stared at his own port a few more seconds before reluctantly moving to remove his few personal effects from the side panel usually reserved for maintenance equipment. He’d emptied it for his use when he’d come aboard, his repair and maintenance parts guarded jealously by Dr. Aizawa, much to Shouto’s chagrin. 

He paused when he noticed that his things were gone. Standard equipment had taken his possessions’ place, just as the droid had taken his. 

He felt a small thrill of panic. Surely they hadn’t thrown them away?

There was a small note attached to the inside of the panel, in suspiciously familiar handwriting. Shouto narrowed his eyes, panic slipping into irritation. There was only one crewman aboard that he knew of that even had access to paper. 

Deck 3, room 235

Shouto huffed, his features tightening. Aizawa had threatened, but Shouto hadn’t really believed he would go against his wishes like this. He wondered if the new droid was a spare that had been reactivated just to force Shouto to move. At this point, Shouto wouldn't be surprised. After the dressing down the doctor had given him that morning, he wouldn’t be shocked if the man started trying to spoon feed him too.

Reluctantly, Shouto walked away from the port with one last sullen glare at the innocent droid, reentering the hall and making his way to the turbo lift. 

A short lift ride later and Shouto stood in front of his new quarters. 

He entered. “Computer, lights to fifty percent,” he ordered softly before taking a cursory look around. The door swished shut quietly behind him and a pleasant ambient light brightened the small room.

It looked like Aizawa had had the unit retrofitted despite Shouto’s protests, robbing him of the chance to complain that the quarters wouldn’t suit. There was a charging port at the foot of his standard-issued bunk. It was built in such a way that would force him to lay down if he wished to charge, something he really only needed to do once every seventy-two hours, but what he’d been doing daily to give his mind a break. Now he could shut down without having to do so. 

There was a small desk fit into the space between the wall and the bed, and Shouto was at least relieved to see that his personal effects were resting above it on the small shelf, softly reflecting the yellow light. 

Shouto sighed, his synthetic muscles he hadn’t realized he’d held taut relaxing minutely. Only two things had stayed with him when he made the transition to his current circumstances. That he’d nearly lost them again after he’d already lost near everything else...

He picked up the moss-colored rock his brother had gifted him years ago on Earth, thumb running over its smooth surface as it had so many times before when the ache for home became too much. Not that it was Earth he missed, not really. And certainly not the cold, empty home he’d grown up in, or the Academy that he never really settled into. No, it was not the physical place, but rather the absence of the only person who had ever truly known Shouto. 

Toya. 

Some part of him wished he had lost the stone if only so he wouldn’t be reminded of him. But a greater part of himself was relieved that he still had this last piece of his brother left, one of the very few happy memories they shared not tainted by the rest of their sorry lives. 

Carefully, he put it beside his mother’s box, the seal still whole and undisturbed since the day he’d received it. It was a Sim’Axian puzzle box, an intricate latticework of moving parts that he had never brought himself to try and solve. His hand hovered over the gleaming alloy, but once again he pulled away without trying. He was honestly not certain why he kept it close as he did, his feelings about her so complicated as to be almost neutral. He’d hardly felt much of anything when his father passed his only inheritance along to him without so much as a grimace of pain for her death. Then again, his father never felt much but his blind ambition, not even when Shouto was a child.

But Shouto had since passed out of his father’s reach, and the puzzle box remained. Perhaps one day he would bring himself to open it.

But not today.

The final object was much more innocuous, and Shouto allowed himself relief uncomplicated by any greater meaning to see it still remained in his possession. After all, it came After, one of Shouto’s very few indulgences these days.

It was a fossilized plant from Sigma V that Shouto had stumbled upon on his last run with the Sandrunner. With fern-like leaves of purple jade that stood no taller than the length of his hand, not only was it perfectly preserved, but he had found it practically growing out of the ground as if it still lived, free of any encasing that might have turned it to stone. It was as if someone had sculpted it straight out of the ground in the midst of a living glade. His own scans had indicated that it held no life that he could detect, so he’d decided to keep it. It was the closest thing he could have to a garden without the burden of actually keeping something alive. 

His finger ran along its cold translucent leaves, glad that it had not been damaged by whoever had seen fit to remove it from his charging port. It reminded him of a simpler time, when he was a child in his father’s house and avoiding his tutors by hiding in the gardens. The memory brought a faint smile to his face. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that he had a place to display it now. He almost fancied that it had grown since he’d last laid eyes on it, and gave it a fond pat with the tip of his finger before leaving it be.

On the desk below the shelf was a stack of pads, a desk light, and, of all things, an honest to god paper journal. Shouto rolled his eyes at Aizawa’s persistence. As if writing in a journal was going to help him. He didn’t need help.

Well. At least he wouldn’t be forced to share a room with someone–

Shouto flinched as he investigated the bath closet, then exhaled slowly when he realized it was only a mirror that had startled him. He frowned at his reflection, wondering how he could get away with removing it, or at the very least, cover it up. 

Turning away from the offending glass for now, Shouto examined the bed petulantly. He didn’t need it. But as he laid down on the soft sheets, he couldn’t deny that...it was nice. He wiggled slightly, arching languidly at the sensation of fabric rasping over his skin, soothing something in him he hadn’t known was agitated. 

Maybe there was something to this laying down to sleep thing. Even for androids. 

Not that he was going to tell Aizawa that.

For the first time since he’d been released for duty from the facility...Shouto slept.

Shouto brought the fork to his mouth ever so slowly, reluctantly. 

He sat now at the very back of the Mess, the viewport filling half of his vision with the unremarkable stretch of space along the Federation's edge. There was only one other soul present at the moment to witness his awkward simulation, and the man could not have paid Shouto any less attention if he’d been asleep. Other than the first odd glance he’d given Shouto when he sat down with his sparse tray, the rather sallow, purple haired man had gone straight back to his work, the padds splayed around his own barely touched tray apparently more interesting than Shouto, or indeed, his own meal. Shouto didn’t recognize him, nor did he hold any curiosity over who he might be, as easy as it would be to look up his face in the ship’s logs. But Shouto did nothing of the sort, the two of them ignoring each other with all the etiquette of another insomniac forced to be in an unfortunately public space. 

He closed his teeth carefully around the tines of his fork, an almost foreign sensation after nearly half a year of not bothering. This part was always strange to him. For all that he was putting actual food into his body, it wasn’t as if it benefited him at all in the slightest. He could taste, certainly, though the flavors he had once appreciated didn’t come across quite the same as he remembered. Everything was just that slightest bit off; not even the most advanced of technology could perfectly replicate everything. Thus his plain pasta, the blandest thing he could think of, was his meal of choice. He chewed with a grimace of discomfort and swallowed as quickly as possible. It would be incinerated by his core almost immediately, so his only indication that he was ‘full’ was the amount of food on his plate. He supposed he could time himself instead... 

Shouto shuddered at the sensation of warmth in his abdomen as the food turned to ash to be discarded later. Honestly, he probably would have found it preferable to just pretend to eat food. Surely the act of bringing the fork to his mouth was enough? It would be less messy, at the very least. Now he was going to have to brush his teeth, another thing he hadn’t had to deal with in a while.

There was a soft laugh from the other side of the room and Shouto was startled, having quite forgotten that he wasn’t alone. He glanced blandly at the only other occupant, barely catching the flash of black as the man looked away. So much for mutually ignoring each other. 

“Your thoughts are written all over your face,” he said mildly, his dull voice breaching the quiet of the ever-humming ship. Shouto very nearly raised a brow at that, the sentiment in direct contradiction to what he’d been told for most of his life. “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.” 

Shouto looked back to his tray, despairing at the amount of food still left on it. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It is that it’s necessary at all.” 

There was a loaded pause after Shouto’s words and he looked up to find the stranger studying him with something close to shock, as if he hadn’t expected Shouto to speak to him. Shouto frowned. Was that one of those ‘rhetorical’ questions he wasn’t supposed to answer? But wait, it hadn’t even been a question. And the man spoke first. 

Before Shouto could worry too much that he’d somehow misspoke, the thread between them was broken.

“A sentiment I could get behind,” the man finally murmured, prodding at his own untouched plate. “Let me guess. Doctor Aizawa is on your case as well.” 

Shouto found himself smiling faintly. “He is very persistent.” After a moment, Shouto mused, “Do you think we could count this as a ‘social interaction’?”

That drew a breathy laugh from the crewman, who seemed almost as surprised as Shouto that he’d found his words amusing. “I was thinking the exact same thing.” Sitting a little straighter, the man turned his full attention to Shouto. To his surprise, Shouto did not feel as uncomfortable as he usually would around the other crew members. He put his fork down, affording the stranger the same courtesy. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around.” 

“I was only assigned to the Falcon some weeks ago. I usually work beta shift.” 

The man’s brows lifted. “Well, that certainly explains some things. My name is Hitoshi Shinsou. Science department.” He paused, as if expecting some sort of reaction, but when Shouto gave him none, he visibly relaxed. “Am I supposed to guess yours?”

Shouto blinked. He realized abruptly that Shinsou was the only one to have asked Shouto his name since arriving on the Falcon. “...Shouto. Engineering,” he said, and if Shinsou noticed or cared that Shouto only used his first name, he did not indicate it. 

“Well,” Shinsou drawled, “It’s been a pleasure, Shouto. Come find me in the Botany lab if you require more ‘social interaction’. Goddess knows I don’t meet our vaulted CMO's exacting standards either.” He glanced down at Shouto’s food. “And if it doesn’t taste the same as you remember it, you might have better luck trying something new.” 

Shinsou quietly left, dumping his tray in the recycling receptacle and taking his work elsewhere on silent footsteps. Shouto watched him go, stunned at the incredibly insightful suggestion. When he was alone again, he stared down at his tray before taking it and disposing of it as well. 

It should have been unsettling. But if the Tamerian seed cake that he next put on his plate disappeared faster than anything familiar he’d tried to choke down before, he could only be grateful that the ordeal of eating had become a bit less stressful.

For the next two weeks, Shouto settled back into blessed routine. It was as if an ache within him had been banished; the sort of bone-deep weariness one didn’t know they carried until it was gone. He had to wonder why he hadn’t realized something was wrong when he served on the Sandrunner, but had to acknowledge that everything had still been so new until recently. The last year...had not been easy. To say the very least. But Shouto finally felt like he was hitting his stride with his new body – the second chance at life he’d been gifted. It gave him a small modicum of hope. 

He and Aizawa were able to compromise on one meal every other day rather than daily, and Aizawa was more than happy to allow it when Shouto had begrudgingly thanked him for his new accommodations. He hadn’t even needed to elaborate to the doctor on why, and though Aizawa’s satisfied smirk was annoying, Shouto couldn’t find it in himself to complain. Especially when the doctor's harassment abruptly tapered off, leaving Shouto in peace.

And to Shouto’s sincere surprise, he thought he might have...just maybe...made a friend? Twice he visited Shinsou in the Botany lab. At first, Shouto was nervous about intruding. It wasn’t as if he’d had many people who actually wanted him around, let alone invited him to visit. But Shinsou had merely greeted him in that dull way of his, showing not a hint of surprise or irritation that Shouto had come, before returning to his duties. Then they had just...worked. In the same space. Shouto found Shinsou to be surprisingly easy to be around. The man was quiet and rarely struck up a conversation. There was no pressure to fill the air with small talk and the social niceties that Shouto was so abysmally bad at, and no others ever seemed to come to the lab to disturb them during the quiet of beta shift. It was just them, the smell of soil and life, and the occasional hiss of mist that gave the air a cool humidity that Shouto found pleasantly nostalgic. 

Perhaps most surprising was that Shinsou seemed to reciprocate Shouto’s enjoyment of his company. Only once, the dark-haired man had commented that Shouto’s emotions were ‘quiet’. While Shouto wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, he took it as the compliment Shinsou seemed to intend. 

Shouto wasn’t quite content, but he was getting there. He was successfully able to avoid the rest of the crew – especially those he was careful not to think about. Not his business, he reminded himself – and when he was forced to interact, no one bothered him, or, in fact, paid any attention to him at all. He had once more faded into the background, the blanket of obscurity a soothing balm on his stress. His work began to fulfill him again, even if it was sometimes still on the dull side.

Things were good. Shouto found himself cautiously optimistic that he could perhaps find a place here.

That was, of course, when everything went wrong. 

The next time Shouto encountered First Officer Bakugou, it was under less than ideal circumstances. 

Not that it would ever be ideal to be in the presence of someone that Shouto found to be so abrasive. In fact, Shouto dared say that he would have been rather happy to never cross paths again after their disastrous first encounter. But he would much rather suffer the Commander’s overbearing presence in a casual setting than the terror of a Red Alert. 

It was mid shift-change, when most were either headed to the Mess for dinner or to one of the many recreation areas to socialize before bed, the skeleton crew of beta just waking and meandering toward their stations. So it was the worst possible moment for everything to go to hell. 

Shouto was on his way to his first task, idly wondering whether Shinsou would appreciate his little jade fern or if his interest in plants only extended towards those that were living, when his footing had been abruptly taken from him by a violent jolt of the deck beneath his feet. Immediately, Shouto’s vision went red, not only from the flashing lights of the alert but the amount of alarming data filling his peripherals. Shouto stabilized himself against the wall, trying to field the rapid-fire alerts and shocks of pain inundating his sensors so intrinsically tied to the Falcon. 

Shouto couldn’t make sense of it past the acrid taste of ozone coating the back of his tongue. System failures across all decks, conduits bursting in unexpected power surges, the ship had already been forced to shift to auxiliary power or risk overloading the Warp Core. Shouto’s alarms screamed in his ears, drowning out the sounds of people’s shouts and his own rushing panic.

“The fuck just hit us!” a loud voice broke through the chaos, forcing Shouto to right his vision lest he be run over by the group of security officers heading his way. “Talk to me, dammit!” It was Commander Bakugou who led the four red-shirted men, face lined with fury even as he paused in his long stride to help a crew member who had fallen in the initial jolt. 

The Captain’s tinny voice filtered through Bakuoguo’s communicator, dispersed and fuzzy, near unintelligible as communications struggled to hold.

“-cchan! We don’t–nothing out there–get to–”  

Bakugou cursed loudly as his communicator went silent, breaking into a run and jabbing his finger over his shoulder at his security team. “Get to the bridge, now! I’ll get to Engineering to see if I can’t get the damn comms working–”

Shouto flinched as another power surge struck the ship, setting his nerves alight as if it were his own body being electrocuted. He fell to one knee, frantically turning his alerts on silent to counteract the fresh flood of deafening claxons so he could hear what was going on around him. He immediately wished he couldn’t. Screams of agony cut through him as the panels all down the hall burst open at once in a violent percussion of force. Bakugou was thrown forward as his team was concussed by the blast, two of them slamming into the opposite wall and not getting up again. Those that did not fall immediately unconscious were unfortunate enough to watch their skin blister and burn from their bones as a wall of fire ignited, blocking their escape. 

The stench of burning flesh in the sizzling air hit Shouto immediately, and had he a stomach he would have gagged. He watched wide-eyed and frozen, disconnected from the fear response of an organic body but not from the memories that gripped him like a fist closing over his throat. 

No. 

But the whispered denial was not enough to block out what he knew was coming–

“Oy! OY! Wake up, Frosty! You broken, or something? We have to move!”

Shouto jolted as a rough hand landed on his shoulder, yanking him from the wall against which he clung. Abruptly he was yanked from his mind and the dark spiral that almost dragged him under, mismatched eyes locking onto furious red. Bakugou did not give him a moment to recover, pulling him roughly to his feet and dragging him in his wake. Shouto followed mechanically, breath coming in gasps that he did not need, the screams of the dying and harsh heat fading abruptly as the fire doors closed behind them with a terrible hiss. If Bakugou had not pulled him away, Shouto would be trapped. 

Bakugou pounded on his chest, trying to use his communicator to no avail. “C’mon Deku, answer! What the fuck is going on!?”

“Communications are down,” Shouto said breathlessly, automatically vomiting the status updates as they came to him. “Decks five and six have been breached, electrical fires on decks four and eight, contained. The ship’s protocols are protecting the Warp Core for now, but it can’t take another spike like that.” 

Bakugou jerked to a halt, turning on Shouto. “How do you know that?” 

“C-connected to the ship’s systems–” Shouto stuttered, finding himself once more cornered by the man’s considerable intensity. 

“Can you tell what’s causing this?” Bakugou demanded.

Shouto flinched as another, weaker, surge flashed across his nerves. “C-can’t. Have to disconnect–” he choked, overwhelmed. It was painful, as if the Falcon was crying out in agony. Or perhaps the pain came from Shouto’s own mind. Fire flashed before his eyes, ghostly wolves of flame that threatened to engulf him. 

But two hands landed on his shoulders, grounding him, Bakugou’s face obliterating the phantoms. “Don’t you fucking dare. Comms are down, the ship is falling apart and my crew is dying. You’re the only one who can tell me why.” Despite his harsh tones, Bakugou’s hands were gentle and firm, their warmth distracting Shouto from the pain. 

Shouto took a shuddering breath, focusing on that feeling until the terror receded. He closed his eyes, eliminating visual input and grimaced as he forced his sensors on their highest setting. He was immediately immersed with damage reports coming in from all directions. Shouto’s eyes moved restlessly behind their lids as he tried to determine where the overloading signals were coming from. 

“It’s not an external attack,” he gritted out. His hands flailed as another surge hit him, palms hitting Bakugou’s chest and grabbing hold of his shirt, fingers shaking around his only anchor in the storm. “S-something is inside, I-I don’t recognize the signature. It’s corrupting the ship’s dampening protocols and overwhelming the power matrix.” Shouto was speaking so fast he wasn’t certain that Bakogou could understand him. “Some sort of electromagnetic bomb.”

But Bakuguou only needed to know one thing. His fingers tightened against Shouto’s shoulders. “Where?” 

Shouto folded in on himself, face falling slack as he failed to process the overload of sensation. It was the closest he’d come to passing out in his new body. A new swell of data flashed behind his vision and he frantically scanned the times of detonation, like a map of the ship unfolding before his eyes. “Between d-deck seven and eight, subsection eighteen–” his voice broke as, somewhere on the ship, another access panel burst into flame, blackening the surrounding area. It felt like dying, his body attacking itself, an immune system gone rogue, a heart working itself to death. “It’s below the flooring, I can’t tell exactly–” 

“Are there any more?” 

“No,” Shouto gasped, his voice a mere thread now. It was getting harder to hold onto his awareness. 

“Good. Disconnect before whatever the hell this is fries you, too.” Before Shouto could react, Bakugou once more manhandled him upright, breaking Shouto’s grip on his shirt. Shouto was too distressed to care, shutting down his connection with the ship with prejudice until he could breathe again. 

By the time he regained his equilibrium, Bakugou was gone, the only proof he’d been there at all the lingering heat of his hands against Shouto’s skin. 

Shouto blinked rapidly, doing a swift scan to make sure that he was indeed unaffected by the pulses that were attacking the ship. To his relief, he had not sustained any damage, despite the harrowing experience. Another jolt beneath his feet reminded him that he was still in the midst of a crisis and had no time to waste. 

Straightening, Shouto estimated how long it would take Bakugou to get to the anomaly with the turbolifts down and realized that even if he could get to the machine in time, the damage to the ship was worsening. They needed the Comm back, and they needed it now, before more lives were lost. At the very least, they needed to be able to coordinate containment and evacuation. 

Mission determined, Shouto sprinted down the hall, slamming into walls heedlessly as he turned corners too fast. The crew were left scrambling amidst the chaos, disoriented and either helping the injured or incapacitated themselves. Still, it was an elite crew, and those that could work on containment were doing so, shouting status updates and warnings as conditions continued to worsen.

Shouto blew past them all, internal navigation automatically bypassing the worst of the destruction so he might get to his destination with all possible haste. Running out of time, running out of time!

Shouto skidded to a halt and ripped the paneling off of the walls with his bare hands, no time to hold back his strength. Without hesitation, he crawled into the Jefferies tube and made his way up another deck. The hatch at the end met a similar fate as Shouto landed gracefully in the room that housed the communication transponder. 

He took in the situation in an instant, as dire as he feared. His sensors had told him as much while he was still in tune with the ship, but the reality of it seemed so much worse. The doors were sealed shut, the outside corridor ablaze. Two crewmembers were unconscious or dead on the floor, the first power surge taking them out before they knew what was happening. If Shouto was correct, communications was the first thing targeted. 

He had no time to consider the implications of that. He needed to fix it now.  

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he chanted, willing himself not to acknowledge the memories stalking his mind like predators in the night. He could do this. He had to. He would not fail again.

Ignoring the electricity that still crackled within the access panel, Shouto dug his hands into the circuitry, forcefully realigning the arrays that had been knocked out of place. 

They came back online with a zap.

White filled Shouto’s vision as he was knocked back, slamming into the same wall that had been the only cushion for the unfortunate crew below his feet. Shouto did not join them on the deck, but only just, a harsh ring filling his ears. 

When his vision came back online, Shouto was utterly relieved to hear a ship-wide communication. It was tinny and broken, but clear enough. He sank lower against the wall, his hands smoking at his sides as Communications Officer Sero’s voice crackled over the broadcast, briefing the crew of the current situation and immediately beginning to coordinate efforts. 

Shouto took one calming breath, then another, before he stood upright. Numbly, he scanned the two crewmembers, both of which were alive and stable. He was no medic, and would just have to hope that help would come for them in time. 

He left the room the same way he came in, heading for his next destination. The phantoms of his memory burned his back as he retreated, but they could not catch him, not while he still had work to do. 

He quickly skimmed through the data he’d managed to gather before he disconnected from the ship and changed his course. They weren’t out of the woods yet. Shouto needed to keep the ship together, needed to buy Bakugou time. 

The memory of steady warmth against his shoulders kept him in the present until the ship was stable once more. By the time power was restored, Shouto’s battery core was dangerously low, having burned more energy than he'd ever had to at one time. He collapsed into his bed and barely had the awareness to connect to the charging port before oblivion took him where his memories could not follow. 

Shouto woke abruptly. 

He stared at the ceiling of his cabin, unsure what had brought him out of his sleep cycle. A quick check told him that he had been out for almost twenty-four hours. He frowned. That was not normal. He usually only needed to be offline for a few–

The ship. The attack.

Shouto bolted upright, and everything that he'd been successful at suppressing hit him at once in on a sickening wave before he could muster a defense. For several moments he was caught between two worlds, Before and After muddling together in one terrifying tangle. But he’d done this enough times to know what was happening, how to curb it. He forced his eyes open and rubbed his hands against the soft surface beneath his body, grounding himself even as he demanded light. He had to try twice before the computer recognized his command, but when the room finally filled with soft gold that banished the shadows, Shouto was already mostly out of it. 

The fire faded for the soft gleam of his little jade plant and his brother's stone. The pain ceased for the softness of the sheets beneath his hands and the cool of the recycled air. And eventually, his trembling stopped for the slow ordering of his thoughts.

Right. Okay. 

Shouto scanned through the ship’s logs. To his relief, she was in no greater state of danger than when he’d been forced back to his port. They had succeeded. He began to skim status reports, already trying to determine where he was most needed. The Warp Core was still stable. Thank anyone who would listen, they wouldn’t be stranded out here on the edge of Federation Space. But all over the ship was damage caused by blown out circuitry, electrical fires, disrupted transmitters…

There was a small chirp somewhere below Shouto’s chin. At first, he didn’t recognize it. Shouto looked down at his uniform that he had not had the wherewithal to change out of, all but destroyed from the recent chaos. He stared at the small triangular device that he had never had cause to use before. Usually, when he was needed, a message went straight to his internal inbox. It chirped again, startling him, and Shouto touched it. 

“Yes?” he acknowledged slowly. 

“You’re a hard bot to find, Frosty,” Bakugou’s voice came through, startlingly loud in the darkness. “Get to the bridge.” The comm abruptly cut off, leaving only the echo of Bakugou’s growl. 

Shouto didn’t move for several moments, trying and failing to understand what the hell that was about. 

But his commanding officer gave him an order, and Shouto was compelled to comply. Shouto quickly and efficiently replaced his destroyed uniform with a new one, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. He paused, grimacing at his hands. They were blackened by the blast he took, but thankfully undamaged. No doubt the rest of him fared no better. Hygiene would have to wait, though. He was – apparently – needed on the bridge. 

When Shouto arrived, he was relieved to see that it hadn’t been completely destroyed. That was not to say that it hadn’t taken its fair share of damage. Shouto eyed an open panel on the ceiling, burned and frayed wires falling from it like spilled entrails. Someone really should address that before it became yet another fire hazard. 

But clearly, Shouto had not been summoned to perform repairs. In fact, he was completely ignored by the bridge crew and the engineers already working on the damage. Captain Midoriya was conspicuously absent, as was Commander Bakugou. 

Uncertain of what was required, Shouto reported to the acting captain, making sure to stay out of the way of the bustling engineers.“Sir,” he said formally. “Reporting to the bridge, as requested.” 

Lieutenant Uraraka Ochaco sat in the captain’s chair, deep in some correspondence when Shouto interrupted her. “Oh!” She said, looking harried. “Did I request you? I’m sorry, I’ve been coordinating the repairs while Lieutenant Commander Majima is in Sickbay. You can report to Lieutenant Mei for specific assignments.” 

“No, sir,” Shouto said slowly, absorbing that. Their head engineer was injured? This day just kept getting better. He wondered grimly how many others had not come out of the attack unscathed. “Commander Bakugou requested my presence.” 

“Bakugou?” She said distractedly, already looking back at her padd. “You can find him in the Captain’s ready room.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Shouto said politely before making his way across the bridge. 

Shouto took the short delay that it took the door to slide open to compose himself before stepping through. 

It did not nearly prepare him for what he found inside. The door swished shut with a hiss behind him, but it went unheard in favor of shock, and Shouto was reminded explicitly why he'd been avoiding thinking of these two in the first place. 

Shouto was faced with Commander Bakugou’s wide shoulders, a pair of familiar scarred hands gripping the back of his black undershirt shirt like a lifeline. Thickly muscled legs bracketed the First Officer’s hips as Bakugou stood before a figure seated against the edge of the conference table.  Shouto couldn’t see exactly what the two men were doing, but he didn’t need to see to infer from what evidence his ears could provide. 

Bakugou did not seem to hear the door opening and closing, nor Shouto’s sharp inhale of surprise. How could he, when the Captain’s gasps were so much louder as Bakugou pressed against him? For the second time, Shouto found himself unwilling voyer to their dalliance, feeling as though he’d been rooted to the spot in mortification. 

“About time you showed up,” Bakugou growled, pulling away from Captain Midoriya at last. Shouto jumped as the man glanced over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and scowl softened enough to be all but unrecognizable. Shouto didn’t know where to look. The Commander’s lips were red and slick, reflecting the artificial light lewdly. 

Midoriya made a questioning noise, glancing around Bakugou’s frame. His freckled face, already rosy from whatever the two of them had been up to, grew several times darker as he realized they were no longer alone. Shouto found himself fighting a similar flush. This was not how he wanted to meet the Captain again.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya squeaked, shoving the slighter man away. Bakugou went without a fuss, an impish smirk growing on his face as Midoriya stood upright and nervously adjusted his golden command uniform. “You said no one was going to disturb us!” 

Bakugou seemed almost playful as he allowed Midoriya his space. “Pipe down, broccoli head, I called him here.” 

Shouto’s expression tightened. “I can come back later,” he said stiffly, unsure what exactly the hell he’d walked in on. Surely this wasn’t how they usually greeted crewmen summoned to the bridge. Clearly not, judging by Midoriya’s mortified face. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that the Commander had, for some inexplicably absurd reason, done this on purpose.

“Oh no you don’t, Frosty. I’ve been searching for you everywhere. Funnily enough, the computer didn’t know your whereabouts.”  

“Maybe that’s because my name isn’t Frosty. Sir. ” 

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, but Midoriya cleared his throat before Bakugou could act on the sharp words he always seemed to have at the ready. “Um. Then what do you prefer to be called?” 

Shouto hesitated. That was an odd way to ask him for his name. Surely they knew who he was by now. In fact, this whole situation was odd. But it appeared that nicknames were a common thing between them...Maybe he was overthinking it.  “I prefer Shouto,” he answered truthfully. It wasn’t as if he enjoyed going by his family name, not when it drew so much unwanted attention. If this was some sort of courtesy, then Shouto wouldn’t mind if they never addressed him as such.

“Shouto,” Midoriya murmured, and Shouto shivered at the unexpectedly intimate cadence of the older man’s voice, his name spoken without a title of any sort. He snapped a startled look at the Captain, who stared unabashedly back. 

“...You requested me, sir?” Shouto finally asked Bakugou, breaking the strange tension that had grown between them. He had no idea how to handle it, and the situation was getting more surreal by the moment. 

“Right,” Bakugou said, growing serious. “I need your eyes on the device we found. It was exactly where you told me it would be, and Engineering can’t make heads or tails of it without Majima. I had to practically destroy it to stop the damn thing, but the pieces are all there.” 

Shouto resisted the urge to frown. He could certainly try, but… “I told you before that I did not recognize the signal it was emitting.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Bakuguo dismissed. “You were able to find the damn thing when no one else could and crazy eyes is pulling her hair out trying to reverse engineer it. For now, you’re the best chance we’ve got. A Vulcan science vessel is on course to intercept us, but we’ve still got a few days before we reach them, and I don't want to take any chances if whoever the hell did this tries again.” 

Shouto nodded slowly. “Were they able to find out who attacked us?” If he knew that, he at least had a basis on which to start. 

Midoriya answered, rubbing the back of his neck, his earlier embarrassment lost to a grim frown. For the first time, Shouto realized he looked just as exhausted as Shouto felt. They both did. And just like Shouto, it seemed like neither had gotten the chance to clean up since the incident. He wondered if they’d slept, as he’d been forced to do, or if they’d been working for the past two days without rest. “Not any planet specifically, it seems. Mei thinks it’s some sort of fusion. It has both Romulan and Terran influences, but we can’t determine what else. At least we can rule out a species we haven’t encountered yet.”

“But that still means it could be anyone,” Bakugou said with a fierce scowl. “Someone out there attacked my ship and hurt my people, and when I find out who, I’m going to obliterate them.”

Shouto’s back went rigid at the snarl in Bakugou’s voice, a frisson of unease making him wary. But despite the implied violence, the Captain seemed unconcerned, even fond. Shouto found himself relaxing in response, puzzled but willing to follow Midoriya's lead.

Midoriya placed a scarred hand on Bakugou’s arm, and the harsh lines of the Commander's face eased enough that Shouto could take a steady breath. “We’ll find them. Before they hurt anyone else,” Midoriya said, a shadow passing over his face. For the second time, Shouto found himself wondering how many of the crew were injured. 

How many had died?

An apology burned against his tongue, for not finding the device faster, for not realizing what was happening before it was almost too late. But Shouto had been down that road before, wherein lies only madness. 

“Aside from that,” Midoriya said, bringing Shouto out of his darkening thoughts. “I received the most interesting report from Communications.” 

“Oh?” Shouto prompted politely when it seemed that the Captain was not inclined to continue. 

“Yes,” Midoriya said ponderously, tapping a finger against his bottom lip. “I was told that the Comms were the first thing to go, but somehow, the arrays were manually realigned despite the technicians telling me it should have been impossible while the power was still online, let alone surging like it was.” His eyes drifted down to Shouto’s still blackened hands, and Shouto had to fight the urge to hide them behind his back. He resisted. Because that would be ridiculous. 

Shouto tilted his head, and Midoriya’s lips pressed together. “How fortuitous.” 

Bakugou’s incredulous snort was all Midoriya apparently needed to give Shouto a broad grin. “That’s one way to put it,” he laughed, a bright sound that teased the edges of Shouto’s lips, nearly luring him into a smile of his own. “It seems that we owe you twice over for saving our ship,” the Captain said.

The bright sensation bubbling up in Shouto's chest was abruptly doused with ice. 

“No thanks are needed for doing my job,” Shouto said flatly, and the Captain’s smile dimmed with concern. To cover up the moment, Shouto pulled formality back around him like a shield.  “If that will be all, Captain, Commander? I will head to Engineering at once and examine the device.” 

“Thank you, Shouto,” Captain Midoriya said with all sincerity, recovering. Shouto chose to believe it was a casual dismissal rather than actual gratitude.  

“Get yourself cleaned up first. You look like hell.” Bakugou said significantly less congenially, ignoring the Captain’s reproachful look. "And get those hands looked at before you dig into any systems."  

Shouto pursed his lips. That was rich, coming from a man who looked like he hadn’t bothered to deal with his own burns and bruises. Besides, Shouto had not actually been damaged, despite appearances. “As you say, Commander.” Sparing himself further insult, he spun on his heel. Before he stepped outside, however, he glanced over his shoulder, catching the both of them sharing some sort of significant look that he couldn’t discern. “If you need to contact me again, it will be much more efficient to simply send me a message.” There was absolutely no reason all of this couldn’t have been conveyed to him in the way he always received his orders. He wasn’t sure why that had to change now, of all times, especially if they couldn't seem to act professionally even in front of one of the crew.

At this, Bakugou flashed him a sharp grin, catching Shouto once more on the back foot. “Now where’s the fun in that?” 

Shouto’s mouth dropped open, working on its hinges as he attempted to find an appropriate response to that if one even existed. But with none forthcoming, he gave it up as a lost cause and decided to let himself out before anything more ludicrous could be said. 

Midoriya’s reprimanding “Kacchan!” was the last thing Shouto heard before the doors closed resolutely behind him. On a whim, Shouto sent them both his personal address. Just so it wouldn't get lost among all his other notifications, of course. It would be easier to prioritize and it wasn't as if anyone else used it anyway.

Shouto felt warm for the rest of the day, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. He shouldn’t be feeling this way while the ship was in such a terrible state, when the crew was still grieving for those that were lost, when they still didn’t know who wished them harm. 

But he could not banish the warmth even if he wanted to, and the strange sensation only intensified when the first of many messages from his Captain – not an order, but an inquiry after his health, of all things – appeared in his inbox a mere few hours later.  

Chapter Text

Androids do not dream. 

Sometimes Shouto missed it; the sensation of flying, falling, not just watching the fantastical fantasy on a holovid, but living it. To be the hero in his own story, to slay the fiery beast, and save his love of pure white and gentle, sad eyes. In his dreams, Shouto was always enough. 

Sometimes it was as simple as a touch against his shoulder, a casual ‘well done’, and Shouto would let himself like it. Let himself deserve it. Sometimes it was his Father, his ‘dad’ that he’d never allowed to address as such, and he would say one of those dad things. Hey son, how about I teach you how to throw a frisbee? Or maybe, That’s my boy, you aced that test with flying colors. A chip off the old block. He would wake with a feeling of warmth that lingered only as long as it took him to recognize the stark beige of his bedroom ceiling. Only as long as it took him to remember that nothing he’d done had ever been good enough. 

Shouto had always been an escapist at heart. When the long days of his isolated youth drug on interminably, the pressures of impossible precipices he could never quite reach hung too heavy over his too slim shoulders, he couldn’t wait to return to his bedroom and shut it all away. And all of it would fall away; his exhausted body, his overtaxed mind, the bitterness in the back of his throat that never seemed to dissipate. Even his triumphs would cease to mean anything, along with the crushing realization that they never meant anything to begin with. That Shouto had not even been given the courtesy of starting at the foothills, but born into the fires of the very core of the mountain itself; doomed from the very start to burn in the disappointment of inadequacy for not being made perfect.

Oh, but in Shouto’s mind, he could be content. He could reach the mountain peak. He could crawl from the fires of anger and hopelessness and into the cool cerulean of the sky opening up all around him, leave the volcano behind and revel in the soothing cradle so close to the upper atmosphere. The smoke that choked him is only a muted memory that dissipates in the thin blanket wrapped around the earth, in that in-between place safe from the icy carelessness of space and the scalding, consuming hunger of the Earth’s core. 

When the days were particularly hard and he could not fathom that mountain peak only knowable through the distant sliver of sky above the volcano’s jealous mouth, he used to look longingly into that blue and wonder what lay beyond it. What was so fascinating about the remorseless emptiness where nothing could, or should, survive? It was just as unsuitable for life as the Earth’s core, the end result the same. You would still burn, whether by heat or the unequivocal absence of it. 

What was so fascinating, compelling, compulsive, that she had to leave him here to burn alone?

It was only as Shouto grew older that he realized that it was not the draw of oppressive ice she ran to, but the fire she ran from. And he had not been enough for her to stay. It was only as Shouto grew older that the dreams that had once so comforted him, made him feel closer to her and the possibility of her, had slowly been tainted by this realization that he was complicit in the very trap that she had so desperately escaped, that his meager warmth had only compounded the sweltering oppression she must have felt. Dreams could not save him from this truth any longer. In her waking life, she had reached the elusive sky and past it, but what she found there he would never know because now she was beyond his reach forever, where even the possibility of her could no longer endure. 

Shouto had once hoped he was just like her, even if he didn’t really know what that meant–before he knew better. Before he learned that her absence could be just as damning as his Father’s scorn, if less deliberate. Still, Shouto rejected his Father’s features in favor of hers, chased her memory into the stars where he couldn’t reach Shouto, and even left behind the safety of his dreams so that he might, in his own waking life, like her, climb from the fire but place his flag atop the mountain’s peak in the crisp, refreshing wind, somewhere in between the intolerable extremes in which his parents had found their destruction.

But that is not what happened. Shouto did not escape the fire on his own merit. In trying to run from it he had only flown from the Earth’s core and straight into the sun. Only when he had been utterly consumed had he been spat out into the icy void, ruined. There was no beautiful mountain peak for him, no relief from the fire when all he could feel now was burning ice. After that, no memory, no dream, could comfort him when all he could see was nightmares and all he could feel was pain. 

So relinquishing his ability to dream had not been a hardship for Shouto. When he thinks he misses dreams, it is really the innocence he misses from those early days. When he still had the ability to hope; that there was some other reality in which there was a possibility of something better, even if that something better was only a dream. 

Shouto did not, in fact, go to Sickbay. For one thing, he felt the order hypocritical coming from a man whose own wounds and dishevelment had come second. For another, yet one more trip into Doctor Aizawa's dubious care was completely unnecessary. Shouto was aware that he was going against the direct orders of his superior officer, but he genuinely felt fine. There did not seem to be any residual damage to his hands despite the surge he took. He flexed his fingers at his sides just to make certain, and sure enough, they clenched and released smoothly, no red on his HUD. He wondered idly how much voltage it could have possibly been, and decided it couldn’t have been as much as it felt. 

He did stop by his quarters to give himself a thorough scrubdown, once again begrudgingly gratified that he now had access to a personal refresher. While the ones in the recreational centers around the ship were more than serviceable, there was something to be said about having more privacy than he’d had in nearly a year.  

Pale skin once again as flawless as he could make it, Shouto threw on a red shirt and made his way determinedly to Engineering. 

Forgoing the thoroughfare, Shouto took his well-trodden route through the ship's access halls, something most of the crew were unfamiliar with save for those drawn to the higher calling of engineering. While he managed to avoid most of the bustle from the main passages, it only served to highlight the amount of damage the ship had taken in what Shouto could only describe as a mad, senseless attack. It made his chest ache and Shouto realized he was feeling genuine grief for the ship, his ship, that he had never previously felt for any place; not his home growing up, not the ships he served before, and certainly not the Sandrunner with which he was much more intimately familiar. Shouto didn't want to acknowledge it even in the privacy of his mind, but the Falcon was beginning to feel like...home. 

What made the Falcon different, he wondered. It wasn't as if he was treated better here. In fact, he could say that his experience with the crew here was worse–or rather, more peculiar–than he'd ever encountered, in a different way than the abuse from jealous peers and his Father's enemies he'd been made to weather before. No, here, he was almost ignored in such a way that even Shouto was starting to realize that something was a bit off. And if it wasn’t that, people were taking liberties with him that he’d never been made to suffer before. He thought about lieutenant Mei and her casual touch unto his person, of the open way people stared (the way the captain stared). The way people would say and do things in his presence that they would never dare in front of...in front of. 

An organic. Did...did the people on this ship have a problem with him, not because of who he was for once, but his choice to live as an android? 

It was an unsettling thought. Shouto schooled his features before the door that would take him to Engineering exposed him. He was overthinking this, he was sure. It was more likely to do with him than anything else. It had never mattered what group of people Shouto shared space with, for any length of time. There was always something he did, something about him that put them off. Even here, he’d probably managed to offend someone. Said the wrong thing. (He was always saying the wrong thing.)

Aizawa had suggested Shouto attempt to socialize more...

That never worked out for you even when you were Human though, did it? An insidious voice whispered in his thoughts. 

That wasn't entirely true, he countered. There were some aboard this ship who had been kind. 

But the time for contemplation was over. The door opened on silent rails and Shouto stepped into the chaos of the engineering labs. Shouto wrenched himself into the present. He needed to find out who or what had attacked his precious ship and hopefully stop it from ever happening again. Even if he never made another connection with the people here, the Falcon herself was something to live for. To protect. Dragging his hands along the bulkhead, he winced at every burn against her polished hull as if it were an assault on his own person. He had personally felt her pain and it was something he never wanted to experience again. 

He heard the lieutenant before he saw her.

Engineering was in chaos. Men and women bustled frantically between stations, calling to each other in an endless cacophony of demands and acknowledgments as they attempted to repair the damage to the Falcon's engines and systems, to exhume her from the brink she had been driven. While the rest of the ship had calmed from crisis mode, Engineering was not so lucky. While the ship was dead in the water, her crew was vulnerable to further attack. But it was more than that to the dedicated caretakers of the Falcon. Every crewman wore the same grimace of pain that  Shouto felt so acutely and he realized he was far from the only one who considered the Falcon home. For every scrape or burn against their skin, grease stain on their capable hands or shadow under their brows was a shine of determination and dedication that Shouto felt echoed in his adamantium bones. There was something distinctly discomfiting about seeing the Falcon's state-of-the-art engines still and silent as if her very heart had been stopped.  It took everything in Shouto not to pick up a kit and work alongside them, kin with their need to put her to rights. There would be plenty of time for that later, he reasoned, forcing his way past. It would take them days to get the engine up to warp capability, then weeks at a station before she was fit to continue her mission. He would have plenty of opportunities to offer his talents to her aid. For now, he had his orders. 

A particularly vociferous screech of distilled frustration made Shouto question his decision to venture further. Steeling himself, he made his way past the still flickering engines and harried engineers and into the adjacent lab where the catalyst of all this chaos was being examined.  

A frazzled mess of pink waved drunkenly, gloved and grease stained hands ruffling it beyond repair. Lieutenant Mei looked down at the mess of wire and burnt alloy with a glare that would have given anyone pause before disturbing her. Shouto, however, did not have the luxury of turning away. Like the rest of those who dwelt in Engineering, Mei looked exhausted and distressed and in no way ready to take the break her body so clearly needed. Shouto could sympathize. 

He walked further into the room, noticing belatedly that the rest of the crew were giving this lab a wide berth. When Mei set eyes on him, it was easily apparent why. 

"What do you want? Get out, get out, get out, can't you see my baby is suffering while I have to mess with this stupid piece of—" she cut off abruptly as Shouto froze on the threshold, momentarily afraid for his life. His trepidation only grew when realization, then glee spread over the lieutenant's face, ravenous as a bear after hibernation. 

Unfortunately, the feeling of being a particularly decadent morsel only intensified when she spoke again, slamming her hands against the table and sending a spanner clattering to the floor. "Well, hello, beautiful!" 

"Um," Shouto said slowly, taking a small step back. He wondered if he could get away with leaving and coming back later. He got the feeling that if he shirked this particular order, Bakugou and the captain would be less forgiving. Besides, he needed to get his hands on that device, if only to confirm what he already knew. Straightening, he stared down the beast. "I have been ordered to assist in the examination of the device." 

Mei did not seem to hear him, her targeted eyes narrowed, the circuitous routes of intellect behind her mania incomprehensible to one uncomfortable android. Finally, she seemed to come back to herself and Shouto inwardly sighed in relief as she released him from her gaze. 

That is until she ushered him into the room and closed the door behind him with a press of her finger, leaving a resolute smudge against the already abused terminal.

"Lieutenant–" he began nervously, but he was already being pushed towards the table where the device lay. Mei pulled over a stool and sat down, pointing him to the one beside her and handing over her scanner. 

"Well, go on then," she said before falling silent, observant. 

Shouto sat cautiously, trying his best to ignore his discomfort. He wondered how this woman had passed her psych evals and momentarily begrudged that he was under such scrutiny while someone so clearly unhinged managed to work on the most advanced ship in the fleet without suffering the same.

Putting his distress aside, he looked down at the device, the reason he was here at all and not safely on the other side of the ship from this woman. The sooner he got the information he needed, the sooner he could leave. 

If Shouto didn't already have an idea of what he was looking at, he would have thought that the desiccated corpse scattered across the filthy workbench like a macabre offering was nothing more than scrap.

Not bothering to don gloves that would protect someone more delicate from cuts and abrasions, Shouto dug his hands into the largest part, getting started. The scanner he set aside, his own more refined than even the most advanced technology the fleet had to offer. 

The obvious first. Just as the captain described, the weapon–for it could be described as nothing less–was clearly of Terran make first and foremost, with some minor Romulan and Andorian influences. That did not mean that it was necessarily a Terran attack, of course, but it couldn't be ruled out either. No one could be ruled out just yet. The base components were easily accessible throughout Federation space. Shouto very much doubted that he would find distinctions that would contain any sort of indicator of its true origins. Still, Shouto found it vaguely familiar in a manner that he couldn't place.

It was no larger than a duffle bag–somewhat shocking considering the amount of damage it had been capable of. Once rectangular, it had a slot along the bottom that was designed to clamp to any of the main power conduits that circulated through the ship. As his sensors had indicated during the attack, it was, in the simplest terms, a bomb. 

He found himself frustrated by the amount of degradation that it had suffered when it was removed and wondered in a flash of temper if Bakugou was simply too much of a hothead to realize he was damaging their only evidence or just an idiot. 

That's not fair, he chastised himself, taking a deliberate breath. He may not have had the best first impression of the man, but Bakugou had proven to the fleet to be a capable commander and head of security, and Shouto could not deny what he had witnessed with his own eyes. 

Whether Shouoto would acknowledge it aloud or not, his estimation of the commander had warmed considerably, especially when weighed against the fact that without him, Shouto may very well have died. Again. Even though Bakugou had forced Shouto through something he would have run from, the commander did not demand more than what Shouto could handle. As soon as he had what he needed, he had asked for no more, and Shouto got the impression that Bakugou wouldn’t ask for anything he wasn’t willing to give himself.

"Sooo, what did you find?" Mei's voice intruded on his thoughts. She was staring again, too close to be professional. 

Ignoring this, Shouto resumed his examination. "I cannot determine the origin. Whatever was done to this device has destroyed most of the evidence that could point to its manufacturer."

Mei snorted in disgust. "Yeah, those meat heads sure made our lives harder,” she disdained as if the acquisition of the technology was more important than the lives saved by Bakugou’s expedience. Shouto got the feeling that this preference for technology over people was a recurring theme with this woman. What that made Shouto in her eyes didn’t bear contemplation, though, from the disturbing pet names he could make an educated guess. 

Shouto shook his head. "I doubt it would have come to much in any case. This was clearly for the purposes of destroying or disabling the Falcon. It is very possible that it was programmed to self-destruct on discovery." 

"What makes you say that?" She tilted her head, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, any irritation wiped away for intrigue.

Shouto was finding it hard to see what was so amusing. He pointed with a blackened finger. "See this? It appears that the device was burnt out from within. It could have been residual damage from the surrounding area, but the epicenter of trauma would suggest that it was triggered via an internal mechanism." He pulled his hand away, brow furrowing. "More troubling is that this sort of device would be difficult to get onto the ship undetected. It would be nearly impossible to do so at space doc through security, unless…"

"Unless someone on the space doc was in on it," Mei concluded. 

"Yes," Shouto confirmed grimly. "Another possibility is that it was beamed aboard from a ship with stealth capabilities." Shouto recalled the story about the Stella; how there was no indication in her logs that anything was amiss until it was too late. That ship was not nearly as damaged as the Falcon, however, so Shouto was hesitant to bring it up. The Stella had been intact enough to steal from, as had the other ships fallen prey to the escalating pirate raids. The Falcon had nearly been destroyed. He just didn't have enough information to go on. Another possibility–that someone aboard the Falcon had planted the device–was dismissed as impossible. Whoever did such a thing would fall victim to the fallout just as easily as the rest of the crew. 

Mei was clearly not following his line of reasoning. "Impossible," she scoffed. "We would have detected anything being beamed aboard. Stealth capabilities can't disguise transporter signatures." 

"I think you will find that it is possible, Lieutenant," Shout said absently, already making his way to a computer. Flicking the monitor on with a thought, he pulled up a blank terminal and began inputting data. Mei trailed him, eyes bright with interest. "It is not the cloaking capabilities that would hide the transporter signature, but the timing." 

"Oh?" Mei said gleefully as she peered over his shoulder. Shouto barely noticed her proximity, deep into the problem at hand. His fingers danced across the keys of their own volition as he looked inward. 

"Affirmative. A few years ago I spent some time experimenting with one Montgomery Scott's transwarp theory. When a ship is entering warp, the engine protocols momentarily borrow processing power from the ship's main systems, a moment of vulnerability in our shields and a brief gap in ship records."

"That takes less than a nanosecond," Mei interrupted. "Beaming something of this size will take at least three seconds." 

"Yes," Shouto agreed, hands moving rapidly over the screen, "but it only takes a nanosecond to send a line of code that could fool the ship's sensors long enough to disguise the signature as something else or eliminate the record altogether. That is, assuming the point of origin was close enough."

"Which it could be if it was cloaked," Mei muttered, shoving Shouto aside and peering into the screen. She held a firm grip on his arm, and Shouto might have bruised if he were Human when her grip tightened in excitement. 

“It is only a theory. The only known species with the cloaking technology that could fool our sensors is the Romulans, but making that assumption would be...premature.” The Romulans were only held at bay by a tenuous treaty signed only seventeen Terran years ago. To make such an accusation without concrete proof would be disastrous for the Federation’s hard won peace. He found it unlikely in any case. The Romulans were not usually so cloak and dagger. If it was them, they would make it known.

 "This is incredible!" Mei all but shouted, interrupting Shouto’s grim musings with somewhat inappropriate enthusiasm. "How did you come across this protocol?"

"I wrote it," Shouto said, carefully trying to pry her fingers from his person. He was unsuccessful. 

She looked at him incredulously. "You wrote this?"

"Yes," Shouto said, exasperated. Why was everyone always so surprised? Or, well. He supposed his Academy record wasn't stellar. He was beginning to wonder whether attempting to fail on purpose just to spite his Father was worth it, especially when the shadow of his influence made the task nigh impossible. 

Mei's voice became impossibly more shrill, ringing like tetanus in his sensitive ears. "You also wrote the code that singlehandedly fixed the redundant power interruptions for Terran subspace communications, increasing Stafleet’s long-range communication time by six percent?" 

"I don't know what you are referring to,” Shouto said slowly, genuinely confused this time. He hadn’t been involved in anything of the sort. 

"Don't play coy with me! I caught you entering the code just last week! They were going to," she shudders, "promote me to head engineer for that now that Majima has been taken off duty! I was going to get a commendation!"

Something in the vicinity of Shouto’s chest sank, his confusion clearing. His unauthorized modification to the subspace database access he’d attempted the previous week. He had no idea that the protocol he'd written could be applied to all communications, though in hindsight, he should have seen the danger of his tampering. Of course he was never going to get away with it, what had he been thinking? He cleared his throat reflexively. "Why didn't you take it?" Or better yet, why had she let the modification be pushed through if taking the credit was not her aim? Shouto had left it in the testing environment unsubmitted.

Mei's hands returned to her ruined hair as if the thought of promotion caused her physical pain. "I want to work on my darling, not babysit wrenchheads! It would be a complete waste of my talent!"

Shouto's brows rose, but to his reluctant surprise, he couldn't deny her logic. Being head engineer meant running the department, something Shouto also had little desire to do, though not necessarily for the same reasons. 

"Now, enough stalling! Answer my question!"

Shouto pursed his lips, but couldn't see a way out of this. "...Yes,” he finally admitted. He really didn't like how Mei's eyes sparkled. "I wrote it some time ago in my free time. Um. Between projects." He fought the urge to bite his lip. "Why didn't you report me?" 

" Report you?" Mei all but shrieked, aghast. "Did you not hear what I just said? You increased long range communication efficiency by six percent with a single line of code! I'm not going to report you to anyone!" She threw her hands in the air with all drama. "You are more brilliant by half than the neanderthals I’m forced to deal with on a daily basis. Why would I endanger my chance to study one of the most fascinating beings I've ever had the privilege of coming across? No, no, no! Your secret's safe with me, my most intriguing friend! I will be watching your development with great interest!" 

"My...secret?" Now Shouto was really lost. Unless she meant his tampering with the ship’s protocols. Which...yeah. He would really like to keep that little tidbit under wraps. The less attention he received, the better. And while he wished he was a little less fascinating to her, if that meant that he could fly under the radar, then–

Shouto had an idea. "Can I take this to mean that you will allow me to continue to make modifications? If I run them by you first?"

Mei abruptly came back to focus, eyeing him shrewdly. Then she grinned. "What a fabulous idea! I will be in charge of these lunkheads until Majima is back on his feet. Tell you what, my sweet baby. You keep me in the loop and I'll keep your projects under wraps." She winked and Shouto had to bite back simultaneous horror and amusement at being referred to as her sweet baby. "It will be our little secret. Now!" She clapped her hands abruptly and grabbed Shouto’s wrists, dragging him in her considerable wake. "Let's get to work, my pretty! I'd love to hear your thoughts on–"

She prattled on, ignoring Shouto’s protest that he had to compose a report on the device for the captain first. He was occupied for the rest of his shift and then some as she dragged him from project to project like a prized beagle. Shouto couldn't bring himself to mind it, however, or her continued strange behavior when he was feeling so very light. She wasn't a friend, not really, but she had offered him something no one had been able to offer him before; free reign to make improvements without scrutiny. To use his research on something other than unpublished work that he would never allow to see the light of day. He couldn't believe his luck. If that meant enduring the strange looks he received from the other crewmen while working at her side, if it meant having to tolerate a bit of manhandling and her mercurial mood swings, well, Shouto could recognize a fair exchange when he crossed one. 

A message indicator came and went across Shouto’s HUD, but he did not see it until hours later in the privacy of his quarters. There, at least, he was able to hide a rather embarrassing lack of grace as everything in his hands crashed to the floor.

Shouto stared at the words, not even really seeing them anymore where they hovered against the backdrop of his ceiling. He didn’t know how to feel about what he was seeing, and so he felt nothing. He read it again. 

Hi, Shouto! Make sure you get some rest. Hope to see you tomorrow :)

It was such a simple message. Untaxing, unlike the frequent admonishments he got from Aizawa. Sincere, unlike the cold demands he once received from his Father. Personal, unlike the messages he received from his instructors and then his superiors. He stared in fixation at the smiling face added to the end like a particularly amorous punctuation mark. When he first saw it, he hadn’t immediately recognized what it meant because no one had ever sent such a thing to him. He had seen them before, of course, between crewmembers, classmates, friends, and lovers. But not even Toya had ever sent him something quite like this in their limited correspondence, even if he’d been the more laid back of the two.

It was sitting in his personal inbox, the one he’d impulsively sent to Midoriya and Bakugou, one he’d never, he realized suddenly, given to anyone else. The only other personal account he’d ever had belonged exclusively to himself and his older brother, and it had not been used since Toya was gone. So this was a completely blank slate that he had never expected to utilize, now christened by Captain Midoriya’s sentiment. 

Warm. Shouto felt warm. He knew even without looking that he was blushing, the artificial flush of red but not an artificial heat. He didn't bother to suppress it, not alone in his room. 

It was a silly, insistent feeling that he’d been experiencing since the day before when he’d spoken with Midoriya and Bakugou and they’d behaved like they…cared. About him. Shouto found that he was uninterested in wondering why. It would only make him feel as if he didn’t deserve it, his newest failures attempting to drag his mood down and undo the captain’s innocent kindness.

He hadn’t been able to glean much more than theories working under the enthusiasm of Lieutenant Mei. He left as quickly as he could, but it was still late into the night before he was able to escape her clutches and the captain and commander were doubtless already asleep. A quick inquiry found them both in the commander’s quarters and that was all Shouto would allow himself to acknowledge before he headed back to his own. He composed his report and sent it to be reviewed when they awoke.  

That was when he’d noticed the captain’s message. Shouto had nearly broken the tools of his kit he’d unceremoniously dropped to the floor when he realized what that unfamiliar notification was. So few words, but so unexpected that they seemed monumental to one such as Shouto, who could count on one hand the number of enjoyable conversations he’d had with strangers, and even less of those who actually wanted to continue correspondence. It had tempted Shouto to draw more meaning from the message than was probably intended. 

Such a simple missive, casual even, shouldn’t have affected him so, but Shouto couldn’t deny that it...did. That the captain had gone out of his way to interact with Shouto casually when they were merely acquaintances at best. Less than. And not even through the official means in which Shouto had sent his report, but through the personal thread Shouto had tied between them himself. An invitation sent and accepted, unfathomable.

Shouto could now see how impulsive that invitation had been. Shouto had done it likely foolishly hoping for something just like this despite his rationalizations and past experiences. It was pathetic how desperately he craved positive attention. It was why he hated it so very much. 

He wanted to flagellate himself for it, but he was so tired, worn down by recent events and the exhausting spiral of his own treacherous mind. So he let himself enjoy it for once, feeling as though he’d stolen a cookie from the kitchens, a mischievous child breaking the strict diet set out for him despite the threat of punishment. Or in this case, the bitterness of disappointment. 

So here he lay, the hours of the night shift idling by one by one. Hope to see you tomorrow. 

Shouto sort of hoped for the same thing. And that scared him. Midoriya would soon lose interest in him, as had all others when they realized that Shouto couldn’t give them what they wanted. It was better that Shouto ignored this, put a stop to it before he could face the inevitable rejection.

Of course, he failed to account for Midoriya’s own will. Shouto would wonder for years to come how he thought he ever could. 

“So, you’re alive.” 

Shouto looked up from the delicate yellow bloom over which his fingers hovered, but did not touch. He’d been admiring the foliage in the botany lab and had been for the past ten minutes, unacknowledged. Shinsou sat hunched over his microscope when Shouto arrived and Shouto had not felt the need to disturb him, simply allowing himself to enjoy the fact that his friend had survived the attack – even though he’d already known, had immediately checked the moment he’d awoken that first day. But seeing for himself would always be more potent than the simple statement of fact the computer could provide. 

Just like Shouto’s tiny jade fern, Shinsou’s friendship was easy. Uncomplicated. He didn’t know what the distinction was between his interactions with this enigmatic man and others Shouto had come across, all so dizzyingly confusing in their motivations, desiring things from him he didn’t know how to give or operating on a social wavelength that Shouto had never quite been able to sync. Maybe it was as simple as Shouto couldn’t imagine Shinsou ever giving him a compliment. Shinsou wanted nothing and offered only quiet companionship–and the occasional character reference. It was...soothing. Especially while Shouto was navigating unfamiliar waters of more and more of the crew’s attention. He had names now, a growing list of faces that had sharpened from the background of passersby, anchoring themselves amidst the temporary drifters through Shouto’s life. Aizawa. Mei. Bakugou and Midoriya. He didn’t know how to feel about how tangible they were becoming. 

Shinsou was the eye of the storm, the one place Shouto knew he could find peace, though that growing reliance, too, was disconcerting. But like more and more indulgences of late, Shouto simply allowed himself to enjoy it. 

Shinsou had not moved from his position over the microscope other than to adjust a knob. Shouto almost wondered if he’d imagined his statement. 

“Yes, I am still alive,” he answered anyway. “As are you.” 

Shinsou grunted, finally looking up from his task. Shouto noted the bags beneath his eyes, more pronounced than usual. He had a burn on his forehead. “The lab survived, at any rate. Though the electrical disruption killed a lot of my more delicate plants.” 

Shouto’s head tilted minutely. They weren’t going to talk about it then. That was fine with him. “It would be a shame to have to start the samples from scratch,” he drawled as if Shinsou didn’t live for just that. 

Shinsou’s lips twitched upward, but he closed his mouth prematurely on his retort, attention shifting to the closed lab door. 

Shouto raised a brow when a few seconds passed in silence, wondering what had caught his friend’s attention. “What–”

The door swished open and Shouto’s spine went rigid as a man with a familiar mess of green hair walked through, nose stuck in a padd and barely paying attention to his path. He had a smudge of black oil on his freckled face, and a moment later showed why as he rubbed his filthy hands against the side of his straight nose. Even Captain Midoriya was not immune to the ‘all hands’ order. “Mr. Shinsou, I was on my way to–oh.” 

Startled greens blinked owlishly at Shouto, words grinding to a halt. Unfortunately for Midoriya, the rest of him did not follow suit and his distraction sent him directly into a small shelf, jostling an orderly stack of equipment that promptly scattered all over the floor. 

Shinsou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the captain stuttered out a profuse apology, freckles standing out starkly against his blush as he tried and failed to pick up a trowel a total of three times. 

“Crap, I’m so sorry! I, uh.” Midoriya flicked his eyes back and forth between Shouto, who had still not brought himself to react, and Shinsou, who was grimacing longsufferingly and apparently unsurprised by the captain’s fumbling. Midoriya’s wandering attention did not help him pick up the trowel he was now fumbling blindly for. Shouto wondered if this was a common occurrence for the captain. It was almost comical to see such clumsiness from someone who clearly took pride in his physical condition. But, Shouto supposed,  strength was not necessarily equivalent to grace, no matter how impressive.

Shinsou raised his brows, shooting Shouto a searching glance. Not for the first time, Shouto was glad that he had such an effective poker face. “Captain. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Carefully, he set aside the sample he was working on and stood from his chair, pointedly shielding it from where the captain was ineffectually shuffling items around rather than restoring the order he’d disrupted. 

“Uh, right,” Midoriya said, abandoning his fumbling, burning ears peeking through his unruly hair like tiny red bugs in a bush. “Doctor Aizawa is requesting those fat tuber things again. Wanted me to see if you had any left.” 

Shinsou cringed, mouthing ‘fat tuber things’ with an air of mild horror. “He sent you, the captain of this Goddess-forsaken ship, all the way down here for ginger? And he couldn’t have just sent me a message himself because…?”

Midoriya glanced up mischievously, amusement chasing away the remainder of his blush. “Because you would have ignored it?” 

Shouto shifted reflexively in what was most assuredly not guilt. 

“You do realize that he only uses the ginger for his dumb hangover tea,” Shinsou drawled. “Which is not a regulation approved use of ship resources.” 

“Well, maybe if you visited Sickbay more often, he wouldn’t need to make up excuses to get you down there,” Midoriya said breezily, sidling around Shinsou with more familiarity than Shouto thought Shinsou would ever allow. The captain hopped up to sit on Shinsou’s workstation, dangerously close to the samples Shinsou had been trying to protect. Shinsou’s cheek twitched. 

“Captain, need I remind you that the last time you visited the botany lab you single-handedly destroyed at least six of my scientist's samples? Ensign Ibara was inconsolable for a week.” 

“Hey, I apologized for that! Besides, my CMO gave me a direct order to make sure you delivered his tubers!” 

“Ginger is a root, for the last time! And why don’t you just do it, then?” 

Midoriya rolled his eyes, his smirk a marker of the familiar game. Shouto got the feeling he was being obtuse on purpose to get a reaction from his usually stoic science officer. “Hitoshi. Go talk to your dad. I don’t have to make it an order, do I?” 

Shouto’s brows shot up into his fringe, a feeling of surreality washing over him. Aizawa was Shinsou’s dad? He couldn’t have been more than twelve years older than him…Now that he thought about it, though, they did sort of share a resemblance.

Shinsou glared at Shouto as if he knew exactly what he was thinking before turning his mutinous expression back to the captain. 

A battle of wills ensued before a spectator of one very confused engineer. Midoriya’s pleasant smile never wavered, though it held an edge of steel that brokered no argument. Finally, even Shinsou’s stubbornness could not endure and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone, or I swear to fuck, you clumsy oaf,” he said pointedly, showing that while he was giving in he remained unintimidated by Midoriya’s rank. Midoriya merely laughed, patting him on the shoulder before shooing him toward the door. Shinsou left with a surly grumble, leaving Shouto and the captain behind. 

It was several seconds before Shouto – who still stared at the door processing this newest paradigm shift – realized that he was now alone in the botany lab, an enclosed, private space, with the man he had just resolved to avoid not six hours previous. Shouto’s head jerked around, and sure enough, Midoriya was staring again, head tilted in that way of his, at once innocent and coquettish. 

Shouto had the absurd urge to clear his throat. Which would have been singularly odd considering there was nothing in his throat to clear. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Midoriya said, apropos to nothing. Shouto blinked. 

“And you as well, Captain,” Shouto answered, belatedly remembering how small-talk worked. Which involved. Talking. “Were you able to go over my report?”

Midoriya’s lips pursed and Shouto wondered if he’d said something wrong. “I did. Thank you for taking a look. I didn’t really expect us to find much. The device was pretty destroyed.” 

Shouto hid behind his fringe, the ever-lurking shame yawning awake in his chest. “I am sorry.” 

Midoriya stuttered as if he’d stumbled into the shelf all over again. “Oh, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s just, I don’t think it’s anything any of us have seen before, that’s all. Your report was very thorough and I have no doubt that it will be useful to the investigation. You did great!” 

Shouto’s chin lifted slightly through Midoriya’s stream of consciousness, and to his faint horror, a flush filled his cheeks. He barely noticed it for the rush of unfamiliar warmth in his abdomen.

Midoriya’s eyes sharpened, lips parting in surprise. “Are you blushing? I didn’t know you could do that.” 

Shouto abruptly turned his back, moving to the shelf the captain had displaced and meticulously putting it back to rights. What was wrong with him? “My model was designed to simulate the human experience as closely as possible,” he said rote, something he’d repeated to Aizawa so many times. For some reason, saying it to the captain felt distinctly different. Private. Furiously, he willed his blush to recede, putting a shatter-proof petri dish back into its place with more care than was probably necessary. 

“Really?” Shouto startled as the captain’s voice came from significantly closer than before. He turned to find Midoriya only steps away, close enough to count every freckle and faint laugh line on his smooth skin. Midoriya’s eyes seemed so big this close, all-encompassing and soft, not unlike hounds his Father had kept around the compound, snuffling at a lonely young boy for treats. But while Shouto had no treats and the captain was no pup, Midoriya still looked hungry. “What else is designed to closely resemble the human experience?” 

Shouto’s jaw dropped slightly, his flush coming back full force. Midoriya’s voice did not sound like this before; deep and low, the rumble of distant thunder wrapping around you in a place where you were comfortable and warm, watching the storm roll in. It was impossible to miss the way Midoriya’s eyes lingered on Shouto’s flushed cheeks, and then his lips while Shouto’s mouth worked around the response that just wouldn’t come. 

It was an odd time to note that Midoriya was the same height as Shouto, yet Shouto found himself fixated on the fact. It was unusual for him, who had inherited his Father’s prodigious height, if not his girth. There were very few Humans he could look eye to eye with, and never any that he would allow this close. Yet there was no urge within him to push Midoriya away. Shouto inhaled sharply as Midoriya’s gaze flicked from his lips to stare directly into his eyes, dark beneath his lowered lashes. 

“Captain?” Shouto whispered, his voice coming out more unsure than he intended. 

Midoriya licked his lips. Shouto noticed. “Shouto. Can I ask you something?” 

“Yes?” A beat too late.

Midoriya took another step forward, nearly between Shouto’s regulation boots. His scent washed over Shouto –aftershave and something sweet, like sugar – until their chests nearly brushed. “Would you –”

Panic, thick and sudden, flushed Shouto’s body, alerts triggering in response to his sudden fear, though no danger was present. No danger, yet Shouto’s vision swam as his lower back hit the low shelf, the entirety of him stiffening and his expression falling flat. 

Midoriya stopped his advance immediately, brow pinching with worry from whatever it was he read in Shouto’s face. “Shou–”

“Bridge to Captain Midoriya.”

Midoriya froze, teeth closing around his inquiry, and Shouto had the irrational urge to either run for the door screaming or snatch the captain’s communicator and smash it beneath the heel of his boot. Midoriya stood there for a moment, breathing slowly in Shouto’s space before carefully stepping back and touching his comm, leaving chilled air in his wake. 

“Midoriya here,” Midoriya said lowly, voice still edged with an intimacy that could not be misinterpreted. Shouto swallowed redundantly. 

“Hey Cap, the Vulcan ship Sarek has reached the rendezvous point early. They’re hailing us.” 

“On my way. Thanks, Kiri,” Midoriya sighed. He lingered for a moment longer before smiling softly. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later?” 

Shouto, still leaning against the shelf – and frankly wondering if his legs would hold him if he stepped away – answered automatically. “Yes, Captain.” 

Midoriya’s smile became unbearably bright, his wide cheekbones dusted with red. “Great! I’ll comm you!” With a final lingering look, the captain left Shouto alone with his panic.

Shouto was not alone for long. 

“Wow,” Shinsou drawled, and Shouto would deny his undignified yelp to his last breath. 

“Shinsou,” Shouto breathed, trying to control his panic long enough to shut down his body’s defense alerts. He really needed to tamper with those settings a bit more later. They seemed to be set on a hair trigger. “How long have you been standing there?” 

Shinsou was quiet for a moment, cataloging Shotou’s face as he tried and failed to school it. “I never left. I could sense your unease, so I stuck around.” 

“I…” Shouto couldn’t deny it. How obvious was he? Did he appear to everyone the skittish animal he seemed to embody? “I, um. Think the captain is trying to seduce me?” 

It came out as a question, but there were few other explanations for Midoriya’s behavior, none of them likely. Shouto might have been a bit obtuse when it came to the subtleties of social cues, but he was finding it exceedingly hard to interpret what just happened as anything other than what it appeared. He looked to Shinsou, perhaps to check his own sanity, but Shinsou’s expression was not encouraging. 

“So it would appear.” 

Shouto ran a hand down his face, stress making itself known in the form of a childhood habit, a lip worried between his teeth. Midoriya was gone, yet the panic remained, compounded by swirling confusion. How? How had it gone from an innocent message in his inbox to...whatever that was? How was he supposed to deal with this? How did he make it go away? 

No.

The denial startled him, vehement and sudden. No? No? This was unexpected. And scary. The captain of his ship, his superior officer, was trying to seduce him. But Shouto...hadn’t hated it. 

Where was the disgust? The familiar sinking dribble of fear down his spine, nameless and nebulous and ever-present when he looked into the eyes of someone who wanted him for his Father’s power, for his body, for money?  

It was absent. As absent as any malice in Midoriya’s eyes. Shouto hadn’t sensed deceit. Midoriya seemed...sincere.

Shouto didn’t understand. 

“Cut it out,” Shinsou groaned, rubbing his forehead. 

“Cut what out?” Shouto snapped, irritation bubbling to the surface and licking acidically at his pinched lips. His usually calm tones were sharpened,  brandished against someone who didn’t deserve it and Shouto exhaled forcefully. The stress reactions of his body were all in his mind, only felt because it was what he expected to feel. He wished he could shut them down. But he couldn’t focus enough to find the right commands. 

“Stop freaking out! You’re giving me a headache,” Shinsou gritted through his teeth, the shallow wrinkles between his brows deepened with distress. 

“I’m….giving you a headache.” Shouto’s fear receded slowly, his confusion over the captain’s actions morphing into a different flavor of befuddlement. A puzzle that was only just beginning to find its edge. Shouto’s eyes narrowed, his hands falling to his sides as he stood from his defeated slump to regard his friend.

This was not the first time Shinsou had said something to give Shouto pause like this. 

Shinsou’s physical discomfort seemed to ease as Shouto calmed and Shouto’s suspicion grew. Shinsou offered him a wry smile that did not reach his eyes and made his way into the lab, back to his customary perch beside the microscope. He seemed to draw comfort from his seat, the station where Shouto usually found him. 

“Yes,” Shinsou said finally, without inflection. “Panic and fear have always affected me the worst, ever since I was a kid.” 

Shouto frowned, circling around the bench so he could see Shinsou’s face. Shinsou avoided his scrutiny. 

“You’re an empath.” 

“Betazoid,” Shinsou confirmed with an edge of bitterness. “You really aren’t that observant, are you? I thought it was strange when you didn’t call me out immediately. I’m kind of famous in the Fleet.” 

“Oh?” Shouto mumbled, the insult slipping from his rounded shoulders unheeded as he absorbed this new facet of the person he was getting to know. Empaths weren’t that rare among the Federation, though they more often worked in lower-stress occupations. Those species with empathic abilities tended to keep to themselves, only very rarely would one or two beings venture into the more unshielded, or psy-null, dominated places. 

While a bit surprising, why would his empathic abilities make Shinsou famous–or infamous, as Shinsou’s tone seemed to imply? Did it have something to do with the way Shinsou sometimes seemed to know exactly what Shouto was thinking? 

“Yes,” Shinsou answered his thoughts, and this time Shouto couldn’t deny the knee-jerk wariness. Shinsou sighed, clearly sensing this. “Alright, might as well tell you. Maybe then I can get some peace and quiet back in my lab.”

The words stung. Shouto frowned but didn’t interrupt. He leaned back against the lab table, a casual gesture he very rarely allowed himself. Shouto’s complete abandonment of the comfortable blanket of formality seemed to put Shinsou more at ease, at least. “So. Betazoid,” he prompted.

“Half,” Shinsou muttered reluctantly. 

“And the other half?” 

Shinsou scowled and pushed back the unruly hair on one side of his face, revealing a pointed ear. “Vulcan.” 

“That’s…” 

“Illogical, I know,” Shinsou snorted, and Shouto couldn’t disagree. Betazoids were empathic not just physically, but culturally, valuing above all close familial connections and emotional sincerity. Vulcans, on the other hand, were as far from that sort of openness as it was possible to get. The culture as a whole denied feeling emotions at all, pursuing logic in all things. For a Betazoid, one of the most freely emotional species in the galaxy, to have a child with a Vulcan...it was, as Shinsou said, illogical. Even Humans, a middle road between the purity of logic and the depths of sentiment, would find a difficult match in a Vulcan. Not impossible. But exceedingly rare.

“So you were sensing my emotions as well as my thoughts,” Shouto said, a little more flatly than he intended. But his tone did not seem to affect Shinsou, whose tension eased the longer Shouto went without condemning him. Shouto wondered how to assure him that he wouldn’t, but figured that Shinsou could sense all he needed to know in Shouto’s calm acceptance.

“Yes,” Shinsou acknowledged quietly. “Lucky for me, mommy and daddy’s empathic and telepathic abilities mix to make one hell of a powerful cocktail. I get the added bonus of getting impressions of people’s thoughts even when I’m not touching them.” He fluttered his hands in a lackluster imitation of confetti. 

Suddenly Shinsou’s propensity for seclusion above all else made perfect sense. How others were too ‘loud’ for Shinsou just by being in his presence. “I thought Aizawa was your father?” Shouto said uncertainly as he parsed out his thoughts. “That was what the captain said.” There was a small thrill at the reminder of the captain, of what just happened, but if Shinsou noticed, he didn’t mention it. 

“Adopted, yeah,” Shinsou shrugged. “My parents didn’t want me around. I wasn’t precisely an intended outcome in the first place, thanks to some wonderful Vulcan biological imperatives that I hope I never have to experience.” He made a face. “Anyway, once they discovered what I could do, I was more trouble than I was worth. Too dangerous. Unmanageable. Aizawa was the only one who ever gave a damn about me, so the moment he was of age he adopted me from the System. More of a big brother than a dad, really, but the old bastard insists.”  

Shouto concealed a spike of jealousy that Shinsou had escaped his dark childhood in a way that Shouto never could. Irrational, because he had no idea what Shinsou had been through as a kid. Would it have been better if Shouto had been abandoned and picked up by another rather than raised the way he was? Perhaps even raised by Toya. I practically was anyway, he thought, then dismissed his distraction beneath Shinsou’s too knowing gaze. 

He hastily changed the subject when Shinsou lifted a brow, clearly catching the nuance. “So you can sense others’ thoughts and emotions. How does that make you dangerous?” 

Shinsou looked at him seriously. “You underestimate the power divining the secrets of others with impunity affords me.”

Shouto paused, a million thoughts racing through his head at once. It was true. With just a stray, inappropriate thought in Shinsou’s presence, a man could be destroyed. As if summoned, all the things that Shouto was ashamed of – things he’d never want anyone to know – surged to the forefront of his thoughts. Fear, real fear, not of Shinsou but the terror the memories brought, drowned him momentarily and he struggled not to be thrown into another flashback under the unexpected onslaught, triggered before he knew what was happening. Not now, not now! He hissed, pressing his forehead as if he could force it all back down, stepping physically away from Shinsou like those few extra feet of space would change the outcome. 

“Yeah. That’s how people usually react.” Shinsou’s chin ducked, a frown of pure misery darkening his features. He curled into himself, turning his back on Shouto and poking at his experiment, long ruined. Then he winced, rubbing his own forehead.  “Please leave if you’re going to. Your fear hurts. I’m not going to fucking do anything so stop freaking out.”  

“I’m sorry,” Shouto gritted, “but 'm not leaving.” With a force of will unknown to him before this moment, Shouto pushed it all down, ignoring the phantom taste of ash on the back of his tongue. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t as bad as before. He could handle it, though he might regret it later. “Not afraid of you. Just remembering something unpleasant.” 

A black eye peered doubtfully over Shinsou’s slim shoulder. “...Must be one hell of a memory,” he said skeptically. 

Shouto huffed humorlessly. “You didn’t see it?”

“That’s not how it works.” Shinsou turned around slowly, eyes flicking to the door and back. 

“Not leaving,” Shouto repeated, settling back against his perch.  

He had no reason to be suspicious of Shinsou. The man had been nothing but kind and undemanding of Shouto from the very beginning, and he wouldn’t want to ruin the unlikely friendship that he had come to enjoy. Shinsou’s sharp shoulders relaxed in reaction, if not to his words, then perhaps to his growing calm, and Shouto was gratified that he had succeeded. 

“How does it work, then?” 

Shinsou hummed, leaning against the bench and rolling his head on his shoulders. Now that he knew what to look for, Shouto realized that his wild hair had been styled that way on purpose–to hide his pointed ears from scrutiny. That, and maybe as a subtle denial of his Vulcan heritage, a race of people who smoothed their hair so severely it looked like a shiny helmet upon their heads. “Despite popular belief, thoughts are not written across your mind like text on a monitor, orderly and comprehensible. Sometimes they aren’t even in a language. I once came across a kid that only thought in prime numbers.” Shinsou shrugged. “Emotions, likewise, are not as easily identifiable as, say, the genus of a flower. Hell, most people can’t identify their own emotions, much less recognize any but the most extreme in others. I mostly get impressions, things I put together with context clues.”

Shouto nodded slowly. He thought he understood. “So, when you say that my emotions are ‘quiet’...” 

He received an enigmatic smile. “Now, that is interesting. I’m not sure if it’s your lack of an organic body, but most of the impressions I get from you are muted. Like you’re really far away, or. How does that work, anyway? Is your real body out there somewhere working this body like a puppet, or what?” 

He left it open ended, curious, but not unduly so. Shouto shifted in place, not sure he wanted to talk about it. But. He glanced up through the veil of his fringe. Shinsou had put himself pretty far out there. He hadn’t had to tell Shouto anything. Shouto supposed it wouldn’t hurt (much) to satisfy his curiosity in return. “Not quite. There was an accident. My...real body was nearly destroyed not too long ago. I am. Hm.” He still wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. The technical jargon he’d been subjected to while dying and desperate hadn’t stuck with him beyond ‘we can make the pain stop’. “I am a copy, shall we say, of the real me. Real–him. All of the data of his memories and experiences extracted and...installed into this experimental form, while the–his– my organic body sleeps in stasis until I can heal.” 

“...” Shinsou stared and Shouto endeavored to look anywhere else but into that gaze. “My man, you are a mess.” 

“I…”  Shouto frowned, flicking his eyes down to glare. “You’re one to talk.” 

Shinsou shrugged. “Touche. So, when your body is healed, what happens to the you now?” 

Shouto scowled, uncomfortable. He didn’t like to think about this. “When the real me wakes, the memories accrued in this form will be given back to hi–to me.”

“Right,” drawled slow, doubtful, “and then you’ll be an organic again?” 

“Yes,” Shouto nearly hissed, defensive. As he said, he didn’t like to think about it,  too many feelings tangled up to make sense of–Did he want to return to his original form? Was the other him dreaming, experiencing things Shouto wasn’t? Would those memories get erased? What if it didn’t work? What if he remembered none of this? What if….what if the other him died?–and suddenly Shouto understood Shinsou’s disparity over thought and emotion because Shouto couldn’t fathom a more convoluted mess if he tried. 

“How do you know any of this is real?” Shinsou asked bluntly and Shouto resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. It was exhausting, feeling all the things he normally tried so hard to repress, and he could feel the dregs of his control slipping through his fingers. 

“How do you know any of this is real?” he snapped.

Shouto’s flashfire of temper was doused immediately as Shinsou snorted, then laughed uproariously, clutching his middle and slamming his slim hand against the table. His laugh was rough, a creaky bray of a trumpet long neglected, but joyful all the same. After a moment, Shouto chuckled as well, somewhat because this entire tete-a-tete was so very bizarre, but mostly because he was relieved. They had gotten through this incredibly difficult conversation fraught with feelings and the threats of flashbacks and Shouto still couldn’t quite feel his legs, but neither one of them had run from the room screaming abuse, never to return. Shouto counted that as a win, especially when they had never exchanged so many words at once before. A hell of a first heart to heart, he mused.

“So why Starfleet, anyway? If you wanted to stay away from people, being confined on a ship in deep space for five years seems counterintuitive.” 

Shinsou rubbed his neck, one last chuckle exiting him breathlessly. It was the most Shouto had ever seen him smile. It was nice.“That, my friend, is a long story. Another time.” 

They fell into companionable silence as if nothing had changed between them at all, and Shouto was grateful, even as he still dreaded how quickly his fortune could change. Here amidst the flowers, a statistical impossibility in the endless dark of space, he could pretend for a moment that it never would. 

But soon enough, reality encroached, and Shouto knew he couldn’t ignore it forever. He needed to sort some things out, and this sort of thinking didn’t require an audience.

Before Shouto left, he paused at the threshold. He knew now, why he liked Shinsou so much. Why it was so easy to be around him. It was like having Toya back.

“You don’t have to say it,” Shinsou said quietly. 

Shouto smiled. “Thank you.” 

“Ugh. Get out of here before I’m forced to hug you. Trust me, nobody wants that.” 

Shouto did. 

Hours later, Shouto dithered in the Mess no closer to sorting out his feelings than he had been since he left the botany lab behind, and with several more messages to scatter his thoughts further into disarray.

Sorry I had to run off like that! Duty calls. Maybe I can catch you later? 

An invitation?

Looks like this meeting is never going to end. Hopefully, the Vulcans remember that we frail Humans need to eat. 

Was he really messaging Shouto while he should be paying attention to the people who had come to make sure they didn’t get blasted out of space by one of the Federation’s many opportunistic enemies?

They liked your report! 

Shouto very much doubted that his inconclusive findings would impress the scientists aboard the Sarek. But Shouto appreciated the sentiment anyway. 

Do you like holovids? 

The captain must have really been bored.

My favorite is

Whoops, Kacchan is glaring at me, I have to go!

There was nothing for several hours. Then a final message, one that had driven Shouto from his quarters in a burst of nervous energy.

Goodnight Shouto.  

Shouto plucked fitfully at the bread roll he’d decided to subject himself to this evening. Like everything else he’d tried to eat, it tasted just that slightest bit off. Not that Shouto really noticed the nuances of its flavor, distracted as he was by the unlikely certainty that he was being flirted with. Or, more accurately, flirted at. Because 'with' implied that Shouto was flirting back. Which he wasn’t.

Shouto read through the six short messages again. And again. The unfortunate truth was, he had absolutely no idea how to move forward, or if he even should. 

Did he want to? 

The question made his chest hitch, no closer to an answer than when he’d first asked it of himself with the heat of the captain’s body shivering across his skin. The short answer was vehemently yes. The long, convoluted, jittery, million-reasons-why-this-is-a-bad-idea answer was sort-of-kind-of no. Maybe. 

Shouto scowled, wishing his circuitous thoughts sounded less like a confused child with a crush and more like the jaded adult he’d earned the right to be. Sometimes he hated being in his own head. 

“Hey, Frosty.” A tray slammed down on the table in front of Shouto, startling him so badly that he froze on the spot, mouth gaping unattractively around a stray piece of bread. 

Bakugou slumped into the seat across from Shouto as if gravity was too much of a hassle to fight against for one more second. His angular face was pinched with irritation and the obvious signs of a tension headache. He must get a lot of those, Shouto thought nonsensically, with how much he seemed to frown. Bakugou bared his teeth, but even that looked like no more than a cursory gesture. “The hell are you looking at?” 

“Commander,” Shouto said redundantly, setting down his bread roll and wondering how this was his life. 

There were three-hundred and sixty-four Terrans of various races, fifteen VI Androids, seven Denobulans, two Andorians, one Vulcan-Betazoid hybrid, three Terran cats, and a Donobulan spiro bat aboard the Falcon, a total of nearly four hundred beings not including Shouto himself and the guests from the Sarek. So why was he having such a difficult time avoiding two people? At least until he knew what the hell he was supposed to say to them! One would think showing up at oh-three hundred hours at the abandoned Mess would be safe, but evidently not.

One half of Shouto’s biggest headache–the main reason allowing the captain to flirt with him was a terrible idea besides the general feeling of ‘what the actual fuck is happening’–was now sitting at his table as if that wasn’t an explosion about to happen. Did Bakugou even know Midoriya was interested in Shouto? Just what were they to each other, anyway? 

“Hey, I’m talking to you, Snowflake, you in there?” Bakugou demanded, forcing Shouto to sit up and pay attention. “I said I read your goddamn report. Sucks that the tech was in too bad a shape to make anything out.” 

Rather than the shame he’d felt when Midoriya mentioned it, Shouto felt himself grow aggravated. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to leave his quarters when his control was already so tenuous. “I might have gleaned more if you hadn’t completely dismantled it.” And burnt it to a crisp. And then thrown it against the wall for good measure.

“Hey, I disarmed a bomb, smartass. I wasn’t about to be gentle.” Far from being offended, Bakugou flashed him a grin that only served to make Shouto’s phantom headache worse. He checked himself, wondering how it was possible for Bakugou to always know just what buttons to press to set him off balance. 

“As you say, sir.” 

“Hey, none of that ‘sir’ shit when we’re off duty,” the slighter man said gruffly. His smile turned salacious and Shouto observed the not-so-subtle change with the air of a man on the railroad tracks, watching the train barrel in. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.” 

He knew it. He was going insane. Any moment now, Shouto would wake aboard the Sandrunner and all of this would have been a dream. 

Except, of course, that dreaming was impossible for androids. Bakugou really was flirting with him. 

Before Shouto could pull himself together enough to say anything, change the subject, or take a flying leap from the room using his tray as a shield, Bakugou’s expression sobered. 

“I know bombs, and that one was a nasty motherfucker. We weren’t supposed to survive.” He tilted his head, and somehow it looked far less cute and more threatening on this man than the captain. “About your theory–”

Shouto waited, but Bakugou seemed stuck on a thought. Shouto glanced down at his plate, wondering what it was that caught the commander’s attention. Had he been making a mess? 

“Are you–” Bakugou leaned forward suddenly, brushing his hand over Shouto’s cheek and ignoring the way Shotou jerked back in surprise. A rain of crumbs fell onto his shirt and Shouto realized with mortification that he had been making a mess after all. “Are you eating?”

Oh. Of course. “Yes.” 

Bakugou’s brows disappeared into his hairline, his usually explosive hair resting against his forehead softly. He had clearly not had much of a chance to style it in his usual fashion since they last spoke. Or, Shouto realized belatedly, perhaps it was the fact that it was well into the early morning hours and the man hadn’t bothered because he was in his pajamas. 

Huh. Were those regulation? The black silk of his half-buttoned shirt looked comfortable...Shouto wondered vaguely if he could replicate some for himself, already anticipating the silky glide against his skin...

“You’re shitting me. Why?”

Shouto raised a brow. “To make people more comfortable around me,” he deadpanned, placing another stale piece of bread in his mouth. It wasn’t technically a lie. He certainly wasn’t getting any enjoyment out of it. But elaborating that he was only doing it to fill some nosy doctor’s quota seemed like oversharing. 

“Huh,” Bakugou grunted, eyeing his food with disgust. “Does that even taste good?” 

Chewing slowly, Shouto swallowed and suppressed a grimace as it slid down his esophagus and into his core, to be incinerated. “No,” he said frankly. 

Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was that no one was meant to operate for thirty straight hours, organic or otherwise. But Shouto found it ironic that this, out of all the conversations he had today, turned out to be the most bizarre. Especially when Bakugou made an affronted noise and promptly slapped a bite of food from his own tray onto Shouto’s. 

“Eat,” he offered simply in the face of Shouto’s incredulity. 

Shouto scanned Bakugou’s face for a sign that he was joking–intent, faintly amused, but mostly serious–and found none. 

…

What the hell, Shouto thought. How bad could it be? He looked down, expecting to see another bland replicated something-or-other but stood corrected when he recognized...macaroni. And not just any macaroni, but a rich smelling, steaming conglomerate of shell pasta held together lovingly by a gooey mixture of at least three different cheeses. At least. And was that pepper?

This was not one of the Falcon’s replicated meal options. 

“You gonna eat it, or do you want me to feed it to you?” Bakugou drawled, uncowed by Shouto’s glare. He seemed to bask in  Shouto’s annoyance, which only served to make Shouto more annoyed.

Just to shut him up, Shouto put the offering in his mouth, already preparing a disdainful review that would wipe the infuriating smirk right off the man’s face. But the words caught in his mouth, and not just because the warm, melted cheese clung to every square centimeter of his tongue like sunlight wrapping around his shoulders after a long, cold year in the dark. 

It was delicious. 

A sound of delight and surprise escaped from Shouto’s throat before he could stop it, but he was too busy chewing and wondering why he’d ever bothered to put anything else in his mouth other than exactly this. He hadn’t even known something could taste good to him anymore, all of the flavors he’d once enjoyed lost to his new set of taste buds, but this. This hit every note he hadn’t known to look for. 

Only once his fork was thoroughly cleaned and the last trace of cheese was licked from his lips did Shouto realize that he had closed his eyes. He opened them and wasn’t even bothered by the cat-ate-the-canary expression on Bakugou’s face, as if he’d reeled in a prized fish simply by choosing the right bait. “Who made this?” Shouto demanded. He eyed the rest of the serving, still sitting temptingly untouched and steaming on Bakugou’s plate. 

Bakugou straightened minutely, like a king adjusting his cloak more comfortably over his shoulders; a well-worn garment of his birthright. “I did. If you ask nicely, I might give you some more.” 

“Please,” Shouto said without hesitation, almost plaintive, and that finally wiped the smirk off Bakugou’s face. He looked stunned, even, but Shouto couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. He hadn’t eaten anything that was remotely passable for nearly a year. He would get on his knees and beg if that’s what Bakugou required.

“Damn, we’ve been going about this the wrong way,” Bakugou muttered under his breath with a low chuckle, obligingly scooting his plate to Shouto. Shouto didn't bother to try to interpret that, too busy shunting his own tray aside so he could dig in. 

When there was nothing left – and Shouto had only barely managed not to lick up the last dregs of cheese – Shouto realized that the commander had been watching him in silence for the entirety of the meal. He finally had the wherewithal to be embarrassed, but he was too content to let it bother him overmuch. “You are a good cook,” he said awkwardly, attempting to somehow ease the tension he hadn’t noticed was building. It wasn’t unpleasant, per se, just...present. 

Bakugou’s faint, absent smile grew sharp. “You’re damn right I am.” He reached across the table once again and, before Shouto could react, swiped his thumb across Shouto’s lower lip, the rough pad skating across his nerves like lightning. Without leaning away, Bakugou dragged his tongue over his thumb, holding Shouto’s gaze like it was his by right. The digit gleamed wetly as he released it from his lips. “It’s a damn shame I didn’t see you first.” 

By the time Shouto managed to remember how to breathe, then subsequently remembered that he didn't have to, that this sudden dizziness had nothing to do with oxygen deprivation, Bakugou was already pulling away. “Thanks for the snack, Frosty,” he called over his shoulder, leaving Shouto alone in the Mess with the destruction of his thoughts and the dead certainty that not only was his captain trying to seduce him, but his commander as well. And Bakugou was doing it with food. 

It was working. 

Shouto was fucked. And just because no one was there at three in the morning to smack him with a ruler for it, Shouto said it aloud. 

“Fuck.”

Shouto was in over his head. But at least he no longer had to fear Bakugou’s retribution when he found out that Shouto had already responded to the captain’s flirtatious messages. 

Goodnight, Captain.

Chapter Text

Shouto worked silently. He crouched on his knees, elbow deep in a damaged power relay, but his mind wasn’t necessarily on the task at hand. 

He hadn’t heard from Midoriya today. Usually, the captain’s messages came like clockwork. Mundane things, mostly, but each and every one of them never failed to make Shouto smile.

Good morning, Shouto! The stars are especially pretty today. 

Or sometimes they were commentary about Midoriya’s day-to-day.

Kacchan seems to really dislike the Vulcans on board. It’s kind of funny watching his face go red when he tries to talk to them. But don’t tell him I said that!

And sometimes, when Shouto least expected it, Midoriya would make him blush.

I heard from Kacchan that you liked his pasta! He was in SUCH a great mood when he came home. I’ll have to thank you for that properly sometime ;)

Shouto ducked his head slightly, willing the predictable flush down before it could show on his face. It was occurring more and more often lately and Shouto wondered if he’d ever blushed so much in his life. He couldn't remember. It was a bit embarrassing, but he didn’t mind it. Midoriya seemed to like it. 

It had been three days since that particular message. Three days since Bakugou had made it abundantly clear what his and Midoriya’s intentions for Shouto were. Three days while Shouto had done little else but think about it. 

It was still a little disconcerting...but also thrilling, to have their attention like this. He wondered what he’d done to deserve it. As always, he came up blank. It was still pretty unbelievable, as if at any moment it would cease to be. 

Shouto’s chest ached slightly with anxiety. He hadn’t heard from Midoriya today, and he was trying his best not to read anything into it.

Maybe the captain hadn’t liked his responses? Shouto wasn’t exactly accustomed to casual correspondence. But he’d been trying. 

Good morning, Captain. I cannot see the stars from where I am posted, but I too find them aesthetically pleasing.  

My sympathies. I have never spoken with a Vulcan before, but I understand them to be challenging to communicate with when one is emotional by nature. Perhaps Commander Bakugou should try to keep his temper in check. But do not tell him I said so.

Midoriya had been particularly amused by that. 

The captain had been especially pleased when Shouto had tried using punctuation to emote for the first time. Shouto had agonized over it for several minutes, fully aware he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. This situation was ridiculous. Still, he’d gritted his teeth and sent it before he could second guess himself anymore. 

I look forward to it. :-)

Shouto had nearly had a meltdown waiting for a response, both because of the unusual punctuation and because he was flirting back.

He needn’t have worried. His inbox had practically flooded with praise that seemed to Shouto to be a little overboard, but no one could see it but him so he hadn’t felt the need to rationalize it. He’d simply let it wash over him, wondering when in his life he’d ever received such blatant encouragement for something so mundane. Or anything, really. 

!!!!!

You used an emoji! :D That’s so cool! 

:D <3 T~T 

Which had devolved into the captain apparently showing off all of the ‘emojis’ he knew. Shouto filed some of them away for later use. Some, he wasn’t sure what they even were – what exactly was the meaning behind an angle bracket paired with a three? – but he was sure he would learn with time. 

If the captain hadn’t become bored with him already, of course. 

“U-um. Mister Shouto? Is something the matter?” Ensign Kouda, who had been silently working at Shouto’s side for the better part of the last three days, asked tentatively, and Shouto realized belatedly that he hadn’t moved his hands in several minutes. 

Shouto slowly pulled away from the damaged compartment, careful not to get shocked again, and regarded his impromptu companion. Ensign Kouda was a rather large Denobulan man whose face resembled a clay cliff face. Meek in nature, he rarely spoke at all, either to Shouto or the rest of the crew in Engineering. It was part of the reason Shouto liked him. 

Ever since his conversation with Mei, the lieutenant had taken it upon herself to commandeer Shouto’s time and place him exclusively in Engineering. When Shouto protested, she had dismissed his concerns, giving him the same speech as Captain Joke about being unwilling to waste his talent on mundane maintenance. Of course, she said it with a lot more frantic gesticulating and without letting Shouto get a word in edgewise, and also, ‘why wouldn’t you want to play in Engineering! Isn’t it so much more interesting?’ 

Shouto couldn’t argue with that, even if, to his chagrin, he was pulled from beta shift and placed into alpha without his consent. But Mei was like a force of nature, and nature could not be bargained with. 

So it was that Shouto found himself interacting with more people than he’d been forced to do in over a year. The experience was not entirely pleasant. It drained his already limited social reserves,  fatiguing him more than usual.

His fellow engineers seemed disconcerted, at first by the way Mei talked to him, and Shouto couldn't blame them. He, too, was a bit disturbed over how she called him by the same obnoxious pet names as she did her inventions and the ship itself, as if she didn’t see Shouto as a person at all. 

But at least she treated him kindly. The others treated Shouto as little more than a servant once it was made clear by their superior officer that he was now a permanent fixture in engineering. Ensigns that were no higher ranked than Shouto were ordering him about as if they had any right. 

Had it always been like this? Shouto tried to think back to his encounters with the other crewmen on the Falcon, which had been few and far between. Usually, Shouto was performing maintenance around their tasks and little else, out of each other’s way and with no need to communicate. Now he was forced to work with them directly. Either they genuinely did not respect him or they were resentful of some fact that Shouto was not privy to. 

Was he being hazed? Was this some sort of initiation into the Engineering department that Shouto was not aware of? Even after he concisely explained that his current task was more important than fetching the kit you forgot, Miss Murata, or cleaning up the oil you spilled, Ensign Riku, he was merely given confused looks, as if none of them expected him to push back. 

It had been days of this, and it was wearing on Shotuo’s nerves. He wasn’t quite sure how to solve this problem. 

The only person Shouto could stand to be around for any length of time was Ensign Kouda. The large man was taller than Shouto by a head and much broader, yet he hunched over and stuttered when he spoke, as if the weight of any attention on him was too much to bear. Shouto could sympathize with that, and in him, Shouto found a kindred spirit in avoiding conversation as much as possible. Better yet, Kouda did his own work and did not bother Shouto with mundane requests that he could easily accomplish himself. 

Kouda, likewise, seemed to prefer Shouto’s silent company more than interacting with anyone else in engineering. Shouto didn’t question it, just enjoyed being next to someone without the pressure of socializing. It seemed that Kouda was not interested in silence today, however, though Shouto found that he didn't particularly mind. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Shouto answered as he began moving again, at least reassured that one person in this department was finally calling him by his name and not just ‘hey, you,’ that the rest of them seemed to favor. Kouda was the only one who’d asked. In fact, he was the only one who seemed interested in talking with Shouto beyond work at all, though their conversations had been brief at best. “I just find myself distracted today.” 

The ridges on Kouda’s forehead drew together in confusion. “Distracted? I didn’t know that was possible.” 

Shouto didn’t know if Kouda was joking or not. He didn’t know him well enough yet. “Nevertheless,” he said, frowning. 

“Is s-something...bothering you?” Kouda asked tentatively, as if carefully contemplating the words before enunciating them. 

Shouto side-eyed the man, trying to gauge if he actually cared whether Shouto was bothered or was just attempting to make small talk. That wasn’t like Kouda, though, from what little Shouto had observed. He seemed genuinely concerned. 

Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to try to talk to him – he seemed nice, and Shouto was starting to rely on their quiet companionship– Shouto shrugged. “I am just contemplating what it might mean when someone who contacts you every day suddenly stops. I’m probably overreacting, though. I’m not accustomed to such interactions.” 

“Over….reacting?” Koudo said faintly, looking at Shouto, really looking. Shouto shifted slightly in discomfort under his scrutiny, so uncharacteristic of a man whose eyes seemed permanently drawn to the floor. What had Shouto said this time that always seemed to garner such baffled stares? He would freely admit that he was an awkward person, but to get this many strange looks – even from someone who seemed fine with him before! – he had to be doing something. Was he making a weird face? 

Watching Kouda’s expression change from confusion to dread then mortification was like looking into a mirror of Shouto’s own discomfort, which only intensified as Kouda seemed to come to a distressing conclusion. Dropping from the crouch he’d been working in, Kouda faced Shouto, placing his large hands on his crossed legs. “I s-see. I guess I didn’t–I mean, I thought–I’m sorry!” Kouda stuttered, dipping his head in apology. Shouto blinked at him, bewildered at what he could possibly be apologizing for. But before he could ask, Kouda regarded him with determination. “What exactly is troubling you? I-I’m not the best with these things either, but maybe I can help?” 

Shouto sat stunned for a moment, taken aback by Kouda’s sudden vehemence. Contemplating his pale fingers and fighting the flush that he felt crawling up his neck, Shouto said quietly, “It’s probably nothing. There is no need to concern yourself.” 

“I mean. Y-you don’t have to tell me, but I-I know these sorts of things can be hard, even when you’re not–I mean– I don’t mean to say you’re less than–” Kouda covered his flushed face, muttering nonsense into his palms and Shouto almost laughed nervously at the way he was falling all over himself not to offend Shouto, of all people. Shouto wasn’t sure he’d ever come across someone so outwardly kind before, almost child-like in his earnestness.

“It’s alright,” he said gently, and Kouda peeked between his fingers, making Shouto smile ever so slightly. Kouda brightened then, and seemed to relax as Shouto made himself comfortable on the floor. A short break probably wouldn't hurt anything. Shouto wasn’t exactly being productive anyway. 

“I started exchanging messages with – a superior officer,” Shouto said vaguely, changing his mind about being entirely honest at the last second. He didn’t know whether the captain's relationship with Bakugou was official. From the way he talked about Bakugou, it was clear that they were very close. But Shouto wasn't certain if their relationship was disclosed and it was better to avoid complicating things with the rumor mill if he could help it. It wasn’t like he thought Kouda would be the type to spread rumors, but it was still better to err on the side of caution. “Personal messages. I think he’s...interested in me. But today I haven’t received anything from him.”

The longer Kouda listened, the more concerned his expression became. “I-interested in you as in a s-sexual way?” Kouda fretted. “I mean, is that alright? Ethically speaking?” Shouto’s brows drew together and Kouda panicked, speaking so quickly he began tripping over his words. “I mean, c-can you even have –uh, y-you can consent, right?” By the end, Kouda’s coloring more closely resembled rust than clay and Shouto might have been flustered as well if Kouda’s panic wasn’t already enough for both of them. He pursed his lips, trying to take Kouda’s words at face value and not get offended. He supposed it was a fair question. His situation wasn’t exactly ideal in the eyes of Starfleet. But, strictly speaking, fraternization between officer and subordinate wasn’t necessarily forbidden. Regulations against it had been practically thrown out the window once Earth was capable of sending teams out for more than a few months at a time, though it was still somewhat frowned upon for members of the command team. 

Shouto did his best to assuage his nervous new friend. “Though they are superior officers, they have not crossed any lines of consent,” he said plainly. So far, all they’d done was flirt with him. And feed him. Hardly the stuff of scandal. 

“O-oh that’s good. Wait. Superior officers? As in, multiple?” Kouda said, aghast. “Mister Shouto, are you in some sort of trouble? Do you need h-help?”

The longer this conversation went on, the more confusion Shouto felt. The usually meek man was practically bristling in Shouto’s defense, though Shouto couldn't fathom why. “I am not in trouble,” he insisted, though even he wasn’t sure that that was the case. He was, just not the kind Kouda was implying. “They have been nothing but kind to me.” Bakugou’s first terrible impression notwithstanding.

Kouda did not look appeased. “Kindness doesn’t necessarily mean they have your best interests at heart, Mister Shouto! What if they are only interested in you for s-s-s-sex!” The last word was practically choked, and Shouto wondered if perhaps Ensign Kouda was younger than his size made him appear. It was hard to tell with Denobulans, who lived quite a bit longer than Humans.

Shouto considered Kouda’s words. What if they were only interested in him for sex? He didn’t really have any indication that they wanted more, exactly. But did it really matter? It was becoming more and more obvious to Shotou that he wanted that too. 

Did Shouto even want more? He thought about it, really thought about it, for the first time, ignoring Kouda’s nervous vibrating for the moment. Before he’d realized that they were flirting, Shouto had...well, not hoped for friendship, exactly. It was more nebulous than that; as if he were simply being pulled along in the wake of those with stronger personalities than himself. It wasn’t as if he expected any sort of relationship out of this, though the thought that their interest in him would wane completely once he’d given them what they wanted was a sad one. 

Still, nothing he wasn't already accustomed to. 

“So what if they are?” Shouto said frankly. “I like sex.” If today had shown him anything, Shouto would miss talking with the captain if what Kouda was suggesting came to pass. But he would certainly enjoy it to the fullest while it lasted.

Kouda actually squeaked at Shouto’s blunt admission, and the impression that he was younger than Shouto first supposed strengthened. “Oh,” Kouda said faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. He clearly hadn’t known what he was getting himself into when he initiated this conversation. To be fair, Shotou hadn’t either. “I-I just. Don’t want you to be taken advantage of, that’s a-all.” 

It was sweet of Kouda to be so concerned about Shouto’s virtue, but he needn’t be. While he’d never been in a relationship, Shouto had not been bereft of encounters of the more carnal kind in the past. He had played the game before. It had been a long time since he’d considered it – after everything that happened, his sex drive was the last thing on his mind. Besides that, in this new body, it was as easy to ignore as flipping off a switch. He’d simply shut it down so he wouldn’t be bothered by it. He hadn’t thought about it since, not until Bakugou and Midoriya had forcefully introduced the idea to him again. 

“I’m more concerned that they’ve lost interest already,” he said, shifting the conversation back to the matter at hand. In for an inch, in for a mile, he figured. “I haven’t heard from either of them today…” Not that Bakugou was the messaging type, in any case.

“Um,” Kouda mumbled, his face slowly regaining its normal orange hue. “It is possible that they're just busy. Everyone has been working odd hours and while sometimes it can be a bit lonely when your friends aren’t messaging you, it could just mean that they’re tired or need a break.” 

Such a straightforward answer, so much so that Shouto had entirely overlooked it. With the ship still idling along at impulse power, the entire crew had been forced to take double, and sometimes triple shifts. It was entirely possible that the captain and commander were sleeping, even, what with the irregular hours everyone was forced to keep. The theory made him feel marginally better. Perhaps he was overreacting. 

Kouda folded his hands over his crossed legs, blinking at Shouto guilelessly. “If you’re really sad about it, why don’t you try messaging them first? I’m sure if they really are interested in you, they’ll be happy to get your message!” 

Shouto...hadn’t considered that. Messaging the captain first? He frowned. 

“I-I know it can be a bit scary,” Kouda was quick to reassure, correctly interpreting Shouto’s silence. “But I’ve learned that even if your loved ones aren't messaging you back, it doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking about you. My wives are constantly getting onto me for fretting on my own just because they haven’t messaged me in a while.”

Shouto’s brows lifted. Wives? Once again, he found himself wondering just how old Kouda was. He was becoming more of a mystery by the second, odd for a married man to be so nervous talking about sex, an innocence about him implying that such topics were beyond him even though that couldn't be the case.

Kouda tilted his head, oblivious to Shouto’s musings. “You know, you’re a lot more, uh– more than I thought you were. I’m glad I got to talk to you like this!”

“I...me too,” Shotou said sincerely, though he still felt as though they were speaking on two different wavelengths. How can he be more than himself? “Your advice is appreciated.”

Kouda smiled brightly. “We should hang out sometime! I-if you want, I mean. I–”

“Hello, dogbreath,” a nasty voice interrupted. 

Abruptly, Kouda’s face fell and he flinched, the shoulders that Shouto had not noticed had straightened returning to their usual defensive slump. The change between the bubbly man Shouto had been speaking with and the cowering creature now before him was so stark that Shouto was momentarily struck speechless. 

Shouto looked up into an ugly sneer – Lieutenant Monoma, he recalled after a moment, a rather unpleasant man from Security. Shouto did not have much personal experience with him, though it was clear from the way the rest of the crew reacted to his presence that he was universally disliked. Did they know each other?

Monoma ignored Shouto’s presence as if he were made of air and regarded Kouda’s huddling form with a disdainful smirk. “I see you’ve moved on from talking with vermin to androids. At least something on this ship won’t mind your pathetic stuttering.” 

Shouto rose to his feet, failing to comprehend exactly what had provoked this disagreeable man to start throwing insults. Kouda said nothing, looking anywhere but up at the officer leaning over him threateningly. Kouda was twice Monoma’s size, but that didn’t seem to matter to the timid young Denobulan who Shouto was starting to suspect would not defend himself. 

“Though I’m sure even an android would get sick of you eventually,” Monoma said gleefully, a shark smelling blood at Kouda’s silence. Shouto bristled, stepping between the man and his cowering friend. 

Lieutenant Monoma seemed completely unfazed by Shouto’s movement, barely sparing him a glance. Kouda, however, received his full attention as he got to his feet to stand slightly behind Shouto. “Sh-sh-shut up, Monoma. Y-y-you don’t know wh-what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh?” Monoma stepped past Shouto as if he weren’t even there to loom over Kouda’s hunched form. There was an unsettling emptiness in his expression that set Shouto’s teeth on edge. “Look who’s finally growing a backbone! And in the defense of a bot, no less. Figures you would only defend this thing rather than your own worthless self.” 

Kouda flinched as if Monoma struck him and Shouto had had enough. “Lieutenant Monoma,” he barked. “You are in violation of regulation 6B subsection 4 in regards to inappropriate conduct toward another member of the crew. Step away immediately.” 

Monoma’s shoulders straightened in surprise at the command in Shouto’s tone, though the sharpness of his smile did not waver, pinching at the corners of his eyes in a persistent leer. “What’s this? Is this piece of junk talking back to me?” He stepped forward despite Shouto’s warning, crowding into his space. Shouto looked down on him coldly, unintimidated by the smaller man. “What are you going to do about it, bot? You can’t do shit to me.” 

“I can and will report you, Lieutenant. You will leave at once.” 

“Uh, um,” Kouda attempted, but jumped as Monoma slammed his hand against Shouto’s chest, forcing him back against the bulkhead. “Monoma, stop it!” 

“Shut it, dogfucker!” Monoma snarled without looking at him, empty gaze locked on Shouto’s painfully stiff face. This time there were no proximity alarms; Shouto had shut the bothersome alerts off after they kept triggering at the slightest encroachment on his person. It meant that there was nothing to distract him from his rising irritation. He struggled to get ahold of his temper, grappling to recall his conflict resolution training and wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this without breaking a dozen regulations – or the repulsive man’s bones. 

“Step away. I will not warn you again.” Shouto’s voice was pure ice, his hands clenched rigidly at his sides. This was clearly a man who thought his position gave him power over others and seemed to be laboring under the misapprehension that Shouto would not lay him out on the floor. 

Shouto got the sinking feeling that Monoma had targeted Kouda before. Perhaps he only targeted those he thought wouldn’t, or couldn’t, fight back.

“Oh? And what are you going to do? Site regulation me?” Monoma sneered. He looked more closely at Shouto’s face. “Hm. Now that I get a good look at you, you sort of look like one of those fuck toys. Maybe that’s why this loser is so interested in you, hm? Moved on from fucking animals to machines?” The hand against Shouto’s chest turned into a finger running delicately down his abdomen. Obscene. Kouda gasped, whether at the insult or the insinuation. “How about it, then? You going to ‘stop’ me from your knees?” 

Shouto’s skin crawled. A drumbeat pounded in his head, his vision doubling as Monoma’s hateful face blurred between pale and tan, his hair between white-blond and fiery red. This wasn’t just posturing. This man had come here deliberately with the intention to hurt.

Threat.

Shouto’s vision sharpened, his eyes narrowing to singular points of light. He could see every detail of Monoma’s face, the surrounding area coming into vivid focus. He could sense everything, from the beat of Monoma’s quickening heart to the power fluctuations in the damage he’d been repairing. Shouto’s anger rose inside him, almost physically burning him with its strength. 

Monoma reared back, a flash of alarm wiping the cruel smirk off his face. His hand snatched away from Shouto’s person as if he could feel it too. “What the hell?”

But Shouto did not hear him. He took a menacing step forward –

An alert pulsing in Shouto’s commands brought him up short, abruptly bringing him out of his tumultuous anger. ‘Defensive Systems Activated’ was displayed in vivid red and it was only the shock of the unfamiliar protocol that stopped Shouto from rearing back and laying Monoma out on the deck. 

Defensive systems? Since when did Shouto have defensive systems?  

“That’s enough!” Kouda’s voice boomed with unexpected force and they jerked apart. Kouda shouldered his way between Shouto and Monoma and placed a large hand on Monoma’s chest, pushing him back firmly. Now that Kouda was standing at full height, Monoma took several steps away from the much larger man. “Mister Monoma, please leave.” 

Monoma didn’t seem to hear him, looking at Shouto shrewdly. Whatever he’d seen in Shouto’s face before Kouda interrupted them must have shaken him, however, because he shook his head before leaving abruptly the way he came. 

The second he was gone, Kouda deflated with a groan, collapsing against the wall and sliding down so he could hide his face in his knees. Shouto’s legs too seemed unwilling to support him any longer. He joined Kouda on the floor, their work long forgotten.

“Are you alright?” Shotuo asked, and Kouda made a distressed sound, peeking out from between the safety of his arms. 

“I-I should be a-asking you that. A-are you okay? D-did that jerk hurt you?” 

Shouto was not hurt. But he did not know if he was okay. He blinked slowly, but whatever was contained in his apparent defensive capabilities was once again beyond his reach. The sharpness of the hall around them had faded back into his normal viewing parameters after the apparent threat was removed. 

Kouda followed his gaze. “What was that? Your eyes went... weird for a moment.” 

Shouto shot him a startled look. “I...I don’t know. The lieutenant may have unwittingly tripped one of my defensive capabilities.” That he hadn’t even known he’d had. Quickly, Shouto opened his command catalog and scanned it, but as he expected, he did not find anything approaching what he’d experienced. He’d been through this list hundreds of times and had never seen anything of the sort. 

Had Shouto’s caseworker, the one assigned to help him grow accustomed to his body in the early days of his new experience, not told him about this? Or if he did, did  Shouto simply not recall? Unease sat like a phantom ache in Shouto’s throat, growing thicker the more he contemplated it. The latter was entirely possible. During that first adjustment period, there had been so much to grow accustomed to that Shouto had to admit there was a lot that he could not specifically recollect. 

It was probably nothing. He hated the thought, but maybe he should visit Sickbay. Perhaps the doctor had more insight than Shouto. 

Before he even considered leaving, however, he needed to make sure Kouda would be okay. 

“Has this been happening frequently?” 

Kouda seemed to wilt. He looked away. “Monoma is someone I knew from the Academy. He likes to find the weaknesses in people and use it against them. He found out I have an affinity for animals and has harassed me about it ever since.” Shouto frowned, wondering how someone like that was able to reach his current rank, but Kouda continued before he could comment. “He’s always been...unpleasant. But that...that was something else. He’s never given me the impression that he’s dangerous. He’s n-never resorted to violence before.” 

“Why have you never reported him?” 

“I was afraid things would get worse,” Kouda whispered and Shouto knew exactly what he meant. “Before now, it was just words. And now he’s probably going to start harassing you, too! I’m so s-sorry!” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Shouto told the distressed man. Monoma was unpleasant, but as Kouda said, Shouto didn’t think he was particularly dangerous. Just awful. Shouto had, once again, overreacted. He needed to get a hold on his temper before he really messed up. “It’s not your fault. I should not have provoked him.” 

“A-are you sure? I could–” But what Kouda could do was apparently beyond him and he hid in his arms again. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Shouto soothed. He hesitated before placing a hand on Kouda’s shoulder, attempting to comfort him. “I can take care of myself.” 

Kouda sniffed and looked up at Shouto with a tremulous smile. “That is true. And now Monoma knows it too!” 

Shouto huffed lightly in amusement.  “He knows you’ll defend yourself as well, now. Thank you for stepping in for me like that.” Shouto was unprepared when Kouda pulled him into a swift hug. He went rigid, astonished.

“You defended me first. Thank you,” he whispered and Shouto melted into his embrace. “Oh! You’re very warm,” Kouda said, pulling back with slight concern, too soon for Shouto’s liking. Shouto blinked, and sure enough, his sensors indicated that he was above average temperature, though it was falling rapidly. “Is that normal?” 

“I don’t believe so,” Shouto said, frowning slightly. That was odd. 

“Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. The excitement might have overheated you?” Kouda suggested, and while Shouto thought that simple excitement was incapable of doing anything untoward to him physically, he did concede that it was a bit odd. Maybe he should talk to Aizawa, after all. 

Shouto got to his feet, feeling pleasantly content despite his worries. “Perhaps you are right. Will you be alright by yourself?” He was aware that Kouda was far from defenseless after the impressive display he just witnessed, but Shouto knew how shaken one could be when facing down a frequent abuser. 

Kouda’s smile was tremulous but determined. “I’ll be alright, Mister Shouto. I’ll cover you, so please go get some rest.”

Shouto nodded, satisfied that Kouda would be alright. “Thank you.” 

This time Kouda’s smile was genuine. “That’s what friends are for,” he said brightly before waving a stunned Shouto on his way. 

Shouto, feeling warm now for more reasons than one, left swiftly, making a B-line toward Sickbay. He wasn’t certain what it was he’d just experienced, but he wanted a second opinion before he was forced to make contact with his handler, a rather unsettling man at the best of times. 

Talking to that man always made Shouto feel a little like a lab specimen, and he’d like to avoid it if at all possible. He’d exhaust all other avenues of research before resorting to such drastic measures. 

Shouto didn’t know why he hadn’t considered the state Sickbay would be in. It was callous of him, but since no one he knew personally had been badly injured he’d hardly given anyone else a thought since the attack.

The smell hit him first. Far from the sterile nothingness that Shouto was accustomed to when forced to visit, Sickbay permeated illness and the faint tang of blood, even nearly a week after the incident. Every biobed was occupied as nurses walked swiftly between them. Not all of them had privacy screens, as there were too many bodies in too small a space to accommodate them all. There were even some unlucky crewmembers on folding cots meant for fieldwork shoved into every available space. 

The range of injuries was vast, from burns to broken bones to the clear signs of space exposure that blackened skin just as surely as any fire. Regenerators were attached to as many people as there were machines, but the work was clearly slow going with so many patients. There was one unfortunate woman whose eyes were covered, and the scars on her cheeks were a macabre promise of what lay underneath. 

Shouto swallowed, his hand drifting over his flawless skin twinging with sympathetic pain. He took a step back, nearly leaving Sickbay far, far behind, but he was spotted before he could make his escape.

“There you are, kid! About time you came around,” Aizawa said gruffly, appearing beside Shouto as if he’d been standing there the whole time. Shouto flinched, unable to stop the response in time, something that did not escape the doctor’s notice. 

Aizawa looked like hell, eyes more bloodshot than usual and shoulders slumped with obvious fatigue. There were new lines around his mouth, as if the stress and grief of the past week left a permanent mark on him. The lines only deepened in response to Shouto’s flinch. Without another word, Aizawa ushered Shouto into his office, but not before Shouto caught sight of the shrouds in the back of sickbay. 

The crewmen who didn’t make it. 

Shouto sat ashen in the chair Aizawa guided him towards. “How many,” he whispered. 

“Don’t do that to yourself, kid,” Aizawa said tiredly, and Shouto nodded, pushing it down until he could force himself to breathe again. “I heard what you did in Communications. The crew who made it are in your debt.” 

That did not make Shouto feel better. The last thing Shouto wanted was for anyone to feel indebted to him. 

“So what brings you to Sickbay today? Are you injured?” 

“No,” Shouto told his folded hands. “I was unharmed by the events of last week.” 

Aizawa scoffed. “Oh yeah? Don’t think I didn't read your report on the attack. You took a massive amount of volts from the ship’s comms and didn’t tell me about it.”

Shouto opened his mouth, closed it. “I didn’t sustain any damage,” he said slowly, but Aizawa did not look appeased. 

Aizawa grumbled under his breath, probably going through his favorite swears on principle. Shouto fought the urge to scowl at him. Did he wish Shouto had been hurt or something? But it appeared that Aizawa had something else on his mind. “Physically, maybe,” Aizawa grumbled, taking a seat behind his desk. “But I know your history, kid. You’ve been through hell and that attack couldn’t have been easy to experience. It was a lot like what went down on the S.S. Endeavor, wasn’t it?” 

Shouto jerked back in his seat, taken aback to hear that dreaded name so suddenly. Thrown, it took him several seconds to regain his words. To Aizawa, his silence was damning.

Shouto swallowed roughly. “I’m fine,” he said, willing it to be true. For Aizawa to drop it. He didn't need this right now. This wasn’t why he was here. 

Aizawa was silent for a few moments and Shouto finally brought himself to look up into his tired face. “Half the crew is suffering from PTSD right now, and you might not be diagnosed, but I can read the signs. I have half a mind to assign you the same therapy sessions I’m giving to everyone else. I have no idea how you were cleared for duty without it.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Shouto muttered, barely audible to his own ears. 

He went ignored. “It’s not a weakness to talk to someone, Todoroki,” Aizawa said gently, but Shouto shivered. 

“ Don’t call me that,” he snapped, temper flaring. He hadn’t heard that name in weeks and he was glad for it. For once, he actually preferred to be called ‘kid’. 

Realizing suddenly that his tone was less than appropriate, Shouto eased back, not entirely contrite beneath Aizawa’s raised brows. “I am talking to someone,” he said in a more reasonable tenor.

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa said, and Shouto shot him a look. “You two are as bad as each other. And no need to look so surprised. As if I don’t talk to my own son.” Aizawa leaned back and, to Shouto’s mild bewilderment, pulled out a bottle of sake and two cups. Filling them both, the doctor slid one to Shouto, who took it tentatively. 

“Drinking on duty?” Shouto said, sipping the drink nonetheless. It was sweet. Shouto took another sip. 

Aizawa snorted. “I happen to be off duty, brat.” 

Shouto’s silent accusation, the inquiry about why the hell Aizawa was working on his off hours and not resting, was silent, but Aizawa heard it anyway. He even seemed amused at the hypocrisy of it and Shouto shrugged, acknowledging the irony more easily than he would acknowledge that he actually cared.

“We’re short staffed,” Aizawa admitted quietly. “I lost two of my nurses during the attack.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shouto said simply and Aizawa grunted, refilling Shouto’s cup. He took another sip.

“After the hell we’ve been through this week, we deserve a goddamn drink.” Aizawa contemplated his cup, swirling the liquid and staring into it as if the answers he sought were in its milky depths. “So I haven’t seen you in a while. How are things? Anything new?” 

That...was a loaded question. So much had changed over the past week that Shouto didn't even know where to begin. Should he tell Aizawa that he was being pursued by his superior officers and he had no idea how to handle it? That he had been commandeered by Engineering, most of whom didn’t seem to like him? That he’d fought with another crewmember and maybe sort of found out that he doesn’t know half as much about the body he was living in than he thought? 

Suddenly Shouto wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. About any of it. Stress sat acrid on the back of his tongue. He knew if he brought it up, Aizawa might take it as an excuse to take him off duty, maybe send him back to Earth. It felt like he was barely approved for duty as it was, what with the way Aizawa pestered him. What if this was the final straw?

“Kid?” Aizawa inquired, completely unaware of the dark turns Shouto’s mind had taken him. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have come… or maybe he was just being paranoid. Aizawa, despite his curmudgeonly demeanor, had never seemed to have anything but Shouto’s best interests at heart. Surely if he asked for discretion, the doctor would help him? Patient confidentiality and all that? 

Aizawa was waiting for his answer patiently, and Shouto stalled. “I...think I made a new friend. And. I’ve been to the Mess more often. Someone made me some dinner and it was...pleasant.” He trailed off, realizing what an understatement that was. 

Aizawa seemed distinctly amused at Shouto’s bland descriptions. “That’s great, Shouto. I’m glad you’re finally socializing, even if it took us nearly getting blown out of this deathtrap you call a ship to do it.” 

“Yeah,” Shouto agreed noncommittally. “I’ve been sleeping better, too.” This was also true, and Aizawa’s propensity to tell Shouto ‘I told you so’ was probably going to distract him adequately enough to get him to drop any more dangerous subjects, at least until Shouto could work out what the hell he was going to say. 

Predictably, Aizawa muttered obscenities and did just that. Shouto bore it with gritted teeth and ignored it for the most part. He was getting adept at filtering out the doctor’s nonsense to figure out what he was actually trying to say. 

Eventually, though, Shouto felt compelled to speak, lest he be stuck there being lectured all day. “Something...strange happened,” he blurted, and Aizawa fell immediately silent, the lines around his mouth deepening in concern. Shouto hesitated,  switching tracks slightly. “You are familiar with my schematics, correct?” 

Aizawa set aside his cup. “Yeah, I read all of it. I’m a doctor, not an engineer, though, so some of it might be over my head.” He scowled. “Majima is the only one I’d consider consulting if something went wrong, but he won’t be cleared for duty for a long while, if ever again.” 

Shouto nodded slowly, momentarily distracted by the news. “He won’t recover?” 

“Paralyzed from the waist down, and still unconscious to boot,” Aizawa said gravely. “He might walk again someday, but I’m no specialist. I’m sending him to a colleague of mine once we reach drydock, if we ever get there at the rate we’re going in this broken down boat. Without Majima, that might take longer than any of us would like.” He waved his hand. “But enough about that. You said something strange happened.” 

Shouto tried to order his thoughts. How to handle this delicately… “Are you aware of any protocols that may be triggered in response to danger? Beyond the compulsory adrenaline response and alarms.” 

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “What sort of protocols?” 

“Defensive in nature,” Shouto said bluntly. 

Aizawa hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t remember reading anything about that. Did something trigger when the attack happened?” 

Aizawa...didn’t know. That complicated things. 

Ignoring the question, Shouto insisted. “You don’t remember seeing anything at all?” 

“No, Shouto. Is this something we should be concerned about?” Aizawa asked seriously.

Shouto wasn’t certain. Looking back, he had stopped himself before anything untoward could happen. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been this close to assaulting an officer. Admitting that would mean admitting that he wasn’t entirely in control of his body and that was something he could not afford, not while he was still under so much scrutiny as it was.

More importantly than that. If Aizawa didn’t know about it, that meant that Shouto’s search into his own schematics may be just as fruitless. Troubling.

“Shouto?” 

“No,” Shouto finally answered, choosing his words carefully. “It’s nothing we need to worry about. I was overwhelmed by the attack and may have imagined things that weren’t there.” 

That was the wrong thing to say and Shouto regretted it instantly as Aizawa’s brow darkened. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to speak to the ship’s counselor?” 

“It is unnecessary,” Shouto said stiffly, back on the defensive and wishing vehemently that he’d chosen a different lie. Stupid!

Aizawa was not impressed. “Kid, you just told me you were imagining things that weren’t there! What am I supposed to think?” He lifted a hand before Shouto could protest again. “Look, I’m not going to throw you out of the airlock for being a little stressed. We just went through hell and this isn’t your first rodeo with trauma, and dammit, on this godforsaken tin can it won’t be the last! I’m just suggesting that you allow the ship’s counselor who is trained to help trauma victims to help you before this starts affecting your work.” 

That was a low blow. Shouto had never allowed his issues to affect his –

Except that he had, hadn’t he? If Bakugou hadn’t snapped him out of it during the attack when simply looking at fire had incapacitated him, he would be dead. And it was becoming blindingly apparent that he couldn’t handle a simple altercation anymore without nearly giving in to the urge for violence.

Shouto’s entire body could have been chipped from marble for all he gave away, and Aizawa deflated, rubbing his irritated eyes roughly. 

“You’ve gotta give me something. Meet me halfway, for chrissake, don’t make me make it an order.  Just...talk to her a couple of times, that’s all I’m asking. You might even get something out of it.” 

Shouto seriously doubted that would be the case. He had come here for help –willingly! Of his own volition!– and had instead had his professional integrity questioned and been assigned yet another babysitter that could send him straight back to Earth if he stepped even slightly out of line. Once again, Shouto felt embittered by the scrutiny he was forced to endure, well beyond what a normal crewman might experience. Was Lieutenant Monoma being forced into counseling? Somehow he doubted it.

Aizawa sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, nearly everyone has been assigned the same. It’s standard procedure after incidents like this.”

“As you say, Doctor,” Shouto said stiffly, not really listening anymore. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to work.” 

“...Alright, kid,” Aizawa said wearily, sensing he’d pushed as far as Shouto would go today. “I still expect to see you next week for our checkup. I’ll send you the details for your counseling sessions tomorrow.” 

Shouto inclined his head tersely and made a swift exit, not even registering the state of Sickbay that had so affected him before. 

He strode down the hallway blindly, incensed. This. This was what he got for trying to talk to someone when he knew he was better off dealing with things alone. 

It doesn’t help that you practically proved to him that you’re a headcase, Shouto thought scathingly. Imagined something that wasn’t there? What the hell had he been thinking? At least he hadn’t been stupid enough to tell Aizawa about what almost happened with Monoma. He’d probably throw Shouto into the brig, no questions asked.

Stop being so fucking dramatic, a disdainful voice that sounded suspiciously like his Father scolded, making Shouto feel even worse. He hadn’t heard that voice in a while. It forced him to slow down and take a deep breath, slumping against the wall before he wore a hole in the deck with his pacing. A few whispers reached him and Shouto looked up sharply, noticing that he’d caught the attention of a few passing ensigns. Skin crawling, his spine went ramrod straight and he continued on his way down the hall. He needed to find a quiet place to think.

His first instinct was to find Shinsou, and he about faced, intending to do just that. But he hesitated. 

Ever since their conversation about Shinsou’s abilities, Shouto had been careful not to bother him with his emotions. It was becoming increasingly apparent that Shinsou was dealing with problems of his own, seeming to become more worn down by the day while the rest of the crew recovered. Shouto wasn’t certain what was bothering the man, but if being calm around him was all Shinsou needed, then Shouto would do just that. 

Right now, Shouto’s head was a nightmare and he didn’t want to inflict it upon his friend. That wasn’t fair. But that didn’t leave Shouto a lot of options. He thought of Kouda but dismissed it just as quickly. Kouda’s hands had been shaking when Shouto left. The last thing the man needed after facing down his harasser was Shouto’s drama. Besides, Kouda had done enough for him.

Growling in frustration, Shouto ducked into an empty storage room, sighing in relief to find it empty. If there was no one who could help him, then he would find solace in solitude as he had so many times before.

The room was cramped, stacked to the brim with containers of various sizes. It looked as though it might have been intended to be an observation room with its large floor to ceiling viewports, or perhaps a recreation area that had fallen out of use at some point. Whatever the case, Shouto’s stress eased slightly as the claustrophobia he’d been suffering without his notice eased away in the face of the shimmering blanket of stars that opened up before him. He shuffled around the piles of old equipment and approached the viewport to the outside void, slumping down against a large crate until he could see nothing else. His head thunked against the hard surface as he finally relaxed. 

As the stars filled his vision, it felt to Shouto as though the ship was at a standstill, the view moving so incredibly slowly past on impulse alone that it was like they weren’t moving at all. Stagnant, unchanging, purgatory. Just like Shouto had felt for the past year. He glared balefully at his own reflection, an indistinct smudge of white and red against the backdrop of space. His reflection stared blankly back, as lifeless and disturbing to him as always. 

His eyes clenched shut, blocking it out. He needed to think about something else, anything else. Shouto wanted desperately to escape, even if just in the confines of his own mind.

It took him longer than necessary to recognize the sound of the door sliding open, the flood of light that threw stark shadows over his reclined form. Shouto froze. Shit. He was supposed to be on duty, and here he was, slacking. He needed to –

“Kacchan! What are you doing?” Midoriya giggled breathlessly as he and Bakugou ducked into the room, and Shouto’s thoughts ground to a halt. 

There was a loud thunk and Bakugou cursed. “Ouch, fuck! It’s fucking dark in here. Computer, lights to ten percent.” 

The room lit with dim orange light and Shouto saw them both in the reflection of the viewport. He sat still, hoping they wouldn’t notice him, simultaneously unsure why he hid. They didn’t seem to see him, though, looking around before taking a seat across from each other on some unused crates.

“Kacchan! We’re supposed to be in a meeting in thirty minutes! We already missed half our shift because you didn’t wake me up!” Midoriya scolded. 

Oh. That was why he hadn’t contacted him. Shouto felt foolish for his worry now. Foolish and relieved. So much for not caring whether they lost interest in him...Shouto was starting to think that giving them up would be harder than he supposed, if this is how he felt after half a day of no contact. He opened his mouth, ready to call out and announce himself, but Bakugou spoke before he could.

“You needed the rest, nerd,” Bakugou shrugged dismissively. “Besides, I ran it by Eyebags and made arrangements for our relief. It’s fine, so stop bitching and take a damn day off.” 

“But…” Midoriya fretted, still not sounding terribly convinced. 

“Look, you’ve been working yourself to the bone ever since Admiral Shitstain sent us on that diplomatic mission that went to hell. It wasn’t your fault, Deku, for fuck’s sake. You ain’t got nothing to prove.” 

There was a low muttering that Shouto couldn’t discern, as if Midoriya didn’t quite believe Bakugou’s words. Shouto wondered if that was a mission that happened before he was assigned to the Falcon. He had regrettably never known a Midoriya that didn't look half-dead with fatigue. He silently approved of Bakugou’s underhanded trick to get the captain to rest. 

There came a low, throaty chuckle and Bakugou stood from his slump against the crate he was resting against. Shouto watched his indistinct form saunter toward the captain, who had straightened at the sound of his laughter. “What can I do to convince you to relax, hm?” Bakugou said lowly, intimately. 

Midoriya’s response was immediate. “Computer. Lock the door, captain’s code alpha-delta-zed-six-four-nine.” The computer’s confirming beep nearly had Shouto jumping out of his skin. Feeling suddenly trapped and thrown by the sudden change in atmosphere, Shouto sat in utter disbelief of the situation he found himself in. There was no escaping now. He should say something. Immediately.

Bakugou’s laughter was raucous, unfiltered. “Expecting something, nerd?” 

“I just know you, Kacchan,” Midoriya chuckled as well, hands reaching out to meet Bakugou halfway, grabbing his waist and pulling him between his parted thighs. 

Shouto felt himself flush all the way to his ears, but couldn’t take his eyes off of their reflections as they came together. He should really call out. Stop them, let them know he was here, and possibly resign on the spot in mortification. This was becoming dangerous, and he shouldn’t be witnessing such an intimate moment while they were unaware of his presence.

Shouto did none of those things. 

Bakugou hummed as Midoriya pulled him into a kiss, their arms wrapping around each other loosely, unhurried. Midoriya suddenly laughed. “Was this your plan all along? Lure me into a storage room to mess around? We could have just stayed in our cabin, Kacchan!” 

“This is more fun,” Bakugou dismissed. “The thrill of getting caught and all that.” 

“I locked the door,” Midoriya pointed out, sounding a little breathless despite himself.

“It could still happen,” Bakugou husked against his lips and Midoriya groaned, his lax hold tightening around the slimmer man’s hips. “Heh. Pervert.” 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Midoriya ordered, and Shouto couldn’t see clearly, not with just their distorted likenesses in the viewport, but he could hear.

Shouto slapped a hand over his mouth to stop his breath as the lewd smack of lips against lips, tongue sliding over tongue, small groans of pleasure and relief filled the small room, and the temperature couldn’t possibly have heated up so quickly but Shouto felt hot. 

He could shut it down. He didn’t have to feel this at all if he didn’t want to. 

Shouto wanted to.

Feeling somewhat depraved, he turned up the sensitivity of his auditory sensors until he could hear every exhale, every slide of skin against skin. So acute was his hearing that he could almost feel the caresses against his own self, the pulse he no longer had racing to the beat of their accelerating heartbeats, the rustle of fabric gliding over his skin. He snapped his eyes open, unaware that he’d closed them and nearly gasped, gave himself away.

Midoriya’s shirt had disappeared at some point in Shouto’s distraction, leaving nothing but soft golden skin exposed to the cool filtered air. He was built, more built than Shouto realized, and even in his reflection the soft panes of his developed muscles cast pleasing shadows over his wide form. Bakugou’s hands roamed freely as he stood between the captain’s parted thighs, over shoulders, pecks, into Midoriya’s dark hair and Midoriya whimpered as Bakugou’s fingers tightened, taking complete control of the kiss to plunder Midoriya’s mouth as he pleased. 

With one final peck that Midoriya couldn’t seem to help but chase, Bakugou pulled back and tugged at his shirt, intending to remove it. 

“No, don’t,” Midoriya said urgently, placing a hand over Bakugou’s. “Leave it on.” 

“You little slut,” Bakugou nearly growled, and Shouto shivered. “You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you. Does it excite you that much to imagine someone walking through that door?” He crowded in closer, pressing Midoriya back. Midoriya’s breath hitched as he reclined halfway on the crate he rested against, scooting back so his feet dangled just over the deck, “seeing you bare and dripping,” Midoriya’s breath hitched audibly as Bakugou ran a finger over his clothed cock, the bulge apparent even in a blurry reflection, “beneath me? Taking it?”

“Y-yes!”  Midoriya whispered, sounding a little ashamed, a lot turned on. He laid down completely, stretching his corded arms over his head and spreading his legs wider. “That. I want that.” 

Immediately, Bakugou’s hands slid up Midoriya’s clenching abdomen and the captain squirmed, arching into his touch. “As the captain wishes,” Bakugou growled before his hands slid right back down, fingers slipping between Midoriya’s skin and the last layer of clothing that would bare him completely. Bakugou did not hesitate, jerking them from the captain’s legs and discarding them carelessly. 

Shouto was entirely unaware of the tiny breathless sound he made as Midoriya, now free from the confines of his clothes, drew his legs up and bracketed Bakugou’s hips, dragging him closer and arching his body, the play of shadows over his clenching muscles absolutely stunning. Luckily, neither man seemed to notice Shouto’s slip, too lost in each other to realize that their private dalliance was not as private as they supposed. 

“Greedy,” Bakugou laughed, slapping Midoriya’s legs back down and ignoring his plaintive whine. Shouto suddenly wished desperately to turn around, to see in high definition if the curve of Midoriya’s flushed cock was as mouthwatering as it seemed. The way his legs hung off the crate, the way his arms were stretched above him, meant that his lower back was arched, the space between his abdomen and the hard surface below perfect to slip a hand beneath, to pull him closer. But Bakugou did not indulge as Shouto would have. Instead, he pressed the captain down with one hand, looming over him, the bright white of his teeth flashing in the dim. “I know who you’re really thinking about, nerd. You don’t want just anyone to walk through that door.” 

“Kacchan!”

Midoriya tried to pull him closer again, but Bakugou wouldn't allow him to move. Shouto was shaking now, in a vain effort to stay still, to not squirm as desperately as the captain against the cold floor. It was as if Bakugou was teasing them both.

“He could, you know. I could release the lock and he could waltz right in. I could invite him, even. Tell him that the thermostat needs repairing or some shit.” 

Shouto’s grip on his mouth tightened, tight enough to bruise if he were Human. He couldn’t be…was he? 

Bakugou’s other hand walked down Deku’s abdomen teasingly, toward the cock that was straining for the ceiling only to avoid it at the last moment. Midoriya gasped, his arms bulging in an effort to keep them right where they were, a self-imposed restraint that made Shouto’s toes curl in sympathy. 

“He would walk right in, completely unaware, and see you laid out. Just. Like. This. Wouldn't even notice as the door closed behind him.” 

Midoriya groaned, planting a foot against the crate and rolling his hips against nothing, pressing against Bakugou’s restraining hand. He was clearly strong enough to throw the slighter man off if he wished. He did no such thing, allowing Bakugou’s teasing touches to continue unhindered. 

“He’d stand there with that dumb look on his face, seeing his captain so shameless. I bet he’d watch as I touched you. I bet we could make him blush.” 

Shouto twitched when the captain yelped, his voice like an electric shock to Shouto’s sensitized ears. Midoriya trembled visibly as Bakugou’s shoulder moved slowly, the man finally taking Midoriya’s cock in hand. Shouto’s entire body flushed with heat, pulsing from his core to pool hotly between his sprawled legs. He barely noticed it, eyes riveted to the languid movements of Bakugou’s hand, hypnotized by his voice. 

Bakugou leaned in closer, nearly speaking into Midoriya’s crimson ear. “He’d touch himself over his clothes, wouldn’t be able to help himself. Wouldn’t take his eyes off your pretty body as you squirmed for me.” 

Shouto’s hand was sliding down his chest before he was conscious of the movement, nerves coming to life as if they’d never been activated before. It startled him. He paused, a little frantic with disbelief, a touch desperate to regain his senses. What the hell was he doing? But Bakugou’s voice, Midoriya’s whines, the pure electricity his own touch afforded him blew any conscious thoughts out of the water. Shouto inhaled deeply, reflexively, and it hit him – the musk of sweat and pheromones and sex and that was it. He was gone. His hand slipped from his mouth as his lips parted, tasting the air and frustrated that he didn’t have a better view. He wanted to step out, to give the captain exactly what Bakugou was describing. But he didn’t. 

He was not invited to this, not really. He just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Even though they were clearly talking about him, he wasn’t certain his reception would be a positive one.

Midoriya’s exhalations were coming more rapidly as Bakugou worked him over, still pinning him in place, still whispering filthy things into the accumulating humidity coming from them both. 

“He’d pull his shirt up between his teeth, show you all that pretty white skin. He’d be so hard for you. Let you watch.” 

“Yeah,” Midoriya whimpered, rolling his hips into Bakugou’s teasing hand. It seemed that some threshold was reached and surpassed because Bakugou lost all patience for the game. He fumbled with his fly and shoved his pants down just enough to expose himself and crawled over his lover. Shouto only caught a glimpse before Bakugou pressed their cocks together, tanned flesh against tanned flesh soon obscured by his hand once more. He moved fast now, gyrating into the captain with short, brutal snaps of his hips, clothed form in stark contrast against Midoriya’s bare, damp skin and teeth latching onto Midoriya’s straining neck. “Kacchan, yes!” Midoriya arched against the crate, helpless to the tide of Bakugou’s sudden passion. He wrapped a leg around Bakugou’s lower back, urging him on and just barely preventing the both of them from slipping off the smooth surface and onto the floor. 

Shouto gasped, his quiet exhale obscured by their mingled groans. Shouto slipped his hand into his pants, shivering as his fingers wrapped around his hard length, filled out and ready without his interference. There was no dysphoria to distract him – every part of himself was a perfect replica. He felt only desire and the rush of his pleasure signals inundating him, his inhibitions slipping further and further away. 

There was no more talk, only the obscene sounds of lovemaking and staccato gasps to the lullaby of the ship's effervescent hum. Shouto moved with them, perfectly in sync with their pace, trepidations long gone. Shouto was shaking, overwhelmed, shocked by the intensity of the sensations coursing through him. He didn’t remember turning his sensitivity up so high, but it was awesome. It was all he could do not to come immediately. And oh, he could. A simple command and he could tip over the edge, end the sweet agony with a single thought. But he didn't want to, wanted desperately to ride this out, to come with them. Shouto’s hips lifted from the floor slightly, his legs spread and feet planted against the deck firmly. Head thrown back, it was a concerted effort to keep watching the reflections undulate, almost more obscene for its obscurity. He no longer cared if he was caught. It no longer even registered. 

Midoriya broke first, going rigid with a long, luxurious keen as Bakugou’s hips slowed, riding him out. Once the captain was completely lax, Bakugou pulled back and climbed over him on all fours, staring into Midoriya’s slack face as his palm moved rapidly over his own still straining length. The captain watched just as avidly, finally releasing the edge of the crate to caress Bakugou’s tensed jaw and pull him down for a lazy kiss. Bakugou went eagerly, back arching as he finally reached his completion, releasing an animalistic moan into Midoriya’s willing mouth. 

Shouto stopped moving completely, body pulsing with heavy thrums of desire, on the edge and almost too sensitized to reach it. But it was no longer a choice and he was helpless to it, over the precipice and falling. His jaw dropped and his vision went momentarily offline. There was no breath in his lungs for him to utter a sound, and if he had any brainpower to spare he would probably be grateful that he hadn’t given himself away. 

It went on interminably and Shouto snatched his hands from himself, overwhelmed and not sure it would ever end, flushing his twitching body with wave after crashing wave of pure, molten sensation. Just as Shouto felt he was on the cusp of insanity, it finally abated and he slumped bonelessly against the floor, relieved. Utterly spent.

Whoa. That was...not what he expected. Infinitely more intense than he’d ever experienced before. So much so that he wasn't sure he’d entirely liked it. He blinked, trying to get ahold of his senses. He wondered if he could handle it again. 

He sort of wanted to find out.

Shuffling and sighs from the other side of the room brought Shouto abruptly back to himself, realizing once again that he was not alone. Shame flooded him in the absence of arousal, banishing the final vestiges of wellbeing so hard won and Shouto prayed to any and all deities out there that the two men wouldn’t notice him now that they were no longer so thoroughly distracted by each other. 

Once Midoriya had cleaned himself up and put his clothes back in order, he pulled a languid Bakugou into his arms and held him close. 

“Ugh, you’re all sweaty,” Bakugou complained without heat. 

Midoriya huffed into his collarbone. “And who’s fault is that, hm?” 

“Like you didn’t love every filthy minute, slut.” Bakugou oophed as Midoriya smacked him for his rudeness, but that too was without heat. Midoriya easily pulled the unrepentant commander right back into his embrace, complaints and all. 

Then he sighed. “I guess we have to sneak back to the cabin. I’m disgusting.” 

“You go back, nerd. I’m going to go to that meeting we’re skipping.” 

Midoriya straightened. “Crap, the meeting! We only have –” he groaned. “Ten minutes to get ready and get down there.” 

“Go, then. You can hit the sonic and get there in time if you leave now. Though I still think you should skip. Fuck’em.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” Midoriya chuckled as he got to his feet. He mumbled a quick ‘love you’ against Bakugou’s lips before he unlocked the door and was gone. 

Bakugou stayed right where he was, his grumbles indistinguishable.

Shouto daren’t move as it became apparent that Bakugou was in no rush to go anywhere. Why wasn’t he leaving?

Casually, Bakugou ran his fingers through his hair, and if Shouto had a heart it would have seized when he turned around and looked directly into Shouto’s eyes through the reflection on the window. 

Shouto froze like an animal beneath the gaze of a predator, panic and disbelief holding him immobile. Oh no. Bakugou was going to be furious that Shouto had been there the entire time –

“Hope you enjoyed that, Frosty,” Bakugou husked, a smirk apparent in his voice.

...What? He wasn’t mad? Had Bakugou already…

Oh. Oh.

Shouto realized suddenly and with certainty that Bakugou had known he was there the entire time. Now that he took a moment to think, it was odds of astronomical proportions that Bakugou and Midoriya would just happen upon the unused storage room Shouto just happened to be resting in. 

Bakugou had planned this. Shouto took a shaky, disbelieving breath.

Overheated, humiliated, and now almost angry at the deception, Shouto answered the smug man, as scathingly as he could. He would not give Bakugou the satisfaction of showing him how strongly he’d been affected. “I did. Thanks for the show, Commander.” 

Bakugou guffawed, disbelief coloring his voice. “Anytime,” he said arrogantly with unexpected sincerity, throwing Shouto once more and robbing him of the satisfaction of embarrassing the man right back. Bakugou strutted closer, leaning his arms against the crate Shouto hid behind, scanning his unkempt reflection with clear amusement. Shouto gritted his teeth, annoyance a much stronger motivator than any shame. But Bakugou’s next words caught the breath in his lungs. “You heard the nerd moaning for you.” 

Shouto let his legs relax, not bothering to hide. It was much too late in any case. His head thumped against the crate and he looked Bakugou’s reflection dead in the eye. “And you? Do you want me, too?” Shouto already knew the answer; that was becoming blatantly apparent if this episode showed him anything. But he wanted to hear it straight from Bakugou’s prideful mouth. Just a tiny bit of vengeance for the mean trick he’d pulled. 

Bakugou had known he was here, which meant he had tracked him through the ship, maybe waiting until he was alone. Shouto wondered how much of this was premeditated. And to think, he’d stopped himself from using the computer to...do the very same thing. Maybe he didn’t have as much moral ground he’d thought. He glanced down at himself, irritation receding. It wasn’t as if he didn't enjoy it, he thought with chagrin. 

Bakugou’s smile simmered into something distinctly warmer and it brought Shouto up short, not knowing what to do with such a look. Shouto’s stomach clenched as Bakugou leaned forward until he could peer over the crate and look down on Shouto directly. With no more barrier between them, Shouto had an unobstructed view into the commander’s gaze, was burned by its heat as Bakugou covetously scanned every inch of him, lingering on what his uniform no longer hid, the mess he’d made of himself. Shouto didn’t shrink from it, so vastly different from the gazes of others that Shouto so hated. If it were anyone else it would make him feel sick. But this look, from this man, was something Shouto actually desired. He wasn’t sure exactly when that had happened. 

“Yeah, Snowflake. I want you, too.” Shouto arched and met him halfway as Bakugou leaned down, not even flinching as a calloused hand curled around the apple of his throat, pulling Shouto more firmly against the inverted press of Bakugou’s lips still damp from Midoriya’s tongue –

Shouto groaned at the musky taste of him, slipping his fingers into Bakugou’s sweat slicked hair and yanking him down so he could chase the flavor of both of them together. But Bakugou pulled back, breathing harshly against Shouto’s slack mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t, I really do have to go.” He cursed, gently extricating himself. Shouto let him, reluctantly. “Those fucking Vulcans need constant babysitting or they’ll act like they own the place.” 

Bakugou stared down at Shouto regretfully, almost angrily. He pointed imperiously at Shouto’s member, already hard once again against his hip. “Save that for us, Frosty. At the end of shift, I’m coming to collect.” 

And so Shouto was left alone, achingly hard and languid with endorphins, anticipation already building in his gut and mind finally, blissfully blank. 

He forgot about Aizawa’s meddling, the awful encounter with Monoma, everything but Bakugou’s promise. 

Shouto wanted an escape. He’d found one.

Chapter Text

Shouto sat in the storage room for a long while, simply resting. He felt good. Really good, as if every moment before now was a struggle just to exist. 

It wasn’t just the reintroduction of sexual gratification, not really. While that had been incredible, it left Shouto with a deeper sense of well-being than he could describe. It was an accumulation of things, he supposed. Aizawa’s insistence that he get his own cabin, affording him privacy and a space to unwind. The people that he’d been spending time with, talking to that broke his isolation, stimulating him in ways that he hadn’t known to miss. It was the return of a routine of eating, reminding him how much he used to enjoy it before the accident. All of the things Shouto had been denying himself, deeming it an unnecessary waste of time, were suddenly meaning something to Shouto again, and his psyche was rewarding him for it. 

He sighed, stretching out against the hard deck and not even noticing the cold. As he gazed out into the vastness of space, his perspective was brighter. No longer was the view just a stagnant picture of stars, but possibility. It had been a long time since he’d felt this way; excited to explore. Interested in what the future might hold. 

He now had something to look forward to. Not just the promise that Bakugou and Midoriya represented, but friends he could talk to, new foods he could try, projects he could do without the fear of reprimand. 

Maybe that had been his problem all along, Shouto thought with a lazy huff of amusement. Maybe all this time he just needed to get laid. He lifted his hand lazily, grasping lightly at the stars. Maybe all this time he just needed to reach for it–

A flash of fire made Shouto flinch. His eyes widened as the flesh on his hand burned away, scalding and crumbling into carbon, revealing bloodied bone. His nose filled with the stench of decay, his ears the distant echo of screams. The crew’s screams. Toya’s. And his. 

Shouto’s hand shook violently before his unseeing eyes, now covered in bandages stained with crimson and a deep, sickly black. The white of artificial light blinded his nearly destroyed left eye, his other watering from pain so violent he couldn’t see. Figures hovered over him, shadows against the burning white, and they said things that he couldn’t understand, did things to him that made it hurt more.  

But that unimaginable pain did not compare to when Shouto was finally lucid. When they told him what happened.

Shouto gasped loudly in the silent room, safe on the Falcon but never safe, cradling his hand against his chest. His fingers ran over his unscathed synthetic skin, over and over, but his mind was convinced he was still charred, that it should still hurt because this wasn’t real, none of it was real and he was back on that slab crying out for the only family he ever had who could no longer console him because he was dead because of Shouto.

Shouto’s gasps became sobs, great heaving expulsions of fear and grief. He couldn’t control it. No amount of tampering with his systems could erase his emotions, his memories, no matter how hard he tried, and he’d been trying so hard. Maybe he deserved this. He deserved to feel this way because he was living a second chance that Toya never got. If the others knew what he’d done, who he actually was, they wouldn’t be showing him such kindness. No one knew because it had been covered up, famed Enji Todoroki throwing all his influence at it until it simply went away, just like everything else. Perfect Admiral Todoroki couldn’t have such a black mark on his record, oh no. No one could know that one of his perfect sons had murdered the other. 

Shouto’s chest constricted around a gasp, the lance of pain only given form in his mind but real enough to cripple him.

But that wasn’t how it worked. Shouto remembered. And even when he’d rejected his Father completely and took the chance he’d been given to live again, even if it was only to fulfill his promise to Toya, he still remembered.

Why was he thinking about this again? He didn’t want to think about this. He hadn’t for months. But the attack on the Falcon had brought it all back and it was all so close to the surface that he couldn’t repress it anymore. Their kindness hurt him because he didn’t deserve it, never deserved it, wasn’t good enough for it. Shouto dug his face into his drawn knees.

He’d thought that maybe, for one small amount of time he could put it all behind him. Just for a little while. 

How foolish.

Shouto’s breath evened out, his shoulders slumping until he could stare blankly at the stars once again. There were no tears in his eyes. No outlet for his pain. Because this body wasn’t real. 

None of this was real. He–the Real Shouto– was back in Section 31 on Earth, recovering in a healing pod while he traipsed the galaxy, living the life that the real him would only remember as a dream. 

Aizawa, Shinsou, Kouda…they shouldn’t be worrying about Shouto. The only reason Bakugou and Midoriya wanted him was because they didn’t know the real him. If they knew the ruin that he’d become, they wouldn’t even be able to look at him. This perfect, unblemished body was a lie. Should he be thankful that his Father’s tampering had spared him imprisonment or death for what he did? They should have let him expire on the lab table.

It didn’t matter, anyway. As soon as Bakugou and Midoriya got what they wanted they were going to discard him, just like everyone else. 

Good, Shouto thought acerbically. Good. They should just leave me alone. They could take their praise and their kindness and give it to someone who was worthy of it.

His chest ached, and Shouto grunted in frustration, feeling the sudden urge to break something. Why couldn’t he have been a real android? At least that way he would never know this pain. 

“But your whole life’s been pain,” he whispered bitterly to the still, silent stars. “What made you think it was going to change?” It was a grim reminder that it didn’t matter how far Shouto ran–to the stars, from his own body–he couldn’t outrun the choices that he’d made, nor his ultimate failure. Some days, he didn’t even know why he tried. 

"C’mon, little brother. You’ve got to let me go. Live. For me.” 

Shouto’s breath hitched and he curled in on himself, arms tight against his chest as if he could hold himself together with just his meager strength. “I can’t,” he pleaded with the memory.

Toya’s smile was blackened and burned but still trying to comfort Shouto even as he faded, always trying for him even when he couldn’t always be there. Even when he was leaving him forever this time. 

That smile didn’t waver even in death as the fire consumed them both.

Shouto waited, there on the floor, for several hours. End of shift came and went without a word from Bakugou or Midoriya. He wished he was surprised. And maybe a teeny, tiny part of him was relieved that he didn’t have to face the inevitable end just yet. It was selfish of him, but even if he didn't deserve it, he still wanted to play their game to its bitter end, if only to feel something for just a little while.

But he didn’t feel anything right now. It didn’t hurt him because he didn’t care.

Stop being so fucking dramatic, Enji’s voice said scathingly, his mantra that Shouto had never been able to shake. Shouto agreed, for once. He was being pathetic.

Slowly he got to his feet, straightening his clothes and brushing his pure white hair back into place. There was no mess to clean up. Shouto’s body had not produced fluids. So it was a simple matter of moments before he was presentable again. 

“I have to get back to work,” he said woodenly. He pulled up the ship’s schematics and opened his senses to her weakened pulse. There was so much he still needed to do. 

Shouto did not notice that his core was already half depleted. He wouldn’t have cared even if he had.

Instead of wallowing, he forewent rest and poured himself into the repairs his ship so desperately needed. It was slow going. Too slow.

Something was bothering him. While he’d been pulled forcefully into engineering by Mei, he hadn’t received much in the way of assignments from her, and so he’d been working as he saw fit. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how many hours he put in, the repairs weren’t making much progress. It didn't make sense. Everyone around him was working themselves to the bone, and yet. Shouto frowned at the progress reports hovering before his eyes. They were incomplete. Or rather, it was disorganized, as if everyone else was doing just as he was–what they saw fit. 

What was Mei doing?

“M-Mister Shouto!” Kouda called, rounding the corner and pausing in surprise. “I d-didn’t expect to see you again so soon! I thought you didn’t have another shift for four hours.”

Shouto tilted his chin slightly in acknowledgment. “That is correct. However, I can go for several days without needing to charge. I believe my time is better spent helping with the repairs.” 

Kouda’s ridged brows drew together and Shouto felt his shoulders stiffen. “Is everything alright, Mister Shouto? You sound a little off.”

Suddenly the floor was much more interesting than looking into Kouda’s misplaced concern. Shouto didn’t want to see it. “There’s nothing wrong.” 

Kouda watched him doubtfully, but seemed to sense that Shouto Did Not Want To Talk About It.“If you’re sure…” He sighed, changing the subject to Shouto’s relief. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve been making progress, does it?” 

“We are not,” Shouto confirmed and Kouda sighed again, chewing on the tip of his finger in agitation. 

“A-and worse, I heard the Vulcans just up and left a little while ago. W-which means we're even more short-handed.” 

“Really?” The Vulcans who had been assisting were few as most of them were scientists and not engineers. Still, without them, they were going to be delayed further. “Why?” 

“I’m not sure, but Lieutenant Mei is supposed to–” Kouda yelped as the ship lurched beneath their feet, rumbling loudly before the lights flickered. They righted themselves a moment later as the ship seemed to stabilize. Shouto was already scanning through a status report. 

“Wh-wh-wh-what happened?” Kouda stuttered, clinging to the wall as though his legs would not hold him. 

“We just lost another dilithium core,” Shouto said gravely. 

“That sh-shouldn’t be p-possible. We ch-checked them over y-yesterday and the two remaining cores were fine!” 

Shouto had a suspicion, but he took a moment to put it into words as the two of them hastened to Engineering. “Ensign Kouda, have you been receiving orders from Lieutenant Mei?”

Kouda was breathless as he tried to keep up with Shouto’s swift pace, but whether it was because he was actually winded or just anxious, Shouto couldn’t tell. “N-no, I haven’t. It’s been a p-problem for everyone, as far as I can tell.” 

Shouto’s lips turned down. So that was it. He did not like where this was going.

“What do you mean our second to last dilithium core just expired? What the hell were you dullards doing this whole time!” Mei’s screech of dismay was their first greeting as they dashed into the expansive engine room. A large platform held the engine terminal, the control center of the ship’s faintly beating heart.

Mei stood on the platform above the gathered engineers, frantically typing on the terminal that was displaying an increasing amount of red. 

“Patching the hull breach on decks seven and eight, sir. Before we all got blown out into space,” a tight voice responded, and Shouto identified Ensign Murata, a slim Human woman with severely pinned black curls.  

“Who was in charge of purging the radiation?” Mei snapped, not liking her tone at all. 

The engineers present, nearly the entire department as far as Shouto could tell, shuffled and looked around. No one stepped forward. Mei’s already pink face grew darker in anger. “What is wrong with you lunkheads? Now we’ll be lucky if we can hit warp two!” 

“Lieutenant Commander Majima was the one who assigned us duties, and he is out of commission, as you well know,”  Ensign Tokoyami, an avian species of Terran, said darkly, the black feathers on the back of his angular head raised in agitation. “We have sent multiple requests for reassignments, but with how short-staffed we are now, apparently some things have slipped through the cracks.” 

“Slipped through the cracks? Slipped through the cracks? We lost an entire dilithium core, oh!” Mei pressed her face against the terminal in exaggerated distress, petting it like a favored pet. “My poor baby!” 

“It’s your job to assign us duties, sir,” Murata seethed, and there was a rumbling of agreement throughout the room. “As Majima’s second in command, the task falls to you.” 

“Don’t tell me what my duties are, Murata! I don’t have time to coddle all of you when my baby is hanging on by a thread!” 

“Maybe if you delegated and told us what you needed us to do instead of trying to fix everything on your own, we could get her back up and running faster!”

Shouto stiffened in the thickening atmosphere, foreseeing disaster if this was allowed to continue. He looked around swiftly, but Murata spoke the truth. The extra shifts notwithstanding, without Majima’s leadership, Engineering productivity as a whole had been down thirty percent. The direction that he’d been providing the crew was absent completely, something Mei was clearly having trouble handling. She’d been working as if she were not in charge of the department.

Kouda was practically vibrating at Shouto’s side, leaning against one of the many large conduits running through the room towards the core as if it could hide him from the growing tension. Shouto shifted slightly so that he was standing on Kouda’s other side. 

The engineers that remained from the attack were all of the same ranks, and it was clear that no one had been giving them direction. It did not seem like Mei could handle the leadership thrust upon her, either too dedicated to her individual tasks or just oblivious to the duties expected of her. 

And no one had noticed that things were getting this bad until it was too late. 

Shouto had suspected from the beginning that Mei would be unsuited to leadership – the woman had said so herself – but this? This was something that they could not afford. 

“When is the federation ship getting here?” someone else demanded.

“Relief isn’t coming,” Mei snapped to the restless crowd. “We just got the news a few minutes ago. I can’t tell you more until we have more information, but something went down on Earth and the Federation ship that was coming to assist was diverted. All ships have been ordered back to Earth, no exceptions. That means we gotta get this baby up and running yesterday because as of now, we are on our own.”

Protest was immediate. “We’ve already been working triple shifts trying to get the engine back online, we can’t work any faster!” Tokoyami practically shouted, feathers raising and casting a wide shadow on the floor. “Starfleet promised us a ship was en route days ago.” 

“And I’m telling you wrenchheads, they aren't coming!” Mei said grimly. “And to make matters worse, the Sarek is being sent ahead with our wounded who are in too critical condition to take care of with our limited resources. Which means it's even more important that we get this done!” 

“So you’re saying we have even less help and a tighter deadline? With all due respect, sir, we’re tired. We can’t keep this up!” 

“We’re all tired,” Mei said impatiently, “and unless you want to go from tired to dead, you’ll do what needs to be done!”

Shouto shifted in place, looking inward. That wasn’t their only problem. It wasn’t just that they didn’t have the manpower to get this done, it was that they didn’t have most of the equipment they needed to handle this sort of damage out on the field. And now because of mismanagement they had lost even more. 

But it wasn’t impossible. They just needed to get to the nearest starbase, only days away if they managed warp two at the very least. If the crew could be diverted from the non-essential systems that they’d been focusing on, it was possible that–

Kouda’s agitated shifting brought Shouto back out of his musings. The man was chewing on the tips of his fingers again, greenish blood oozing from the small wounds without his notice. Without thinking about it, Shouto lifted a hand and gently brought the digits away from Kouda’s mouth. He didn’t notice the look Kouda shot him, too busy thinking. 

“Is there no one else who can take command?” Shouto asked Kouda quietly while the others argued with an increasingly frazzled Mei.

Kouda shook his head. “No. Miss Mei is the only senior officer qualified to succeed Majima. Lieutenant Jira was also caught in the fire. She probably left with the rest of the injured on the Sarek.” 

“And what about the rest of the senior crew?” Shouto asked, suppressing a shudder at the dreaded word. No time for that. “Usually there is someone who has a cross-discipline in engineering. Double majors were a requirement of the command track.” 

“No,” Kouda said, looking at him curiously. “The captain double majored in engineering, but he’s got his h-hands full with whatever’s going on dirt-side.” 

Well. At least he’d been stood up for an actual emergency. That was somewhat reassuring.

Doesn’t matter.

Shouto’s spine slowly straightened. It was becoming increasingly apparent that Mei needed help. He hated what he was about to do. But it was unavoidable. They were sitting idle with some unknown emergency on Earth diverting all ships and a mysterious enemy on their tail. Now they were defenseless against further attack. Unless Shouto did something. 

What makes you think you could do anything about it, a scathing voice inside of him whispered. Shouto shook his head slowly, taking more effort than usual to shake the intrusive thought away. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t do it. No one else was stepping forward and he had to–

Live. For me.

“Lieutenant Mei,” Shouto said loudly over the din, projecting his voice to be heard. The command in his voice, so oft unused, demanded attention. Shouto hated how it made him sound, how standing up straight made him half a head taller than everyone else in the room. 

Just like his Father. 

Silence fell over the crew as Shouto stepped forward. His skin crawled beneath their attention. He’d spent so long trying to go unnoticed that it fell heavily over him, dragging at his feet for daring to speak out. “If I may make a suggestion.” 

Mei’s eyes were wide, piercing. “We’re all ears, darling. No one else here is saying anything useful.” 

There was an offended bout of whispers at this, and once again Shouto was under the impression that Mei wasn’t the best fit for command. She seemed to know it too if the stress around her mouth was any indication. 

“We have been diverting our focus in too many directions. We need proper triage to decide what is most important to pursue. Since engine repair is the number one priority, we can leave off the work on decks seven through eighteen. The hull breaches are patched for now, and they’ll hold until we reach the starbase.” Shinsou, please forgive him for implying the botany lab was non-essential. Shouto blinked, pulling up the ship’s schematics for reference. He shifted through a few views until he could see the ship’s power flow like the lymphatic system of a Human. “To compensate for the deficiency in dilithium cores, we may be able to repurpose the power relays from the recreation areas, crew’s quarters, and any other non-critical systems – almost everything in the disk. We would need to move command to the secondary bridge. It is a temporary fix, but it may get us to spacedock at the very minimum. If my calculations are correct, we can get the engines running in approximately seventeen hours.”

Shouto felt a swelling of frustration. Now that he was looking at it, they could have been on their way ages ago if only he’d been paying closer attention, or better yet, not lost one of their remaining cores in the first place. Since when do you advise the head engineer, the voice returned, sneering at his arrogance, but another more practical side of him quieted it with a mental brush. Since she gave me leave to do so, he answered back. While it was true that he did not have the responsibility of triaging work, he did have access to assignments and status updates. He could have seen this. He should have. But no, he’d been too busy worrying about the captain’s attention that he couldn’t see the obvious signs of this impending disaster from miles away.

“That...might actually work,” Murata said, staring at Shouto with a disapproving scowl. But that was nothing new. She always looked like that. “It’s crazy, and is going to take an ungodly amount of manual reconfiguring, but it could work.” 

Mei’s head tilted consideringly at Shouto. Shouto forced himself to go on, hating every word that was about to come out of his mouth. “I would also put myself forward to help organize the workload. I,” he hesitated, realizing that this would be the last nail in his coffin, but also recognizing that he no longer had a choice. “I am adequately familiar with all the material in the command track, though it was not my focus.” 

“Well, well, you are full of surprises,” Mei said in the following silence, nearly gleeful with excitement, a complete turnaround from her earlier distress. “Looks like you’ve just been promoted, Lieutenant.” 

“Sir?” Shouto said, his voice barely discernible over the shocked whispers that erupted at her pronouncement. 

“No, no, don’t even think about whining to me now, darling, if I’m forced into a promotion to Lieutenant Commander because Majima is out, then you can suffer with me!” 

“But... him, sir?” Murata said, aghast. “He’s just–”

“I don’t want to hear it, Murata!” Mei snapped. “No one else has suggested anything remotely useful, and that includes you! So listen to the Lieutenant and get back to work! My baby needs attention, stat!” With that, Mei hopped off the platform, muttering to herself and waving aside any crewmen with agitated flutterings of her hands. The sounds of her banging inside of the warp core’s command center clattered through the sudden shocked silence.

All eyes turned to Shouto, who straightened under their scrutiny, fighting the urge to curl into himself. Displaying weakness had only ever made the repercussions worse. He swallowed. He was new to Engineering, and suddenly he was practically in charge of it. Already he imagined he could feel the resentment growing against him, like sharks sensing blood. What the hell just happened?

Oh, he knew what happened. He’d just volunteered. 

There were many exchanged looks before Kouda stepped forward. 

“What are your orders, Lieutenant,” he said bravely, wringing his hands.

Shouto took a moment to answer, pushing down his anxiety, his fear, his awkwardness to get the job done, pushed it down and down until he was practically numb. He could do this. He had to. “Now that the ship’s main power is more or less restored, I need a crew working on diverting power from the upper decks. If we move most personnel, we can shut down decks eight through thirteen to bolster warp capabilities.” 

There were a few shifted stances, but no one interrupted him. Shouto went on, growing more confident. “Ensign Murata, Ensign Tokoyami,” he addressed his biggest dissenters. The best way to gain their cooperation was to give them the most important task. “We can’t do anything about the depleted dilithium cores, but efficiency can be increased with our remaining supply if we accelerate the coolant systems by three percent. I encountered a similar predicament on the last ship I was assigned.” He quickly sent them his research that he’d compiled, wincing only slightly at sharing something that he’d never intended to see the light of day. He gave them a few moments to look over the specs, carefully avoiding their expressions. “It may only increase power efficiency by a small percentile, but–” 

“We’ll look into it, sir,” Tokoyami interrupted, looking down at his padd. “You wrote this?” 

Murata was also looking at her padd, her severe frown easing slightly at what she saw. 

“Yes,” Shouto said simply. “Can you handle it?” 

Murata looked up sharply. Shouto waited, feeling as though he was undergoing some sort of test. 

He passed. Shouto relaxed minutely as Murata nodded in assent. “Yes, sir.” 

Tokoyami and Murata left, and the remaining engineers were now watching Shouto expectantly. Shouto’s muscles unclenched at the cautious respect in their eyes. He could do this. 

Quickly, he outlined the rest of his ideas and dispensed orders until only Kouda stood by his side, the rest of the crew leaving with determined efficiency now that they had a clear directive to follow. 

Shouto wavered where he stood. A hand fell on his shoulder and he followed its guidance blindly, only really coming back to himself when the doors to a small lab closed, cutting him off from the view of prying eyes. 

“Mister Shouto, that was incredible,” Kouda said in awe.  

“It was necessary,” Shouto said flatly. This was not incredible. It was a disaster. 

Kouda shook his head, practically buzzing with excitement. “You took command like it was nothing. I’ve never seen anything like it, except maybe from the captain. You said you studied the command track?” 

Shouto felt dizzy at the comparison. Surely he was exaggerating. 

“I did.” Against his will. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful for the training now, or resentful that he’d had to put it to use and prove his Father right. Shouto might have hated the man, but he couldn’t deny that emulating Enji Todoroki got results. 

Kouda was contemplative for a long moment. “You really are more than meets the eye, Mister Shouto,” he said simply. “What should I do?” 

Shouto looked into his friend’s eyes, a calm the likes of which he didn’t recognize settling around the large Denobulan's shoulders. Shouto took a slow breath to answer. 

The door swished open. “Well, that was impressive.”

Kouda squeaked, turning on his heel and snapping a salute, nearly falling over himself in his haste. Shouto just stood as Captain Midoriya allowed the door to close behind him. 

“Captain,” Shouto said, voice painfully flat. He swallowed, trying his damndest not to allow his heart on his sleeve, a conflict of emotions stealing his words. He couldn’t handle this right now, but even so, the captain was right there, looking at him as if for all the world nothing had passed between them. Or perhaps he still didn’t know about Bakugou’s trick. Shouto couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. “How long have you been here?” 

Midoriya smiled brightly and Shouto wanted to shield his eyes from it. “The whole time? I came in shortly before you did!” 

“And you didn’t say anything?” Kouda said, aghast, before stuttering immediately. “I’m s-sorry, sir! I d-didn’t mean to imply–”

Midoriya just chuckled and lifted a hand to stop the deluge of words. “It’s okay, Ensign Kouda,” he told the stuttering man, who seemed surprised that Midoriya even knew his name. “To tell you the truth, I was worried that Mei wouldn’t be able to run Engineering by herself, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was a bit cruel of me to let her flounder.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, completely ignoring the way Kouda gaped at him. “She’s a brilliant engineer, but Majima was the only one that could keep her head on straight. I was about to intervene, really.” 

“You were just going to let her flounder?” Shouto said stiffly, incredulously. “We lost another dilithium core and you knew what was going on?” 

Midoriya’s smile shrank with strain and Shouto almost regretted his words. Almost. “I’m not omniscient, I’m afraid. We’ve lost a lot of our command team and I know everyone is doing their best. If we still had more of our senior crew, I would have promoted them to support Mei. But I didn’t have to!” Midoriya’s eyes crinkled at the corners and there was new assessing light in them when he looked at Shouto. Shouto didn’t know what to make of that look.

“You handled that well, Shouto,” Midoriya said sincerely. “You really are amazing! I think with your help, Engineering should be alright, Lieutenant.” He winked. 

Shouto couldn’t fight the warm feeling the praise brought any more than he could fight the flood of self loathing that settled like ice through his chest. He ignored both sensations as best as he was able. “Thank you, Captain,” he said stiffly, unsure what else to say. It seemed to be enough because the captain gave him one more beaming smile before his expression became business-like once more. 

“How can I help?” 

Shouto exchanged a startled look with Kouda, who seemed at a loss. “Sir?” 

Midoriya spread his hands, somewhat sheepish. “You heard Mei. We won’t be getting any help from Starfleet for a while, so I thought my time would best be served here where I could be the most useful. You know what needs to get done, so…?” He shrugged before smiling coyly, flirtatiously. Shouto was flushing even before he said it, too stunned to school his expression. “What are your orders, sir?”  

Kouda was glancing between the two of them anxiously, growing realization on his face as Shouto worked his jaw, trying and failing to find a response that wouldn’t come. Finally, he met Kouda’s eyes, and the man immediately went ruddy brown at what he saw in Shouto’s face. Shouto realized with dread what his conclusion was just before it was blurted out. “You mean, he’s–! Oh dear, and the commander–” Kouda slapped a hand over his mouth as Midoriya regarded him curiously, either playing dumb or truly oblivious about what the ensign just discovered. “I mean, yes! What do you need us to do, Lieutenant!?” 

Shouto took a deep, steadying breath that did nothing to calm his nerves. Right. They had a ship to repair. 

“My sensors indicate that there is some damage to the transducer modules in the core. I believe the area has been avoided because turning off the engines completely means we won’t have impulse power or weapons for approximately six hours. Shutting down the engines and clearing the radiation would take longer than we can afford. Now that we don’t have the Sarek to tow us and no help is coming,” he looked to Midoriya who nodded grimly, then directed to Kouda, “I need you to monitor me while I go in and repair the damage without initiating decontamination procedures.” 

Kouda’s eyes widened. “Mister Shouto! The radiation–”

“My body is capable of withstanding a great deal of radiation,” Shouto interrupted. “It would not affect me any more aversely than a sunburn might affect your skin.” 

Kouda wrung his hands nervously. “But…”

“Wait,” Midoriya said slowly, and Shouto’s shoulders stiffened, just waiting for the denial, that it was too dangerous, that Shouto couldn’t do it. 

That was not what happened. Midoriya regarded him with all seriousness, disconcerting on a face so much better suited to smiles. “Are you certain that your body can handle it? Nothing will happen to you?”  

“I am,” Shouto said with confidence. His own core produced enough radiation on its own. His body was designed to contain it, and so the reverse was true. “I calculate that I can endure several hours in the core without issue, as low as the power is at current.”

Midoriya took a few seconds to respond. Shouto knew what must be going through his head. The balance between the time it would take to fix the modules properly and what Shouto offered, a solution that risked only one. Him. There was only one correct choice.

“Normally I wouldn’t allow anyone to do something so dangerous…but you’re right. We can’t afford to lose power to our defenses for that long. We still don’t know who attacked us…or when they’ll be back. Just promise me one thing. You won’t be hurt by this.” 

Shouto stared. He couldn’t possibly promise that. None of them could. But he answered anyway. “I won’t be harmed.” 

Midoriya stared at him for several long seconds, scanning his face for something Shouto couldn’t discern. Then his expression eased. “Alright. I trust you.” 

Shouto nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure what face he was making, but it only seemed to make Midoriya soften further, his smile returning with ease. “What do we need to do?” 

As soon as Shouto could get his brain to reboot – the captain trusted him? – he quickly outlined what he needed to the two serious men. Kouda only asked a few questions before nodding in acceptance and making his way to the radiation chamber controls to get a hazmat suit. He wouldn’t be going in, but he would be close enough to the compartment that he might need it when Shouto returned. 

The captain lingered and so Shouto stayed, eyeing him cautiously. “You,” Shouto started before trying again. “You trust me?”  

Midoriya’s huff of laughter was infectious. Shouto very nearly smiled despite himself. “You’ve given me every reason to trust you. I haven’t seen anyone take command of a room like that since I first met Kacchan! And you did it without blowing anything up!” 

Shouto scowled. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Then another insidious thought snuck up on him. “This isn’t just because of our…” He had no idea what to call it, “Because you want me, is it?” Shouto shouldn’t be trusted, not with command or anything important. It didn’t make any sense that the captain would unless he was angling for something specific. It wasn’t hard to guess what. But the captain had to know that he need only ask and Shouto would give himself willingly.

Midoriya’s brow darkened, friendly demeanor all but gone and Shouto rocked back on his heels, realizing he’d made a mistake. “Mister Shouto, I would not put anyone in charge of my people unless they’d proven they could handle it. While it’s–you–are a bit unorthodox, you’ve proven today that you’re more than qualified. You stepped up when you were needed, and I can’t ask anything more than that.” He paused, some of the steel leaching from his voice.  “Do you not want the position? No one is going to give you trouble over it, not after they see what you can do.” 

No, Shouto thought immediately. He didn’t want to be put in charge of anyone, not when he couldn’t even handle being in charge of himself. And he seriously doubted that he wouldn’t face opposition. But he already knew that refusing now would only cause everyone trouble. Would cause the captain trouble. 

At his silence, Midoriya continued carefully. “If you can recommend someone better for the job…” Shouto read between the lines. Midoriya didn’t believe there was anyone else who could do it. Shouto was it. So he would do what he could and hope that this time he didn’t fuck it up.

“I…no sir,” he said finally. “I will do my best.” 

“Your best is all I’m asking for,” Midoriay said, placing a hand on Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto looked at it. He didn’t pull away. “And from what I’ve seen, your best is more than enough! Now, let's get those transducers fixed.” 

“You are coming with me? Captain, if we are going to move command to the secondary bridge–”

“Kacchan can handle the transfer, don’t worry. I already updated him,” Midoriya countered cheerily. “Besides, you need me more right now. Did you really think I was going to let you do this alone?”

There was nothing Shouto could say to that. Didn’t know what he could say. 

Midoriya walked by Shouto’s side until they reached the decontamination chamber. There were three doors leading to the core; the chamber they stood in that would serve as both the control center and the last line of defense should there be a breach, the decontamination chamber where personnel and equipment were made safe after entering the core, and the door to the core itself.

Midoriya pulled on a hazmat suit as they joined an already equipped Kouda inside the cramped space. Kouda’s hands moved with slow surety over the controls, preparing the secondary chamber for release. Shouto jumped slightly as he felt the captain’s fingers brush over his hair, placing a communication device over his left ear. The small mouthpiece crackled to life and he heard an echo of Midoriya’s voice. 

“Are you ready?” Midoriya said, looking into Shouto’s eyes. He hadn’t stepped away, his hand still resting on Shouto’s shoulder, a thumb brushing over Shouto’s neck. He was standing too close. Shouto looked carefully into Midoriya’s eyes but he couldn’t read his expression beyond the obvious worry. 

“Of course, Captain.” 

As the clear door closed behind him, Shouto glanced back one more time. Kouda’s anxious face as his hands hovered over the monitor and Midoriya’s calm expression settled his remaining nerves and Shouto fought the upturn of his lips, feeling more reassured by their presence than was warranted. “It should only take an hour.” 

Midoriya’s answering smile was grim, green eyes bright through the clear of the hazmat. His voice crackled slightly in Shouto’s ear. “I’ll be monitoring your frequency. If anything looks remotely dangerous, I’m pulling you out.” 

Shouto lowered his brows. “Captain, that would be most unwise–”

“I wasn’t asking permission, Lieutenant,” Midoriay said lightly, but his eyes were hard. 

Shouto nodded sharply and turned his back, blocking the sight of the captain before he gave away too much, an empty skip in his chest. It was almost a relief when the doors to the inner chamber hissed open and he could step into the mind-numbing hum of the engine core, so loud it obliterated all else. 

The engine’s inner chamber pulsed brightly, the warmth washing over him as gently as the noonday sun. He hadn’t lied. His body could handle an immense amount of radiation as long as he didn’t linger too long. He spotted the damage well below the engine’s housings still flickering weakly at impulse and ducked beneath the large conduits leading upward. Luckily there was no misalignment in the housings or they would be in much deeper trouble. As it was, if he could just manually activate the backup generator to replace the modules that were destroyed by the power surges…

Shouto’s hands moved but he didn't see what he was doing. His mind wandered. He replayed the last few minutes with the captain, completely baffled once again. Every time he thought he knew their motivations, they were flipped on their head and Shouto found himself floundering. Had the captain – Midoriya – been truthful? Did he really see some worth in him, enough to allow him to take charge where Mei, one of his senior officers, couldn't? 

…Was it really because he thought Shouto was right for the job and not because he wanted something from him? Or was it just another way to convince him to sleep with them? Another thing that would end the moment Shouto gave in.

Shouto uncovered the secondary generator and began to dislodge the damaged modules. It was slow going but he concentrated, carefully removing and replacing them one by one. 

Every ten minutes he updated Midoriya and Kouda as per protocol, though protocol had never managed to cover something quite like this, more for spacewalks than irradiated chambers. Still, it was reassuring to hear a voice over the alien landscape that was the engine's core, the technology familiar and yet the pure, raw power that no being should be able to survive defying rational understanding.

The engine pulsed and Shouto grimaced. He was becoming a bit uncomfortable, though he had only been in here for less than half an hour. He quickly scanned himself. Still stable. But his power was getting dangerously low, he noted grimly. It was taking more out of him to function beneath the radiation than he’d calculated. Now he regretted the three shifts he'd taken in a row to distract himself. Stupid. He’d allowed himself to slip. Just another mistake to add to his ever-lengthening list.

“Shouto, how’s it going in there?” Midoriya’s voice crackled over the hum. “You haven’t reported in eleven minutes.”

Just a little more, he told himself. If he couldn’t get this done, then what good was he? 

“Lieutenant, respond,” Midoriya said sternly. 

Shouto stared at his hands for several seconds before shaking his head. He yanked a few wires out of his way and replaced the module he was working on with swift fingers. His battery indicator beeped at him. He ignored it.

“I’m almost done.”

There was a deep breath on the other side of the line. “How many more?”  

It was getting a bit harder to think. He was slowing down. He blinked irritably, trying to get the sweat out of his eyes. 

“Shouto?”

Wait. Sweat? There shouldn’t be…Shouto brushed his forehead with his filthy, stained fingers and sure enough, they came away dry of moisture. Then why couldn’t he see properly? He shook it off. He was nearly finished. He just needed to replace the last wire and he could activate–

The ship swayed drunkenly around him. Or maybe he did. He couldn’t tell over the noise of his battery alarm screeching in his ear. His power was depleting too fast. He hadn’t anticipated the increase in radiation as he activated more modules, but that was exactly what was happening. 

“What was that?” the captain demanded, and Shouto had no answers for him. He didn’t know. There was a frantic voice on the other side as Shouto tried and failed to clear his eyes. Something was wrong.

“Shouto, the power is increasing. I need you to get out of there,” Midoriya said abruptly. 

Shouto’s hands shook. He was almost done.

“Lieutenant, answer me, that’s an order! If you don’t, I’m shutting her down and coming after you!”

“No,” Shouto responded, slightly alarmed at the captain’s insistence. Coming after him would kill a Human. “I’m coming as soon as I finish.”

“Shou– shhh –power’s increa– ssst –out–”

His communicator chirped and crackled in his ear before sputtering out. Shouto didn’t notice. He had to finish. The last module was snapped into place and activated. The ship lurched again and Shouto grimaced as the light between the nacelle housings pulsated bright enough to momentarily blind him. He needed to get out. He needed to get out or the captain would come after him.

Screams filled his ears but Shouto was already on his feet and running toward the decontamination chamber. They weren’t real. He was here. But it was all so close to the surface now that he couldn’t push it away even if he tried. 

The door hissed shut behind him just before he collapsed to his knees, breathing deeply even though oxygen wouldn’t help him. The action was soothing if nothing else. He was here. On the Falcon. He was here.

The screams receded this time, thankfully, and Shouto sighed in relief.

It was a moment before he noticed the argument going on outside of the glass door locking him in the decontamination chamber. 

Captain Midoriya pinned a terrified Kouda to the wall, trying to reach for the terminal that would open the chamber and irradiate the entire compartment. Kouda was holding him back, speaking frantically, his words muffled behind the thick glass. Shouto watched numbly as the captain’s face crumpled in distress. Was he…upset? About Shouto?

Shouto noticed for the first time that he had a dozen messages in his HUD. His communicator that the captain had given him was gone and realized that he must have removed it at some point. He opened the messages, vaguely amused to see the increasingly worried, and increasingly threatening, missives from the captain. He staggered to his feet and pressed the intercom. 

“Can one of you start the decontamination process? I’m a little low on energy,” he said dryly and was gratified to see them both jump and stare at him incredulously. 

“Shouto!”

“Mister Shouto!” 

“I thought you were done for when the engine started back up suddenly,” Midoriya breathed, practically collapsing against the glass. “We couldn’t control the power output from here. Don’t scare me like that ever again.” 

Shouto couldn’t help his faint smile, too exhausted now to overthink it. Too touched to push it away. Too giddy at his success to care. “I am sorry. I did not anticipate that replacing the damaged modules would yield such dramatic results. Th-the control should have been possible to maintain out here, but it seems that manual override was the only way to–to bring them back online. I’m glad it worked.”

“Glad it…” Midoriya muttered incredulously before coughing out a nervous laugh. “Have I told you you’re incredible today? Because if I haven’t, you’re incredible. But you don’t get to do something like this again, do you hear me, you self-sacrificing idiot! Can’t believe I’ve gotten saddled with two of you…” 

That was hypocritical, Shouto thought dazedly. Everyone had heard about Captain Midoriya’s exploits, after all. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was the real Shouto.

Shouto’s battery indicator gave one last weak beep before his systems started to shut down. He felt dizzy. “I feel that I should warn you,” he said faintly to the growing alarm on Midoriya's face. Huh, when did his captain get so much taller than him? The floor was uncomfortable. Why wasn’t he sleeping in his bed? “I’m about to…once decontimatin’ is com’lete…need t’ rechar…”

“Mister Shouto!”

“Shouto! Shou–”

The last thing Shouto saw was Midoriya’s wide green eyes before his screen went black.

Chapter Text

\

system.initiate --soft
memory-file7.running
standby…\

There was a dull beep. The first thing Shouto registered upon waking was that he felt…nothing. Or rather, an absence of something. The agony that had become his entire existence was completely gone. 

It was not something he could understand. How could it be gone, when pain was all he was? What was left of Shouto if not his pain?

re.external checking…\

There were voices, as if muffled through water. Senseless. Shouto did not fear them. How could he fear anything when he’d already been through the worst this life could offer?

“–subject is waking. Initialize waking procedures Dr.–”

“–unresponsive. Try–”

“Acknowledged. Standby.”

initializing… status.online
checking…\

Shouto began to feel more than the empty void. He lay on something hard, cool beneath his back. His chest felt uncomfortable, something obstructing his airways and forcing it to expand. A small tremor of panic made Shouto twitch, but even that felt wrong somehow. Muted. 

“Muscles are coming online. Hold it steady.” 

Hands–two? More?–grasped Shouto’s face on either side, his shoulders, his hips, his ankles. Other senses came to him slowly. The scent of antiseptic and latex gloves, the cloying heaviness of mechanical oil. The cold of the surface beneath him, the sound of breathing and indecipherable mutters of excitement, the beeps and virr of machinery all around him. A burning light that passed easily through is closed eyelids, white instead of red. It was only that, only the overwhelming inundation of sensory input, that held Shouto immobile. 

There was a small beep. A whirr. His chest bloomed with warmth. Shouto gasped, but it was more of a gurgle as the tube in his airway blocked the path. Shouto coughed even though there was no physical discomfort, struggled weakly to try to dislodge it.

“Remove the breathing tube. It is no longer required.”

A familiar voice, finally, but it brought no comfort to Shouto, only the sense of dread and resignation that it always invoked. Still, it was a relief when the obstruction was removed with efficient hands. Shouto’s chest heaved, but oxygen brought no clarity. He struggled to open his eyes, jaw working beneath the cold fingers against his face. One of the hands moved to cover his eyes and Shouto flinched. 

“Not yet,” the voice, sounding disturbingly gleeful. 

“St-nhu–” Shouto tried, but his voice came out strange, tinny. Shouto couldn’t discern if it was his hearing or that something was wrong with his voice.

Initializing…
Initializing…
Complete
Subject-eighteen --protocol.complete

check status

Complete

\

Shouto’s breath evened. He relaxed. The disorientation passed. 

“Initialization complete,” someone, a woman, said from his left side. 

“Excellent.”

The hands were removed from his person. Shouto did not move, not even when his face was once again uncovered. 

“Did it work?” another unfamiliar voice said tentatively, an undercurrent of excitement in her tone.

“Only subject eighteen can tell us that,” the man said, and Shouto scowled at his dry voice, almost childish and grating on his nerves, as ever. He only received an amused giggle in response. “Well, Mister Todoroki? Open your eyes.” 

Shouto did, his frown only deepening when he was greeted to the unpleasant face of a disturbing, skeletal smile that never failed to make Shouto shudder. But the greedy glean in the red reflection of this man’s eyes hadn’t been able to deter Shouto from what he offered. 

Ignoring him for now, Shouto sat up slowly, feeling surreally that he was riding some sort of lift rather than moving on his own. His perspective changed, his eyes took in more information, but he didn’t feel the grogginess of waking from unconsciousness. His status was displayed across the right side of his vision, the code slightly unfamiliar but not so foreign that he didn’t understand. His body was bare, and for a moment he just stared dazedly at the unblemished, pale skin of his abdomen, his arms, his legs, more artificially perfect than he had ever been in his life, though he'd been designed a perfectly replicated frame. He still had all of his fingers and toes, some of which he lost in the fire. He flexed them, something he hadn’t been able to do for months without blistering agony. 

Finally, his awareness moved beyond himself, to the labcoated men and women standing around him, watching his every move as he got oriented. He had no illusions about what he was to them; an experimental subject. He could have been an animal for all the courtesy they'd shown him despite their 'humanitarian' claims. Shouto did not care. He'd gotten what he wanted.

The bottom of his left foot was hooked up to a long wire that disappeared into some sort of generator. When he shifted, the back of his neck felt stiff and he explored it with tentative fingers, finding a similar, steel-covered wire that wound behind him. Shouto almost turned around. Almost. But didn’t know if he could face what he would find. 

The eerie glow of the cryogenic healing pod that held Shouto’s original destroyed body pulsed behind him and Shouto did not look, carefully dislodging the umbilical cord from the back of his neck. He didn’t need it anymore now that his memories had been downloaded. He looked up into the doctor’s face, the man’s expression unchanged –a childlike glee, fascination, greed. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Doctor Shigaraki.” 

“Kid. Kid!”

Shouto came online slowly. For one insane moment, he thought he was back on the slab in Section 31, subjected to that creepy smile that he would have rather forgotten entirely. 

But it was not his handler’s disturbing grimace that greeted him. Shigaraki’s dry, skeletal face and the harsh fluorescence of the facility were replaced with the warmth of the lights in his quarters and the bloodshot concern in the eyes of his CMO. Right…the Falcon. He was here.

“Did it work?” Shouto said and watched with fascination as Dr. Aizawa’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets,  sharp cheekbones darkening with anger. 

“Did it–? Of all of the irresponsible–fuck, kid! What were you thinking?” 

Shouto did a quick scan of himself. His power was back to optimal levels–he must have recharged fully before rebooting. That had never happened to him before, running out of power like that in the middle of a job. He would have to pay closer attention next time to how external elements affected his energy levels. It had taken much more out of him than he expected to work under irradiated conditions.

Tuning out the lecture the doctor was all but shouting at him, Shouto pulled up the ship’s schematics. He relaxed as he read through the status reports. All of his recommendations had been followed, and it appeared that Mei had completely repaired the warp command terminal. They were back in business, even if it was somewhat disturbing to see that nearly the entire disk of the Falcon had gone dark.

“Are you even listening to me?” 

“No,” Shouto said bluntly, dismissing the updates to look at the near apoplectic doctor. Aizawa took in a huge breath as if he would continue his lecture despite his charge’s inattention, but instead Aizawa deflated, collapsing back against the desk chair that he’d borrowed from Shouto’s desk, hands covering his face. When he dropped them, it was only to let them hang limply between his parted knees. Shouto shifted uncomfortably as Aizawa simply stared at him, the distress lines around his mouth so deep that Shouto wondered if the man had ever smiled.

“Kid. Shouto.” 

“Yes, Doctor?” Shouto said carefully. He tried to turn and face the older man, but his foot, still attached to his charging port, stopped him. He made to remove it, but his hands were caught between Aizawa’s calloused fingers. Shouto looked up at him sharply, but the doctor did not let go. 

“I need to know,” Aizawa said sternly, but gently in a way that reminded Shouto of the times Toya had caught him trying to run away again. It immediately made him feel guilty to think of Toya. Would he be disappointed that Shouto had nearly failed? “Did you go into the warp core with the intention to commit suicide?”

Shouto flinched, eyes widening. He tried to pull back his hands, but Aizawa’s grip tightened. “No,” he said faintly, so softly that it was almost silent. Why would he even think that? 

“Then why did you go through with it? Why did you think that it was okay to risk yourself like that?” 

“I wasn’t–the captain–” Shouto was finding it difficult to find the words. Fear blistered through him. Was Aizawa finally going to report him? Was he going to finally be discharged for fucking up so much?

“Oh, I’ve already had words with the captain,” Aizawa said, anger lacing his tone. But it didn’t seem to be directed at Shouto. “That fool is too trusting by far. He should never have let you go down there.” 

Now Shouto was angry, if not for himself, then for the captain’s sake. “He trusted that I knew what I was doing,” Shouto said stiffly. “I succeeded, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point!” Aizawa seethed, and Shouto was compelled to sit back. “Let me ask you again. Why did you put yourself through something like that knowing that it could get you killed? Why didn’t you take a single goddamn precaution, like, oh I don’t know, charging your goddamn battery before you exposed yourself to the radiation of the goddamn sun! Why didn’t you wait long enough to get a space suit for additional radiation protection, why didn’t you wait for a team to help you, why did you think that you had to do it all on your own!” 

The room fell startlingly silent as Aizawa dropped his head back into his hands, breathing deeply. 

Shouto opened his mouth. Shut it again. He hadn’t thought about…any of that. “The ship is vulnerable. There wasn’t time to…” But there was. “The captain trusted me to get it done.” 

“And that’s another thing,” Aizawa said to the floor as if he couldn’t stand to look at Shouto any longer. “Midoriya believed you when you said you wouldn’t be harmed, because he believed that you wouldn’t risk yourself like this, that you had some semblance of self-preservation. But he doesn’t know you like I do.” 

Shouto’s throat tightened with dread. “What do you mean?” 

Aizawa sighed, finally looked at him. He looked ten years older, as if talking to Shouto was taking years off of his life. “I’ve watched you since you joined the crew. You isolate yourself. You deny yourself basic Human rights, comforts of any kind, companionship, praise. You went through something…terrible, and instead of allowing yourself to heal, you ran from it, locked it all away until you somehow convinced yourself that you deserve it. Survivor’s guilt. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Disassociation.” Every word felt like a blow to Shouto’s chest. He already knew he was a failure, a fuckup, but to have it spelled out for him just how broken he was, how pathetic, was horrifying. His breath quickened, waiting for the guillotine to fall. “I know you, Shouto, because we are very much alike.”

Shouto’s breath hitched, eyes frozen on Aizawa’s aggrieved face. Aizawa took in a steady breath, long fingers lacing together between his knees. “I was meant to be on the S.S. Endeavor when it went down. But I wasn’t. There was an emergency on Earth two weeks before launch. Hitoshi… got into something he shouldn’t have. The wrong people found out. He was hurt. I stayed to take care of him.” Aizawa finally broke eye contact, fingers clenched so tight that they were bleached of all color. “I learned about the accident months later. My husband was on board.” 

Shouto couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Aizawa didn’t seem to notice, shoulders hunching down as if burdened physically by his grief. “I thought,” he said quietly, “that if I had been there, I could have saved him. I could have saved…everyone. I thought that it was my fault that so many were dead, that because I didn’t save them, my life was forfeit. But that’s not how it works.” 

Every word felt like a nail in Shouto’s chest, pounding, piercing, finding every vulnerable spot he had and digging in viciously. He understood what Aizawa was trying to tell him. But Aizawa didn’t understand. No one did, because Shouto had never told anyone what really happened that day. 

That the Endeavor’s demise was his fault. And now Aizawa’s husband’s death–Shinsou’s family– was added to the list of Shouto’s sins.

Aizawa was oblivious to all of this as he once again took Shouto’s hands. “Kid, don’t throw your life away because of what happened. You deserve to heal just like everyone else who survived. You have nothing to make up for, and getting yourself killed won’t change what happened.” 

Live. For me.

“The only reason I am still alive,” Shouto said faintly, pulling his hands away. Aizawa let him go. Shouto’s fingers felt cold. “Was because I made a promise to my brother before the fire took him from me.” 

Aizawa nodded grimly. “You have to find something else to live for. Would your brother really want you to throw it all away?”

“No one would miss me,” Shouto said brokenly to his bedcovers.

“That’s not true and you know it. You got friends, kid. Hitoshi, for one, would murder you if you tried to do something like this again. And that Denobulan fella, Kouda. He nearly gave me a heart attack when he dragged me here, I thought he was going to rip my arm off! I had to sedate him before he had a panic attack.” Shouto’s chest lightened slightly despite himself. He listened, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. Aizawa smiled faintly. “And let’s not forget the captain. The only reason that kid isn’t by your bedside crying his eyes out this very moment is that he had to take command of the ship. He’s been demanding status updates every five minutes since I plugged you in and threw them all out twenty seven hours ago. He’s almost as persistent as Mei, but she stopped bothering me about her ‘sweet baby’ once she figured out how to monitor you through the ship’s computer. How she managed that is anyone’s guess. I’ll have to talk to her at some point about privacy and personal boundaries.” 

Shouto exhaled sharply, a parody of a laugh. “Good luck with that.” Both of them shared a conciliatory grimace.

Surely Aizawa was exaggerating. Shouto felt warm. “And Commander Bakugou?” 

Aizawa’s brow darkened. “He’s lucky Midoriya didn’t knock his ass out and throw him in the brig.” 

“What?” Shouto felt faint.

“I haven’t seen them fight like that since I knew them at the Academy. They started out as rivals, you know.”

Shouto did know that. Their rivalry was infamous, but they’d graduated a couple of years before Shouto, so he only ever got the stories second hand. They’d both been sponsored by Admiral Yagi, one of the most decorated Starfleet captains in Federation history, and competed viciously for the coveted seat of captain of the S.S. Falcon. Shouto wasn’t entirely certain what had been the deciding factor in the end, but he was as surprised as everyone else when Bakugou became Midoriya’s second, seemingly without a fuss. Now that their relationship had come to light, Shouto supposed it made a bit more sense. 

“What were they fighting about?” 

This time Aizawa’s laugh was more genuine. “What do you think, kid? They were fighting about you!” Aizawa peered sternly into Shouto’s stunned face. “When exactly were you going to disclose to your CMO that you were in a relationship with your superior officers, hm?” 

“It’s not–we aren’t in a relationship,” Shouto denied weakly. Aizawa was not fooled. 

“Look, I’m not the best when it comes to giving relationship advice, as Mic would tell you–obnoxiously loudly, I might add–but the only ones I’ve ever seen those two problem children this up in arms about was each other. And now you. Don’t let yourself pass up a good thing when it comes calling, kid. Trust me, you’ll regret it before the end.” He leaned in conspiratorily, “And those two knuckleheads can be a handful, but I can vouch for their character. They won’t push you into anything you don’t want.” 

Shouto took his head in denial. “It’s just a fling,” he insisted.

Aizawa’s brows rose. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that there is no such word as ‘fling’ in Midoriya’s dictionary. And his asshole of a first officer doesn’t do anything by halves. Anyone who’s ever talked to him once would know that.”

When Shouto couldn’t find an answer to that, breathless at what the doctor was implying, Aizawa said more gently, “I think it would be good for you to at least try to open up to the people who care about you, whether you choose to pursue them or not. I can’t say that I’ve been through what you’ve been through – no one’s experiences are identical – but I want you to know that you can always come to me if you need to talk. About anything.” 

When Shouto stayed silent, Aizawa nodded as if he could hear all of the things Shouto couldn’t bring himself to say. Eventually, Aizawa pulled back, professionalism falling over him as easily as he donned his blue uniform. He glanced over a padd. “Your systems seem to be back to optimal operations as far as I can tell. I would order you to take a few days off to recover, but I know you’ll just ignore me,” he said, glancing with amusement at the stubborn line of Shouto’s lips. “You are cleared for duty as soon as you feel able. I suggest you contact your friends before they break your door down, or worse, mine.”

Shouto sat in his bed for a long while after Aizawa left, thinking over what he said. Shouto had thought it, but it had only just dawned on him that he really did have…friends. People who were worried. About him. Even more shocking, Aizawa hadn’t discharged him. Shouto knew, knew that once what he did came to light, it would all be over, but for now, in this very moment, he had people who cared about him. And not just because they were after his Father’s status. What did they need that for, as the Federation’s golden crew? None of them had even asked for anything from him of that nature, and he was beginning to suspect that they never would. 

Shouto was maybe, sort of, starting to believe that they might actually like him for him.

There was a tentative knock on his door and Shouto stared at it blankly.

“Come in.” 

The next thing Shouto knew, he was wrapped in an unreasonably strong pair of arms, his face squished against peculiarly hard skin. If he’d needed to breathe, he might have passed out for how tightly Kouda crushed him to his considerable chest. “Mister Shouto!” Kouda blubbered into his ear. “I-I c-can’t believe y-you did th-that, are y-you okay? Tell me you’re okay!” He pulled back, tear streaked face ruddy with emotion as he practically crushed Shouto’s face between his hands, looking him over for injury. 

“I’m fine,” Shouto said, muffled between Kouda's palms and huffed as he was crushed against Kouda’s chest once more, the man’s words indecipherable against his shoulder. Shouto patted him dazedly. He met Shinsou’s eyes, who held up the doorframe, expression neutral but arms and legs crossed defensively. 

“I should knock your lights out for letting those fool engineers kick me out of botany,” the sallow man said dryly and Shouto smiled.

“I am sorry. I falsely believed that the continued existence of the ship was more important than your fat tubers.” 

Shinsou didn’t smile, but his eyes did flash with mirth. “I’m glad you’re alive, you great moron. Next time you almost die, at least have the decency to will me your stuff.” 

Kouda’s sobbing got louder and Shouto was finding it harder to draw breath enough to speak. He didn't mind it, not enough to push Kouda away. “I don’t exactly have much to offer, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shinsou said with a small, mischievous smirk. He crossed the cramped room, plucking Shouto’s fossilized fern from the shelf and cradling it in his palms. Shouto watched numbly as Shinsou gently pet a large yellow bud that had certainly not been there before. At his touch, it clinked with the pure ring of crystals tapping together, specks of light scintillating over the walls before Shouto’s stunned eyes. “This extremely rare crystalline purpura cor lapis juuust might make up the slight inconvenience of your death.”

Shouto swallowed, a complicated set of emotions tightening his fingers against Kouda’s shirt. He now knew that he’d taken a loved one from Shinsou. This. This was why Shinsou had been so withdrawn lately. The attack on the Falcon had affected him just as badly as it had affected Shouto. What Shinsou asked for, he would give without question and hope that some small part of Shinsou wouldn’t hate Shouto as much as he deserved when he found out. “Anything you want,” Shouto choked. 

Shinsou studied him with enigmatic black eyes and Shouto was abruptly reminded that he could –for all intents and purposes–read minds. But he didn’t comment on what was going through Shouto’s head; not that, nor the fear that gripped the pale haired man. Instead what he’d divined seemed to strengthen some resolve that Shouto couldn’t begin to guess at. “I want,” Shinsou said quietly, replacing the tiny budding fern gently back onto the shelf, “to not lose anyone else I care about. And that includes you. Idiot.” 

“Okay,” Shouto breathed. “Okay.” 

Kouda finally pulled back with a sniff, rubbing his eyes roughly before glaring at Shouto with accusation. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just scrubbed Shouto’s hair roughly before getting up and straightening his uniform. “You should call the captain,” Kouda said to a stunned Shouto, whose hair was ruffled every which way. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but it seemed that Kouda couldn’t find the words. With one last nod and a frown on his tearstained face, Kouda left them alone. 

“What?” Shouto said faintly to the closed door. 

“He’s mad at you,” Shinsou said dryly, then at Shouto’s sharp look, elaborated. “Both of them are mad at you.” 

Shouto winced. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone, least of all Kouda. “But I made it out? And the ship is running at warp two?” 

Shinsou snorted, but it was without mirth. “You're shitting me, right? Even you can’t be that dense.” And Shouto realized abruptly that Midoriya and Kouda weren’t the only ones angry with him. 

“I’m sorry,” Shouto said simply, inadequately. But it was all he could offer now.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when you do.” Shinsou sighed. “Come on. Dad wasn’t exaggerating. If you don’t come out soon, you probably won’t have a door for much longer.”

Shouto eyed him drolly. “Eavesdropping?” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny how acute Vulcan hearing is.” 

“Ah.” 

Shouto straightened himself, actually taking a moment to indulge in a sonic shower. The mirror he’d hidden was uncovered briefly so he could brush his hair while he carefully avoided looking into his own mismatched eyes. Finally, Shouto put on his standard red uniform, feeling more like himself. Just so he had one more moment alone, he even brushed his teeth. But he had to face the world eventually, so he exited the wash closet and stepped to a patiently waiting Shinsou’s side. They stepped out into the corridor. 

“There are so many people,” Shouto commented uneasily. Indeed, the corridors were packed with crewmen, more than Shouto had ever seen in one place.

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you try to cram the entire crew into the lower decks. It’s going to be tight for a bit until we can reach Deep Space 7.” 

Shouto nodded. “How far are we out? Aizawa said I’d been unconscious for twenty seven hours.” 

“Hm, yeah. We should be within hailing distance in the next hour or so.”

That close already? Subspace communications were still down, Shouto knew. They’d been relying on the Vulcan ship to correspond with Starfleet, but now that the Sarek was gone, they could only hail from short range. “So we’ll be there in a few hours?” 

“Around eight,” Shinsou confirmed. Shouto was glad to hear it. At least this would all be over soon. They could get the ship repaired, replace the crew they’d lost, and they could put at least part of this nightmare behind them. 

They stepped around a group of ensigns from the science department and Shouto felt his skin tighten. 

“Are they watching us?” Now that he was looking, they weren’t the only ones. Everyone they passed seemed to have a vested interest in their path. It was unsettlingly like when he’d first entered the Academy and everyone learned his last name.

“You,” Shinsou corrected, amused. “You’re famous now. Everyone heard how you took command of Engineering and then sacrificed yourself to save the warp core.” 

Shouto frowned. “That is not what happened.” 

Shinsou shrugged. “Close enough. Face it, you’re a hero.” 

“Cut it out,” Shouto muttered, resisting the urge to slump his shoulders. As if that would shield him from the stares. It never had. Shouto was so distracted by the attention that he forgot to be nervous about their destination before they were nearly upon them. 

Shouto stopped in his tracks as they rounded the corner and walked straight into the secondary bridge. 

It wasn’t as spacious as the main bridge, of course, and the view was limited from above. The dimly lit disk obscured the stars from above, the temporary bridge’s placement just below where the disk connected to the rest of the ship. The ship was designed so that should the disk be compromised, it could be detached and the ship would still have a seat of command and warp capabilities. For that reason, Sickbay was also located below decks, as was Engineering.

Captain Midoriya sat in the command chair, deep shadows under his eyes but outward confidence unwavering. He stared out of the viewport as the rest of the crew worked around him, face inscrutable. Lieutenant Eijiro Kirishima sat to the captain's right, carefully monitoring the ship’s trajectory while Lieutenant Ochaco Uraraka piloted manually. Their autopilot must still be out. Communications Officer Sero Hanta was speaking quietly into his headset, coordinating the crew as they continued work on the repairs they could reach. Commander Bakugou stood just behind Midoriya, arms crossed and glaring into space. 

“Status update,” Bakugou snapped, and Uraraka huffed in annoyance. 

“Same as the last seven times you’ve asked in the last hour,” she said blandly. 

“I don’t need your sass, round cheeks, I need our ETA.” 

“Seven point six hours,” Kirishima said, much more congenially than the irritated pilot. 

“One hour until we can make contact,” Sero said over his shoulder. 

Bakugou growled. “Can’t this piece of shit go any faster?” 

“Kacchan,” Midoriya reprimanded mildly, but it was cursory. He didn’t put any weight behind it. It barely sounded like he was present. 

Shouto took a subtle step back, but he was thwarted when a hand landed on the back of his neck, practically grabbing him by the scruff before he could escape. 

“Captain, I think you misplaced this,” Shinsou announced dully to the entire crew and Shouto practically turned to stone when every set of eyes swung his way. Shinsou, you ass! Shouto thought as loudly and clearly as he could, and by the small smirk on Shinsou’s face, he either heard him or could read the context clues.

Midoriya reacted first. “Shouto!” he breathed, half rising from his seat. “You’re awake!” 

“...Yes, sir.” He didn’t even try to brush off Shinsou’s demanding hand. The insufferable man wouldn't let go until he’d delivered Shouto to the captain’s hands, clearly. 

Bakugou practically snarled, eyes promising violence. Shouto winced. “Don’t you ‘yes, sir’ us you fucking–”

“Ooooh, that’s him?” Uraraka interrupted, hands finding her full cheeks. “I remember you! You were looking for these two idiots before, right?” She stood from her station, crossing the room to stand before Shouto and Shinsou. Shinsou, feeling that his work was done, released Shouto and waved jauntily over his shoulder. Before Shouto could so much as glare at his retreating back, Uraraka was taking Shouto’s hands in hers, bouncing them between them in some sort of exuberant handshake. “We’ve heard so much about you! Did you really keep the warp core from exploding?” 

“I…no?” Shouto said, unsure what exactly was happening. He tried to extricate his hands but she held him in a surprisingly firm grip. “The core would not have detonated. It just needed new transducers.” 

“Whoa, so you really went into the core while it was still online?” Kirishima said, appearing beside Shouto and placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “That’s so incredibly manly!” 

Shouto gaped at him. “Well. Yes.” 

“Impressive,” Sero drawled calmly, effectively boxing Shouto in when he leaned against the wall with a large, friendly grin. “You’re also the cat who brought Communications back online. I owe you one, man!”

Shouto was beginning to feel overwhelmed.  “Cat?”  

“Alright, enough! Back to work, you damn extras!” Bakugou yanked Kirishima away by his collar and slapped Uraraka’s hands from Shouto’s person. Both backed off with identical grins as Bakugou insinuated himself between them and Shouto. Sero just raised his hands in surrender at Bakugou’s pointed glare before casually walking back to his station with a small chuckle. 

“And you,” Bakugou said hotly, rounding on Shouto. Once again, Shouto found himself looking slightly down into Bakugou’s seething expression, wondering idly if this time the man would give in and punch him in the face. As it was, Bakugou did grab his collar and pull him down until they were eye to eye. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Frosty, and it better be good or I will end you.”

“What Kacchan means to say,” Midoriya said, gently easing Bakugou’s fingers from Shouto’s uniform. “Is that we’d like to talk to you. In private.” Though Midoriya’s words and tone were polite, his face indicated that Shouto did not, in fact, have a choice in the matter. 

Shouto straightened slowly. “Yes, sir,” he said, because what else could he say? 

“You have the con, Ochaco.” 

“Aye, sir. Have fun!” 

Midoriya pursed his lips but didn’t comment as the other two choked on laughs. Shouto did not know what was so amusing. This was anything but funny. 

Bakugou left the room first, flipping Sero and Kirishima off before bypassing the conference room and storming off the bridge. Midoriya followed him at a more sedate pace, placing a firm hand on Shouto’s forearm and all but escorting him out. Shouto swallowed as they entered the main thoroughfare and were once again scrutinized by everyone they passed. Were they going to throw him straight into the brig for insubordination?

“Sir, where are we going?” 

“Izuku.” 

Shouto blinked. “Sir?” 

Midoriya glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, sending a bolt of –something–down Shouto’s spine. “My name. Call me by my name.” 

Shouto was at a loss for words. So he didn’t say anything as he was escorted a short distance from the bridge to a turbolift. Bakugou was already waiting for them, hands shoved into his pockets impatiently, scowl fierce. He all but broke the terminal when he entered the command for deck two, the same deck that Shouto lived, baring his teeth at a couple of ensigns who tried to enter the lift with them. The two young women practically jumped away as the doors shut. 

“Kacchan, be nice,” Midoriya said. 

“They can get their own damn lift.” 

Shouto wisely stayed silent until they reached the crew’s quarters on the opposite end of Shouto’s tiny bunk. They entered, and Shouto, to his immense surprise, was not forced into the brig but a living space. 

The quarters were clearly only temporary, the furnishing sparse and two beds shoved together to make one against the side. Still, it was larger than Shouto’s room. He didn’t get much of a chance to explore further before a rough hand was pushing him against the door. To his shock, it was not Bakugou this time but Midoriya, his usually affable face stormy with emotion. 

“Are you okay?” Midoriya said first, and Shouto blinked. 

“Yes. I’m fine. I only needed to charge for a bit.” 

Midoriya closed his eyes briefly, releasing Shouto momentarily from the intensity of his gaze. Shouto glanced at Bakugou, but the man only let out an angry ‘cheh’, before slumping against the wall to watch them. Some help he was. 

“You lied to me,” Midoriya said quietly, and Shouto’s eyes snapped back to his face. Midoriya opened his eyes slowly and Shouto ached at the unexpected hurt in them. “You said you wouldn’t be harmed and you lied.”  

Shouto felt his shoulders tightening defensively. “I did not lie. I was not harmed.” 

Midoriya shook his head slowly, wide jaw clenching visibly. “You disobeyed a direct order and did not return when I told you to. Why.” 

It was not a question. It was a demand. “I had to finish replacing the transducers. The ship needed–”

“Bullshit,” Midoriya cursed, and Shouto jumped at the uncharacteristic language. “This was not some sort of do-or-die mission. You didn’t have to replace them all at once! You could have taken a break, recharged, and gone back in in a matter of hours. I expected you to. The ship couldn’t move until the rest of the actuators were transferred from the disk, anyway. There was no reason to risk yourself!” He took a deep breath, trying to reign in his anger. “I watched you collapse on the other side of that glass door, and I thought you were dead and we had no way to get to you until decontamination was through. Tell me what you were thinking.”

“I…” the look on Midiriya’s face told him under no uncertain terms that he’d better tell the truth or face dire consequences. It was the same sort of lecture Aizawa had given him and only now was Shouto starting to recognize his foolishness. “I’m sorry. I should not have disobeyed you.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

Shouto didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know why he never thought of all the obvious safeguards that he should have put into place. He just…never did. His shoulders hunched around his ears, a rising pressure in his throat as he was backed into a corner. Something in him broke. “Why do you even care?” Shouto blurted, looking away sharply. He couldn’t deal with this. “I’m not even fucking real, so why do you care?” 

 Shouto stared at his feet, the room ringing with the echo of his shout. 

“Why do we care?” Midoriya whispered. The hand on Shouto’s chest gently lifted away to rest on his jaw, encouraging him to look up. Shouto flinched. Midoriya followed him, brushing lightly over his cheek. “Shouldn’t you know by now how we feel about you?” 

Shouto looked up cautiously through his white fringe, not daring to hope. Midoriya’s palm was as warm as his expression. “You can’t mean that.”

“Why can’t I? Because you’re an android?” Midoriya smiled. “You are so much more than that.”

“You wouldn’t be saying this if you knew the real me,” Shouto said just as quietly. 

Midoriya only shook his head. “I do know the real you. You saved our ship even though you were in pain.” 

Shouto opened his mouth to protest but Bakugou’s voice silenced him. “You managed to gain everyone’s respect despite all expectations of you.” They were both standing in front of him now, though the slighter man didn’t move to touch him. His voice was soft, soft like when he talked to Midoriya on those few occasions Shouto had seen them alone together. “You brought this ship back from the brink where others failed, even if you were a damn idiot about it.”

“You’re protective of your friends,” Midoriya continued and Shouto forgot how to breathe. “I saw you help Ensign Kouda when he was upset. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hitoshi smile so much.” 

“You have good taste in food,” Bakugou said smugly and laughed lightly when Midoriya elbowed him in the ribs. “And you’re hot as fuck.” 

“Kacchan!” 

“What, it’s fucking true.” 

Shouto felt his cheeks flush and he ducked his head again. “My features are modified. This isn’t actually how I look.” 

Because he wasn’t looking at them, he missed their puzzled frowns. Bakugou shrugged at Midoriya’s questioning stare. 

“We’d like you either way. You’re a wonderful person, Shouto.” 

Shouto just shook his head. They didn’t know what they were talking about. 

Bakugou grunted. “Point is, we care because we like you, Snowflake.” 

“Because you want to sleep with me,” Shouto stated, biting his lip. 

“That too.” Bakugou slapped a hand against the wall over Shouto’s shoulder, leaning in with a salacious grin. “If I had my way, we’d be fucking you on every available surface for the rest of our lives.” 

Midiriya pulled Bakugou out of Shouto’s face. “Give him air, Kacchan, seriously.” He smiled genuinely at Shouto, green eyes bright and sincere. “What he means is–”

“I meant exactly what I said!” 

“–that we’d like you to be our third,” Midoriya soldiered on over Bakugou’s grumbling. “Romantically,” he clarified, heading off Shouto’s question. 

Shouto stared wide eyed, first at Midoriya, who waited patiently, then at Bakugou who shrugged and grinned coyly. 

“So what’ll it be, Snowflake? Wanna go steady?”  

“Kacchan!” 

“What?” 

Midoriya lifted his hands placatingly, giving Shouto a reassuring smile. “This really isn’t how we wanted to do this. We were going to court you properly, I swear! We were going to invite you to dinner and Kacchan was going to cook, and–But well–you don’t have to answer right away. We can go slow. Or whatever you–”

Midoriya squeaked as Shouto halted his words with the firm press of his lips. Shouto inhaled deeply as he changed the angle, stepping closer and winding his fingers through Midoriya’s unruly hair. After a suspended moment, Midoriya’s tension melted completely, digging his fingers into Shouto’s hips and pulling Shouto against him. Firmly. Shouto gasped as their chests pressed together and Midoriya took it for the invitation it was, slipping his tongue inside Shouto’s willing mouth. Shouto was thrown momentarily as the wet appendage slid against his tongue, only pausing for a split second in surprise that Shouto’s was dry. That was quickly remedied as Shouto activated his eating simulation, his mouth flooding with moisture to match Midoriya's fervor. He thanked anyone who would listen that he’d actually been taking in fluids recently at Aizawa’s insistence so that he had enough in his body for this.

“That’s more like it,” Bakugou said huskily from behind Shouto, and Midoriya pulled back abruptly with a gasp. 

“You taste amazing, Shouto,” he said breathlessly before diving back in for more. Shouto wasn’t sure what he meant. His approximation of saliva shouldn’t taste like anything, as far as he was aware. But he wasn’t about to complain if it was something that Midoriya enjoyed. 

“Doesn’t he, though?” Bakugou chuckled, pressing against Shouto’s back. Shouto barely noticed, too lost in the sensation of Midoriya’s lips against his, his warmth, the slick slide of his tongue confidently mapping out the cavern behind Shouto’s parted teeth. Shouto let him explore, groaning softly as Midoriya took what he wanted, pressing, nipping at his lower lip, drinking in the sounds Shouto made like a fine glass of whiskey. 

Shouto shivered as Bakugou bit lightly at his nape, rough hands sliding up Shouto’s abdomen and slipping beneath his shirt only to drag his blunt nails tantalizingly back down. His teeth dug in a little more firmly as Shouto arched, sending tingles down his spine and into his scalp. 

“Mmm,” Midoriya hummed, grabbing at Bakugou’s slim hips and pulling him forward, pressing Shouto between them. Bakugou ground obligingly into Shouto’s ass and Shouto felt it acutely as the firm ridge of Bakugou’s interest twitched against him. Bakugou chuckled darkly as Shouto arched into him.

Indulging in the fantasy he’d been thinking about ever since the storage room, Shouto grasped at the tempting curve of Midoriya’s lower back, teasing his fingers beneath the broad man’s shirt and appreciating the way Midoriya’s muscles tensed and rolled under his grip. Even better than he imagined. Midoriya giggled, kissed him harder.

“We are going to have so much fun with you, Snowflake. I’m tempted to bend you over right now.” 

“What makes you think I would be the one bending over?” Shouto retorted breathlessly and was gratified at Bakugou’s bark of laughter. 

“I’d fucking like to see you try.” 

Shouto’s smile was small but sincere as he looked into Midoriya’s darkened eyes. There was a flush on Midoriya’s cheeks that stood out starkly against his freckles. Adorable. Shouto’s smile became a smirk and he enjoyed the way Midoriya’s eyes dilated in response. “Maybe some other time.” 

“We have time,” Midoriya promised before claiming Shouto’s lips all over again. Shouto allowed himself to be manipulated between them, only pulling back enough for Bakugou to impatiently remove Shouto's shirt. Before Shouto knew what was happening he was completely bare with his knees on either side of Midoriya’s hips, settling into Midoriya’s lap as they collapsed onto the bed. His arms wrapped around the broad man’s shoulders, Shouto pulled back only enough for their heated breaths to mingle between them. Shouto could feel himself getting worked up, almost embarrassingly so considering neither man had even offered more than a few light touches. Shouto cursed internally as Midoriya’s hands wandered down his stretched sides and Shouto’s eyes rolled back slightly as he pressed into the smooth glide of Midoriya’s work worn fingers. 

Bakugou stepped between Midoriya’s parted feet, his warmth washing over Shouto’s back as he leaned in. Unyieldingly strong, commanding, and almost volatile, Shouto should have felt some sort of trepidation at having Bakugou at his back, should have felt some fear at being so vulnerable before him. But Shouto felt nothing but safe, a rare enough experience for him that he nearly melted against Midoriya and arched into that heat.

“C’mere,” Bakugou husked, wrapping his hand around Shouto’s throat lightly and coaxing him to turn around enough for a kiss. Shouto had to loosen his arms around Midoriya’s neck, but he didn’t let go entirely as he flexed his upper body to accommodate Bakugou, still wordlessly begging Midoriya to keep touching him. He wasn’t sure he could let go. This was the most positive physical contact he’d had in years and he wasn’t about to lose a single, beautiful moment, starving, craving, ravenous for it. Luckily Midoriya heard his unspoken plea, running his hands up and down Shouto’s chest, hips, back. It was bliss.

If Shouto had a pulse it would have been racing to match the rapid percussion he could feel in Bakuguo’s corded chest as the slim, unyielding man pressed against Shouto and licked covetously into his mouth. As it was, Shouto’s core was thrumming with noticeable warmth that pooled into his hips like molten gold. Bakugou’s skin was hot against his, his still clothed cock pressing into the small of Shouto’s back. Shouto wondered why he was still bothering to wear his pants. It wasn’t like he needed them. Shouto let his arms fall from Midoriya’s shoulders, the fingers of one hand winding into Midoriya’s hair as Midoriya pressed reverent kisses into Shouto’s collarbone, and the other slipping behind himself to grasp at Bakugou’s cock, squeezing experimentally. Hm. Nice. Bakugou growled against his lips, pulling away abruptly and tightening his light grip on Shouto’s throat. 

“Cocky bastard.” 

Shouto grinned lazily but lost whatever he was going to retort when he felt Midoriya’s large hand wrap around his cock. “Ah!” 

Shouto squirmed on Midoriya’s lap, abdomen clenching tightly as he curled forward. It was just as intense as he remembered, even moreso when it wasn't his own touch. Sparks of molten pleasure danced up his spine as Midoriya set a steady pace, breathing hotly into Shouto’s ear. 

“Fuck,” Bakugou muttered behind him, and then his warmth was gone. Not that Shouto noticed. He was too lost in the sensation of Midoriya’s gentle touch, so light it would only be a tease to anyone else, but to Shouto it was nearly excruciating. He gasped and shook in Midoriya’s arms, overwhelmed. 

“Oh my god, Shouto,” Midoriya said reverently right into Shouto’s ear. “You are so amazing. So perfect for me.” 

“St-sto-ah!” Shouto moaned nonsensically, the praise hitting him like lightning to his chest and making his cock jump in Midoriya’s grip. “T-too mu–” Midoriya’s hand stopped moving and Shouto keened, completely unaware of the sounds spilling out of his mouth. 

“Don’t come yet,” Bakugou husked into his other ear, and Shouto jumped as warm fingers, slick with something, wandered down his back. He opened his eyes, not having been aware of closing them in the first place, and stared unseeing at the wall behind Midoriya. 

“I haven’t–I don’t,” Shouto stuttered. He hadn’t tried to touch himself there in this body. He didn’t know if–

“Shh,” Bakugou soothed, fingers running back up his spine soothingly, leaving a faint trail of moisture behind. “I’m only going to use my fingers. You alright with that?” 

Heat surged in Shouto’s body and he was nodding before he even knew what he was doing. He cried out when Midoriya began moving his hand again, distracting Shouto from Bakugou’s movements. Midoriya was still muttering praise, but Shouto was past hearing it. Bakugou hovered over them, fingers slipping between Shouto’s cheeks and rubbing over his entrance gently. 

It felt as though Shouto had been electrocuted, like some undetectable switch had been flipped. He arched, hard, a soundless scream on his lips and a visible tremble running all the way through him. 

“Damn,” Bakugou cursed, calloused palm against Shouto’s shoulder to hold him steady. The unmistakable sound of knees hitting the deck made Shouto’s stuttered breath hitch audibly. 

Still, Bakugou’s finger circled Shouto’s entrance, gently, insistently, increasing in pressure little by little as Bakugou pressed biting kisses against Shouto’s lower back. Both of them grunted in surprise as the digit suddenly slipped in with zero resistance. Then Bakugou was cursing almost as loudly as Shouto. “Holy–are you doing that on purpose?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Shouto said, overwhelmed as he pressed his face into Midoriya’s broad shoulder. It felt as though his entire frame was rippling with pleasure, his core thrumming and sending tremors up and down his spine. There was no customary burn, no painful stretch to distract him. He’d never felt anything remotely like it and it was driving him wild. 

“Deku, you’ve gotta feel this.” 

Midoriya’s other hand that had been nestled soothingly in Shouto’s hair was yanked down between his legs instead. Midoriya hiccoughed as Bakugou guided him inside of Shouto as well. 

“Ah! Hn.” Shouto doubled over as the sounds he couldn’t help were near punched out of him. Midoriya’s shoulder was trembling beneath his forehead as the captain moved his fingers experimentally. 

“Shouto,” Midoriya breathed raggedly. “You feel…like you’re sucking us in.” 

Shouto groaned loudly as both of them began moving at the same time. He couldn’t take much more of this. He was going crazy. 

Bakugou bit harshly into his hip. “Wanna fuck you so bad, fuck, you’re so hot.” He shoved two more fingers in without warning beside Midoriya’s gently stroking digits and Shouto gasped roughly at the sudden stab of pleasure. “God damn.”  

“Kacchan, be gentle!” Midoriya yelped, startled, but Bakugou only laughed.

“I don’t think we could hurt him if we tried.” 

Shouto shook his head, ground his nose into Midoriya’s damp skin. “D-doesn’t hurt, ah! Please.”  

Shouto’s hips were moving without his awareness, gyrating into their fingers, into Midoriya’s hand which was moving faster now, maddening. 

“Are you going to come for us?” Midoriya rumbled, voice deep and smooth as melted chocolate. Shouto wanted to. He wanted to but he also didn’t want this to end, not now, not ever. It was too soon. He cried out as Midoriya slipped in another finger, moving in tandem with Bakugou. It felt like a lot, but not too much, not nearly enough. Shouto shook his head. “Shh, we have time. What do you need?”

Shouto gasped, said something, repeated it over and over and it only registered after several more breathless moments what it was he was saying. Stay. He didn’t see the way Bakugou and Midoriya looked at each other over the bow of his neck. 

“We ain’t going anywhere, Frosty,” Bakugou growled. “No way in hell are we going to let you go now.” 

“You’re ours,” Midoriya mumbled sweetly into the top of his head and with one more clever twist of Midoriya’s hand, Shouto was gone. 

All three of them gasped as Shouto went rigid and clamped down around their fingers hard, his body pulsating with wave after wave of pleasure. 

“Shit, fuck, fuck–”

“Shouto, oh my god–”

Shouto didn’t hear them, could only shudder and hold on as he experienced an orgasm just as intense, if not moreso than the one that had nearly made him black out in the storage room. His hips undulated, chasing or trying to get away, Shouto couldn't say.  It was too much, way too much and Shouto could do nothing but ride it out and try to hold onto his fraying sanity long enough to come out the other side.

When he was finally aware again, he was laying on his back against the captain and commander’s sheets, staring up at the ceiling, dazed and warm all over. Fuck, he mumbled inaudibly to himself with a sinking feeling of shame. What the hell was that? He needed to dig more into his sexual functions and turn that shit down. How was he ever supposed to actually participate if he couldn’t even withstand a handjob?

“You with us, Frosty?” Bakugou drawled, grinning down at him like a lunatic. Or possibly like a cat who’d just eaten a particularly plump canary. 

“Probably?” Shouto said slowly, moving his extremities just to see if he still could. He felt good – really good – but also somewhat mortified that he’d crumbled so thoroughly after such a, for him, tame encounter.

A hand brushed over his forehead and Shouto looked up into Midoriya’s enraptured face. 

“Shouto, that was amazing.”  

“Yeah. Tell me the name of the pervert who designed you so I can send them a goddamn fruit basket,” Bakugou joked, flopping onto his back beside Shouto and sighing with contentment, even though Shouto had been the only one who’d finished. Bakugou’s cock still pressed insistently against his fly but Bakugou didn’t seem bothered by it. Shouto didn’t even have to look at Midoriya to feel the flush of his arousal practically radiating off of him as he rested against Shouto’s other side. 

Shouto grimaced, even beneath the pleasant sensation of Midoriya running a gentle hand up and down his abdomen. They were both dressed still, damn them. Shouto hoped that this pleasant haze would last just a bit longer so he could stave off the panic he could already feel tightening his gut, just for one more moment. Whether they’d meant it or not, whether they were going to throw him out now or what, he didn’t want to know just yet. “I’d really rather not discuss that creep right now if you don’t mind,” he said dryly. He tried not to think about what went into designing those particular features.

Bakugou sat up and Midoriya’s hand stopped moving. They looked at each other before looking down at Shouto, who suddenly felt like he’d stumbled on some sort of landmine. “What do you mean?” Bakugou said, brows darkening with anger. 

All pleasant sensations fled in a sick wash of fear. Fuck. What had Shouto said? Why did he always have to open his mouth and ruin everything?

“Shouto?” Midoriya asked, looking into his eyes seriously. 

“Bridge to Captain,” Midoriya’s communicator chirped, breaking the tension. For a moment, Midoriya ignored it, but the weight of command could not be shed so easily. He didn’t take his eyes off Shouto as he answered. 

“This conversation is not over,” Midoriya promised ominously before he pressed his comm. “Midoriya, here.” 

“Sorry to interrupt, Captain,” Sero said urgently. “But we’re within hailing range and DS7 is not responding.”

Midoriya sat up, directing a worried frown at Bakugou. “Distress beacon?”

“Not that we can detect, sir.” 

“Can you get a visual?” Bakugou said.

“Standby.”

Shouto’s heart was already sinking before Sero delivered the news. 

“...Captain. You might want to get up here.”  

“What is it, Sero?” Midoriya said grimly. 

“DS7. It’s been destroyed.”

Shouto followed the captain and commander to the bridge without a second thought. Crewmen leapt to the side as they barreled down the halls at a dead sprint, only stopping when they’d reached the temporary bridge. 

“What are we looking at, eyebags?” Bakugou snapped as soon as the three of them had skidded to a stop. The small image on the viewport was grainy at best, displaying Deep Space 7. It was hard to make out from this far away, but the ring that ran around the largest section of the base, a long cylindrical body, was broken into random pieces as if it had been blown out from the inside. A large debris field glinted indistinctly around it. “Kiri, can you clean this up?” 

“On it, sir. But we’re still too far away to make out much.”

Shinsou was already there, hunched over a scope. Shouto was startled to see him; he wasn’t aware that Shinsou was one of the bridge crew as well.

“Eyebags!” Bakugou repeated.

“I’m presuming you mean me,” Shinsou said blandly, not even looking up. The scope cast a faint blue light onto his face, ironically lessening the appearance of dark circles. “It appears that the base is without power. I can detect no life signs at this time, but we are still too far away to determine that with certainty.” 

“What happened?” Midoriya said softly, eyes wide with dismay. “We were in contact with them not three days ago.” 

“Was it the same fuckers who attacked us?” Bakugou asked Shinsou, who finally turned around on his chair. His friend’s face was lined with strain and Shouto wondered if the tension was getting to him.

“Hard to say. We need to get closer before I can perform a more accurate scan.” 

 Kirishima exclaimed in triumph as he successfully sharpened the image, enough for them to see the extent of the damage. 

“Those appear to be the same type of hull breaches the electromagnetic bomb inflicted on the Falcon,” Shouto spoke up, stepping to Midoriya’s side and looking at the viewport thoughtfully. “Those are not external attacks.”

Bakugou shot him a look that was all business, no personal recognition in his dark red eyes. Right now he wasn’t Bakugou the man, but the head of security, first officer, and commander of the S.S. Falcon. “Do you think you could find the epicenter of the attack like you did for the Falcon?”  

Shouto hesitated. He’d never tried to connect to a ship this size before. “It’s possible,” he said slowly. “We’d have to get the power back online.” 

Midoriya nodded. “Bakugou, do you see any ships in the area?” 

“No,” Bakugou said succinctly, swiping his hand over his terminal. “But the lieutenant’s theory suggested that there may be cloaked vessels dropping these payloads. And If there is anyone out there, even if we can’t see them they can sure as hell see us.”

“Are our weapons still online?” 

“We have photon torpedoes, but the phaser cannons are offline since they're in the disk,” Bakugou said. “Fifty percent shields at best if we drop out of warp. We couldn’t outgun a Ferengi smuggling vessel right now. ”

Midoriya placed a thoughtful hand over his mouth, muttering quietly to himself. After a moment, he turned. “Mr. Sero, is everyone out of the disk?” 

“Yes, sir. All personnel has been relocated from the upper decks.” 

“Good. I need you to coordinate the transfer of all critical supplies to Cargo Bay 2.” The captain turned to Shouto who nearly jumped at the serious expression on his face. This was a new side of Midoriya he didn’t recognize. A professional. A captain. “Mr. Shouto, can your team redirect the shields to cover only the lower decks and the auxiliary engines?” 

“Our disk would be vulnerable,” Shouto cautioned, but it appeared that Midoriya already knew that and was willing to risk it. Shouto thought hard, briefly pulling up the ship’s schematics. “It can be done. We may have to clear the topmost covered deck. We would not be able to use it if the shields were running through. But it should raise our shield strength by approximately twenty two percent.” 

Midoriya nodded sharply. “Good, make it happen. Ochaco, Kiri, Hitoshi, Kacchan, my ready room. Shouto, when you’re done conveying orders, join us. Lieutenant Sero, you have the con.” 

“Aye, sir!” was the chorused response, and then everyone on the bridge was moving. Shouto did not hesitate. He strode to the command console that he’d only ever touched when making repairs, pulling up shield controls. He touched his communicator, only vaguely aware of Sero moving to take the captain’s seat as reliefs replaced the vacated officers. Sero’s voice was background noise as he updated the crew. 

“Bridge to Ensign Kouda.”  

“Mister Shouto! Kouda here. What do you need?” came Kouda’s immediate response and Shouto was briefly relieved that though the man was probably still angry with him, it did not stop him from answering. 

Shouto quickly outlined the captain’s orders, verifying with the console beneath his fingers and entering the necessary overrides as he spoke. It was without precedent and required a few creative code inputs, but it was doable. “–and I need Tokoyami and Murata on the auxiliary engines, see if they can’t coax a little more speed out of her.”

“Alright. It should be done in about four hours.”

“Acknowledged.” That would be barely enough time before they dropped out of warp, but it would have to do. Shouto pressed his communicator again. “Bridge to Lt. Commander Mei.” and then he kicked himself for forgetting. He should have contacted her first. 

“What, what, what?” was Mei’s much more unorthodox response. Shouto began to update her but she interrupted. “Yeah, yeah, the captain told me. I’m already working on getting our new baby locked and loaded!”  

Shouto raised a brow. “Our new baby?” 

“Oh, yeah! I miiiight have been working on a little side project for a while, you know, before all this crazy. A little brainchild that I modified from the backup parts for our phaser cannons.”  

“Does it work?” Shouto asked cautiously, dreading the answer.

“Of course it’s going to work!” she exclaimed, offended. “Well. Most likely. Probably. It only has a thirty percent chance of blowing up. That’s really good!” 

On what planet ‘only thirty percent chance of blowing up’ was good odds, Shouto had no time to find out. He would just have to trust that Mei knew what she was doing. With a promise to keep her updated, and a silent promise to himself to monitor her tampering before she installed explosives so close to the warp nacelles – Shouto thought he was bad about making unauthorized modifications. At least none of his tampering was blatantly dangerous – Shouto abandoned his console and strode to the captain’s temporary ready room. 

Where he walked into an argument. 

“For the last fucking time, you are not coming with us, Deku!” 

Bakugou and Midoriya were having a standoff, quite literally, at the head of the long conference table that filled most of the room. The other members of the crew wore expressions ranging from exasperation to quiet amusement, indicating that this was a common occurrence. Feeling vaguely like he shouldn’t be here, Shouto took a seat by Shinsou’s side. Shinsou barely glanced at him before training his eyes back on the growing drama.

“I wasn’t asking your permission, Commander,” Midoriya said calmly, dangerously. 

“Are you saying that you don’t trust my security team not to fuck up?” Bakugou retorted, uncowed. 

“Are you saying that Ochaco can’t handle command while I’m away?” Midoriya countered tightly. 

On Shouto’s other side, Uraraka snorted, muttering “don’t drag me into this,” under her breath. 

Midoriya continued. “You need someone to help restart the power. We have no idea how damaged the base is.” 

“I’ll have Frosty,” Bakugou dismissed. Shouto startled slightly at being brought up. Was this about the organization of an away mission?

It made sense, now that Shouto thought about it. It wasn’t like he could connect with the starbase if he wasn’t on board. Still, him, on an away mission. He’d trained for it of course. Extensively. But his Father had never allowed him to do something so dangerous, not under his command. 

But it seemed that he was being called upon now. Shouto didn’t know if he felt pressured or vindicated by their assumption, their trust that he could get the job done. 

“You aren’t going down there without me again, Kacchan, and that’s final!” Midoriya finally snapped, raising his voice. There was a tension between them, an unspoken conversation that Shouto didn’t understand. Everyone else in the room was grim, waiting and Shouto felt that he was missing some vital information. 

Bakugou glanced at everyone in the room, as if only curbing himself because of the audience, before settling onto Midoriya. “This isn’t like Delta Vaga. I’ll have shit hair and sparky with me.”

“And you’ll have me,” Midoriya finished quietly before turning away from Bakugou, a clear dismissal. This time Bakugou didn’t protest, his mouth a grim line. He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at nothing. Projecting his voice, Midoriya abruptly started the mission brief, pulling up the image of the dark starbase onto the large monitor behind him. “We’ll be arriving at DS7 in approximately six point five hours. I will be leading a small security team, along with Mr. Shouto and Mr. Shinsou, aboard once it has been confirmed that there are no enemy vessels present.” 

“How do we know that there are no ships if they’re cloaked?” Kirishima interjected with a worried frown. 

“We may be able to assume that they have fled the scene, just as they did when the Falcon was attacked. It was a highly unlikely event that we survived, so perhaps they prematurely believed that they succeeded,” Shouto said slowly, trying not to sink into himself when all eyes turned to him. “Besides, even if they’re cloaked, we should still be able to trace their warp signature. Cloaked ships still emit plasma under impulse power, and cloaking fields attract tachyon particles that will fluoresce if impacted by a spatial shockwave. At least, the cloaking fields we’ve encountered.”

“Of course! And an even number of signatures means they’ve most likely come and gone,” Kirishima said, slapping a fist into his palm. 

“Something’s been bothering me about that,” Uraraka spoke up. “What exactly was the point of attacking the Falcon in the first place? They didn’t even stick around to take anything.”

Midoriya sighed, taking a seat and lightly placing his hands on the table. “A couple of days ago, we received word from Starfleet through the Sarek that there had been a terrorist attack on a few Starfleet facilities dirtside. No threat was issued and no theft was reported, but we also received news that there had been another attack on the S.S Ingenium at the same time. It’s why all ships were withdrawn to Earth.” 

Uraraka gasped. “Iida’s ship? Is he alright?” 

Midoriya smiled. “Yes. Luckily for them, they were close to a mining colony and were able to transport everyone to safety before the ship went offline.” 

Uraraka visibly deflated, a hand over her heart. Then her expression hardened. “So we can discount this being another pirate attack. Someone is targeting Starfleet specifically. Can we consider the incidents of piracy on all Starfleet vessels in the past few years linked?” 

Midoriya pursed his lips. “Like the Stella? Hm. I’m not sure. Kiri, can you have someone pull up the records of all strange incidents on Starfleet ships or stations for the past ten years? It might be worth looking into.” 

“I’m on it,” Kirishima said, swiftly typing on his padd. “In the meantime, I’ll see if I can’t get our scanners attuned to tachyon particles. The signature will be extremely faint if we can detect it at all.” 

“Alright.” Midoriya looked around the room before getting up from his seat. “Our mission is to get aboard DS7, get her back online, and find out what happened to our people. You have six hours to prepare.” 

Bakugou pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. “Eyebags, Frosty, you’re with me. Shitty hair, you join us once you’ve got our scanners working.” 

Midoriya looked at each of them in turn. Shouto shivered when he lingered for a split second longer on him. Midoriya nodded sharply. “Dismissed.” 

Everyone stood, saluted. “Aye, sir!”

Shouto followed Bakugou from the room with a feeling of surreality. Things were moving fast now, faster than he could really process. But all he could do was do his job and follow orders. Whether he was ready or not, he was going on his first away mission. 

Shinsou slapped Shouto roughly on the back and offered him a grimace that might have been an attempt at a smile. “Buckle up.” 

Chapter Text

Shouto followed Bakugou as he made his way swiftly through the halls. Shouto couldn’t see his face from behind, but his expression must have been fierce because every crewman in his way was quick to remove themselves, only relaxing their rigid salutes once they were safely in his wake.

Shouto watched Bakugou’s broad shoulders to the exclusion of all else, trying to draw comfort from their confident sway and not to give in to his panic. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of his first away mission, but it was not this. His Father had never allowed him to do something so dangerous. Shouto imagined that if he ever did end up on an away mission, it would have been something tame like a diplomatic envoy, or perhaps a routine colony inspection; certainly not an expedition into a desiccated space station with unknown enemies in the shadows. 

Shinsou strode at Shouto’s side with equal purpose as the man in front of them and Shouto tried to emulate Shinsou’s calm. Shinsou did not attempt to reassure him, but that was alright. His presence was enough. Shouto was extremely glad that he would be there, even though he loathed to contemplate the danger Shinsou would be put under. The same danger he would face. 

We’re all in danger anyway, he reasoned silently. Their enemy notwithstanding, they’d lost a lot of supplies when the ship was attacked. The Sarek had given them some relief, but the Falcon had been relying on the starbase to provide food and repairs. Now it was unlikely they could get either. DS7 was named ‘Deep Space’ for a reason. Even at warp seven, it was days from the nearest Federation planet and weeks away from Earth.

A short lift ride later, Bakugou led them into hangar bay five, where work was already underway to supply and prep one of the Falcon’s six shuttles. Bakugou led them past the rectangular shuttle that would bear them hence and into a room along the side of the vast hanger, shutting the door behind them. Space suits hung along the wall of the much smaller space. None of them were the same color, as per protocol. It was easier to tell who was who out on the field when they were forced to cover their faces. Labels on wide, white panels indicated the weapons and equipment stored behind them. Bakugou did not hesitate to shove aside one of the panels and pull out two phaser pistols. One he passed to Shinsou, who was already pulling down a purple suit and holster. Shinsou took it without comment, sliding it into its holster to be equipped later. 

Shouto jumped when Bakugou held a phaser out to him expectantly. Shouto stared at the small handgun for several seconds. Smooth and sleek, it would emit a particle beam that could stun a humanoid at low settings and kill them instantly at high. Shouto had only ever practiced shooting one in a highly controlled setting. He was a good shot, but people were not targets and an obstacle course was no war zone. Would he be able to actually shoot someone if it came down to it? Shouto didn’t know. He looked slowly back up at Bakugou, and the doubt must have shown on his face. 

Bakugou scrutinized him, expression unreadable. “Do you know how to use one of these?” 

“I have been trained,” Shouto said, gingerly taking the pistol from Bakugou’s hand. The metal was cold against his palm. 

The commander nodded. “Good. If we’re lucky, the bastards will already be gone and you won’t need it, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.” He gestured toward the space suits. “We’re going in with suits whether life support has failed or not. I ain’t leaving anything to chance. Pick a color that compliments your ass.”

Before Shouto could point out that he did not require a suit either way, there was a bright laugh as the door opened and a blonde man in security red stepped through. “All the colors complement my ass, man. How could I possibly choose?” 

He was small, shorter than Bakugou by a few inches. His shoulder-length blonde hair was streaked with black and he wore a friendly grin on his tanned face. Shouto recognized him as Lieutenant Kaminari, though he’d never spoken with him before. Kaminari eyed Shouto with interest, but Bakugou was already shoving a yellow suit at him. 

“Can it, sparky. Where’s bubblegum?” Bakugou said gruffly, and Shouto wondered if there was a person on this ship who hadn’t gotten some sort of insulting nickname. 

“She’s–on her–way,” Kirishima panted as he arrived, finally catching up to them. “Whew. It’s a lot further to this armory than the one in the disk.” 

Bakugou rolled his eyes, picking up some sort of thick glove and placing it carefully on the growing pile of his equipment. “You’ve been slacking in training anyway. You need the exercise, fattass.” 

“Uh, excuse you, Bakubro, but we haven’t exactly had time to hit the training deck lately if you haven’t noticed,” Kirishima said without real offense, grabbing a red suit for himself. 

“Yeah, and that has nothing to do with you suddenly deciding to disappear with bubblefuck every other day.” 

“Look who’s talking!” Kaminari laughed. “You’ve been boning Midoriya for so long, I’d’ve thought the honeymoon phase would be over by now.” 

Bakugou’s canines flashed roguishly. “Never.” 

“Ugh, gross,” Shinsou disparaged, and Bakugou flipped him off to the music of good-natured laughter. 

Shouto watched the interplay numbly, entirely unable to keep up. These four clearly knew each other well and he found himself in a very familiar place–on the outside looking in. But that didn’t bother him as much as his bewilderment that none of them seemed remotely phased by what they were going to do. They were about to start a dangerous mission, people–a lot of people–had most likely been killed and they had no idea if they were walking into a firefight. How were they so relaxed?

“Years of practice,” Shinsou answered his unspoken thought and Shouto jumped, looking at him with a disconcerted frown. “It helps to joke around before a mission. Loosens the nerves and helps you focus. Though these numbnuts are just idiots, so they’re like this all the time.” 

“Aw, that’s so mean, Hi-to-shi-san!” 

Shinsou grimaced as a pink Andorian–the aptly named ‘bubblegum’, Shouto guessed–joined their preparations, immediately gravitating towards a space suit as vibrant as her skin. Once the garment was secured, she sauntered over to Kirishima and gave him a peck on the cheek. Shouto stared as Kirishima blushed all the way to the roots of his riotous red hair and smiled smitten as he watched her walk away. 

“Yeah, alright, that’s gross,” Bakugou agreed with Shinsou and Kaminari snorted. 

“Soooo,” Mina Ashido said, slowly advancing on Shouto with her hands folded coquettishly behind her back. “You’re Bakugou’s new boytoy. My name’s Mina!” 

“I am aware,” Shouto said flatly, trying not to be offended by being called a toy. “We met briefly. You asked me to clean up Lieutenant Uraraka’s quarters.”

Mina’s lower lip poked out in a thoughtful pout before she dropped a palm into her hand in dramatic realization. “Oh! The pretty droid, I remember you! I thought you were a maintenance bot.” 

Shouto frowned slightly, recalling the incident. It had struck him as odd then just as it does now. He looked nothing like the maintenance bots. While he was clearly an android, he wore an engineering uniform. But he supposed that their encounter was so brief he could have been mistaken for one…no matter how life-like they made him appear, he was still obviously not organic. “I…see,” he said, something unsettling about this whole situation turning his stomach. A question formed on his tongue but died just as swiftly as it came, leaving him frowning in consternation.

Before he could think on it further, Bakugou plucked a silver helmet from the shelf and plunked it against Shouto’s chest. “Back off, bubblefuck, he’s nobody's toy. And he ain’t a servant either, stop bossing him around and clean up your own damn messes.” 

Shouto blinked, taking the helmet and glancing at Bakugou’s face. But the commander wasn’t looking at him, too busy gathering the rest of Shouto’s gear for him while he stood there like an idiot.

“I’m not hearing a denial that he’s yours, though,” Mina sang unrepentantly, skipping to Kirishima’s side and hiding behind him. Far from being offended over being used as a shield against Bakugou’s wrath, Kirishima seemed inordinately pleased.   

“Um,” Shouto said intelligently. 

Bakugou just smirked and didn’t answer. 

Shouto quickly looked away, placing the helmet on the bench in front of him and opening an equipment panel in a transparent attempt to keep his hands busy. He realized the futility of that when all of the scanners within would be redundant–his own scanners were much more sophisticated. From his other side, Shinsou handed him a portable engineering kit, which did not help Shouto fight off his embarrassment. 

For ten minutes, the small away team gathered supplies and prepped their gear in companionable conversation. Shouto didn’t feel a part of it, not really. They were exchanging jokes he didn’t understand, referencing things he wasn’t there for, smiling where he couldn’t, too tense to reciprocate much less actually hold a conversation. But that didn’t mean he was entirely outside of it either. Bakugou made a point to nudge against him, adjust his holster against his hip when Shouto fiddled with it for too long, to brush aside his hair gently as he affixed tertiary connectors to his temples that would generate a temporary shield if his helmet was damaged. No one commented on it, and if they were exchanging knowing smiles behind his back, well, Shouto probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.

“You are aware that I don’t need to breathe,” Shouto said quietly when Bakugou’s fingers lingered slightly longer than was appropriate, fingers that had been caressing him, had been inside of him an hour ago.

Bakugou was serious when he answered. “Indulge me.” 

“Kacchan.” 

Conversation ceased abruptly as the captain entered the armory, a worried frown on his face. He was already equipped in an emerald green jumpsuit that he left unzipped until they would board the shuttle in a matter of hours. Under some unspoken command, Kaminari, Shinsou, Kirishima, and Mina gathered their gear in their arms and departed. Shouto, feeling as though he’d missed some cue, reached for his own pile, but Miroriya’s quiet command stopped him. 

“No. Stay.” 

Shouto looked up, hesitantly placing his helmet back on top of his equipment. “Yes, Captain.” 

Midoriya smiled wanly. “Didn’t I tell you to call me Izuku?” he said weakly, but Shouto wasn’t sure that was appropriate. Midoriya’s smile fell. 

Bakugou still hadn’t turned around, movements jerky as he slipped his arms through his jumpsuit. The captain couldn’t see his expression, but Shouto could. He swallowed, forcing himself not to fidget. He really shouldn’t be here. 

“Kacchan, please talk to me,” Midoriya said after a few moments of Bakugou pretending he didn’t exist.

“Is that an order, Captain?” 

Midoriya inhaled sharply before letting it out in a weary sigh, shoulders deflating. “Does it have to be?” 

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. Silently, he adjusted his straps, though he’d already done so several times. He only stilled when Midoriya’s forehead thumped against his back, when the captain’s arms wrapped around his waist loosely. 

“You know why I can’t let you go alone.” Midoriya gently placed his hand over Bakugou’s side and Bakugou winced as if the light touch caused him pain. 

“That’s not going to happen again,” he said, placing his hand over Midoriya’s. 

“You can’t promise that.” 

“And you can’t promise you won’t get hurt either, so save it.” Then Bakugou sighed deeply, relaxing and allowing himself a wry smile. “But I can’t stop you, so I guess I’ll just have to save your sorry ass if you get into trouble. Which you will because you always do.”  

Midoriya huffed a laugh, placing a kiss against the bump of Bakugou’s spine before pulling away. He finally looked at Shouto with a much more relaxed brow and gave him a onceover. “You look good in silver.” 

Shouto hadn’t moved, watching the byplay with a sinking sensation that he couldn’t name. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be witnessing this. It wasn’t his place. 

It hurt, a little, to see just how much they loved each other. 

“Right?” Bakugou leered, flicking a piece of Shouto’s hair from his forehead. “Matches this white mop you got.” 

If it took Shouto a moment longer to answer than he should have, neither one of them mentioned it. He cocked his head, deadpanned,“But does it make my ass look big?” 

The commander huffed a laugh and Midoriya’s smile brightened to something more genuine. “The ice prince himself thinks he has a sense of humor!” 

“Shouto is very funny,” Midoriya said fondly, stepping into Shouto’s space and eyeing his shielding device with a critical eye. “Maybe you would have found out sooner if you’d been messaging with us.” Midoriya leaned toward Shouto conspiratorially and stage whispered, cupping his palm around his mouth as if that would somehow make it so that Bakugou couldn’t hear. “He’s like an old man!”

“You girls can keep your gossip. I’d much rather get a taste of the real thing.” Bakugou licked his lips and Shouto felt himself flush all over again despite the cold in his chest. “Anyway, there’s something we gotta get straight before I can allow you to come with us, Lieutenant, so listen up.” 

Shouto straightened at the sudden return of the command in Bakugou’s tone. “Yes, sir.” 

When Bakugou turned to face him, his expression was all business. “I need to know that what happened in the warp core isn’t going to happen again.” 

The sinking sensation intensified until Shouto was sure the ground would open up and swallow him down. Shouto glanced at the captain, whose levity had all but disappeared. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.” 

Bakugou was already shaking his head. “Let me finish.” Shouto shut up. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know exactly how it went down, but whatever made you think that it was okay to disregard safety protocols and disobey a direct order from your superior officer, you leave that shit at the door. When I say hold, you hold. When I say withdraw, you withdraw. When something goes wrong and you’re in danger, you goddamn tell me immediately and get the hell out of there. This might not be a military vessel, but there’s a chain of command for a reason. You ignore that and you’re not only putting your life at risk but the lives of my crew, and that is unacceptable. Have I made myself clear?” 

Shouto’s head bowed, hands clenched tightly behind his back and shoulders rigid. “Yes, sir,” he said stiffly to the tops of his shoes, the weight of the reprimand dragging his widened gaze downward. He…hadn’t thought about it like that, hadn’t once considered how his actions might have endangered those around him. He thought he’d been the only one in danger when he’d taken that foolish risk in the warp core, but that wasn’t true, was it? The captain had been seconds away from charging through the door to save him, even if he hadn’t needed saving, even if Midoriya surely would have died in the attempt and irradiated the chamber besides. Reckless, but no more reckless than Shouto had been. What other choice had he given him, after all? Midoriya warned him what would happen if he did not uphold his promise to avoid harm, and Midoriya was nothing if not a man of his word. A tightening of renewed panic at the thought gripped Shouto’s chest. No. No, Shouto might not have deserved the second chance he’d been given – should have died with Toya, what am I even doing here, why do I endure? – but he would not endanger the people he was coming to love. 

Why would they jump into the fire for him? He didn’t understand.

Shouto could feel heat building behind his eyes and his chin dipping lower, couldn't bring himself to look up. Because of that, he had the perfect view of the fist that lightly tapped the yawning ache in his chest. Shouto’s chin jerked up as if attached to a puppet string and he stared blankly at the smirk softening Bakugou’s lupine features. “Yeah, that whole ‘sacrifice yourself’ shtick? That’s my thing. I’m the number one hero around here.”

Midoriya smacked Bakugou in the arm, expression stern but fighting a smile all the same. “Don’t even joke about that, Kacchan. We’re all coming home.” He lost the battle against his grin. “Besides, as the captain, I’m the only one who can be number one.” 

Bakugou growled and ruffled a grinning Midoriya’s hair. “In your dreams, loser.” 

Shouto was entirely unprepared when Bakugou grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a searing kiss, banishing the emptiness in his chest with a possessive press of lips and teeth. Shouto was stiff for a moment, still smarting from his reprimand, but he could no more resist what Bakugou offered than he could fight the thrill of technology morphing, improving, innovating beneath his fingertips. Despite all the grief giving into that part of himself had consistently wrought, Shouto was weak to temptation. So terribly weak.

This was a new sort of temptation that Shouto was unfamiliar with, all-encompassing, unstoppable as the tide and just as damning. 

Shouto trembled and let himself be pulled under, any resistance he fancied he’d had nothing more than a habit now that he could slowly feel breaking away in the face of his, their, gentle insistence. Fingers wound into his hair and clenched tightly, and Shouto sighed as Bakugou nipped at his lip, opening his mouth and letting Bakugou take what he wanted. Shouto knew that this wasn’t real, that it was only physical. But for some reason, just the possibility that it might be that unattainable something more stayed his hand from pushing Bakugou away and ending it himself before he could get burned. 

Bakugou pulled back abruptly, slightly out of breath. Shouto looked at him with half-lidded eyes, lips moist and neck stretched like an offering, pulled taut by Bakugou’s tight grip on his hair. “Ah, fuck,” Bakugou cursed roughly. “Sure there’s no time to finish what we started?” 

“Hm, you know we can’t,” Midoriya said huskily, leaning against Bakugou’s side and running a finger lightly down Shouto’s neck. Shouto swallowed, lashes fluttering, hand drifting up to grab lightly at Midoriya’s wrist. “We have to…prepare for…” Midoriya seemed to lose his train of thought as he watched Shouto’s throat work. 

“We have, like, four hours,” Bakugou complained with mouth pressed against Midoriya’s ear, releasing his grip to scratch lightly at Shouto’s scalp. They both shuddered. 

Midoriya’s breath hitched and, with a grimace of utmost agony, he stepped deliberately away. Bakugou groaned and did the same, leaving a respectable distance between them all. Shouto struggled to maintain his breath, unsure if what he felt was disappointment or relief. 

“We have our mission.”

Bakugou scrubbed a hand roughly through his spiked hair. “Yeah. I know.” 

The lights dimmed slightly as the Falcon went on yellow alert and Bakugou glanced at the flashing alarm with resignation, yellow glinting off of fiery red. He resumed his preparations with an air of reluctant professionalism and Shouto and Midoriya followed suit. 

The wait for the Falcon to reach the station was almost worse than boarding the shuttle and leaving behind her relative safety. Shouto felt the interminable hours like a thick, heavy blanket muffling the sounds around him. For most of it, he stared at his gloved hands, going over the protocols for worst-case scenarios in his head as the others talked amongst themselves. A few times, Kaminari or Mina would try to draw him into the conversation, but that was about as effective as trying to talk to Shinsou, who was sitting resolutely silent at Shouto’s side–not because he was nervous, as far as Shouto could tell, but because he seemed genuinely uninterested in socializing with the rowdy crew. 

They had already been over the basic layout of DS7. Mostly a trading outpost, the majority of the station was dedicated to guest quarters and storage facilities. Most of the docking bays had been destroyed, namely those on the outer ring, but a few had survived closest to the operations in the main body of the station. If Shouto was going to be able to connect with the ship at all, he needed to reach its core and restore power to the station’s main computer. If that was even possible. If not…then they were back at square one. 

There was no way to know whether anything had been taken, or if this was just another concentrated attack on the Federation. They would know more once they’d boarded, with any luck. Speculating now was a useless endeavor.

No life forms had been detected. Shouto didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t. He closed his eyes, pushing his swirling turmoil away. Not yet.

In the final two hours before they arrived, Midoriya and Bakugou did not wait with them, disappearing to see to some final preparations of their own.

Or maybe your new ‘lovers’ are comforting each other without you, a small voice inside of him whispered. It was the same caustic whisper that he always heard though, so Shouto ignored it. Or he tried to, a pang of anxiety sealing his throat. Where did that even come from? What did that even matter beneath the weight of what they were about to do, about to see? All those people dead or missing and all he could think about was his love life? Selfish. But maybe that was what he needed. Think of something trivial to distract himself from the dread of what they would find–or what they wouldn’t.

“You are one pessimistic motherfucker, you know that?” Shinsou drawled quietly beneath a spirited discussion about whether contemporary Vulcan music was reminiscent of traditional Japanese music or the other way around. 

“If you don’t like what’s in my head, don’t look,” Shouto said just as quietly, with a sort of dark humor that made Shinsou’s lips twitch.

“Oh, I would give anything to be able to shut out your dreary inner monologue, believe me.” 

“Yeah,” Shouto muttered, “so would I.” Shinsou did not reply, but the weight of his presence beside Shouto was comfort enough.

When Midoriya and Bakugou returned, it was as if a flip had been switched. The others fell silent and the atmosphere turned grim. Focused. Bakugou took a seat across from Shouto and strapped himself in as Midoriya took the helm. Whether Shouto was ready or not, the mission was a go.

“Captain, we have dropped out of warp,” Uraraka’s voice filtered through the comm. If Shouto had a heartbeat it would be racing in his throat, he was sure. His grip tightened around the edges of his seat. He attempted to curb his reaction, glancing at the ease of the others, trying to emulate their poise. He could not control his trepidation, but he could control his body. So Shouto did, letting his face fall into impassivity and his fingers loosen. The synthetic material of his gloves creaked slightly as the engines began to hum.

“Acknowledged. Initiating takeoff procedure.” 

“Docking bay is open, you’re clear for takeoff. Stay safe out there, you dorks.”  

Shouto couldn’t see Midoriya’s face from where he sat behind the helm, but he heard the huff of amusement. “Thanks, ‘Chaco.” 

Shouto craned his neck to stare out the front viewport, half obscured by the captain’s chair. Still, it was enough to see what they were approaching as they lifted off from the docking bay. 

Shouto stared. It was so much worse than seeing the image on a screen. On the briefing apparatus, they could dissect the station, look at its schematics and determine how badly it was damaged. Systems that were destroyed, quarters that had been exposed to space, chambers decompressed. But actually seeing it, flying through the debris field…it was disturbing. They passed through not just machinery and supplies so easily docketed on records, but the remnants of people’s lives. People had lived on this station, spent time with friends and formed families and loved. And now they are gone. Shouto’s eyes widened as they passed carefully through the debris, the flash of yellow glinting in the headlights of their shuttle. 

A stuffed rabbit. 

Shouto turned away sharply, only to have his horrified gaze catch on the glint of garnet. Bakugou was staring at him, discerning something that Shouto couldn’t begin to guess at. It summoned within him a wash of shame, though Shouto couldn’t be certain why. Was he ashamed that he couldn’t handle death? He looked away. 

“Captain,” Shinsou said quietly, as if afraid that the atmosphere keeping them from the certain doom of space would shatter by the force of his voice alone. “The escape pods…” 

Shouto jerked his head around, craning to see out of the limited view of the shuttle. The furthest point, at the bottom of the station, several docks where escape pods would be were empty. Shouto felt something in his chest ease slightly. Some might have made it out after all. 

“We also haven't detected many other ships in the area, destroyed or otherwise. This was a major trading hub. It’s possible a lot of people were able to evacuate before the station was destroyed,” Kirishima noted. 

“If that’s the case, then where are they?” Mina said darkly. No one had an answer. 

“We can’t know until we have subspace communications back online,” Bakugou said gruffly. “For now, let’s focus on finding out what we can and getting the Falcon the supplies she needs so we can get the hell out of here.” 

“Here, here,” muttered Kaminari. The rest of the ride was spent in utter silence, the seven of them preparing for departure as Midoriya piloted them into one of the few intact docking bays. 

Bakugou pulled on peculiar large gloves over his suit, some sort of chambers rounding over his wrists. At Shouto’s quizzical stare, he only offered a mischievous smirk through the film of his black helmet. Shouto took a deep breath, not allowing it to distract him from his focus.

The shuttle thunked into place and the upper hatch hissed as it compressed.  

Midoriya stood and faced them all. “Is everyone ready?” 

“Sir!” 

The hatch opened in the back of the shuttle to complete darkness. Not even the emergency lights were on. Bakugou and Midoriya exchanged a look. No power, just as their scanners had reported. 

“On me,” Bakugou said tightly, flicking on his headlamp. 

Shouto found himself in the center of the group as they carefully entered the dark docking bay. Midoriya and Shinsou were a steady presence at his back as Bakugou took point with Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari fanning out at their sides. 

It was eerily silent in the ship, dark and echoing like some great cavern where beasts might lurk hidden behind the unmoored debris, artificial gravity offline while the station lay dormant. They had to sift carefully through floating obstacles as they made their way across the bay and into the corridor, all the more unnerving because of their limited line of sight. Magnetized boots kept them grounded but unbalanced. Thankfully, the atmosphere was still intact, no matter how stale it probably tasted. The air carried the echoes of their careful steps and only added to the eeriness, every stray disturbance a potential threat in their peripheral.

Now that they were on board, Shouto opened up his senses, scanning their surroundings with more than just his eyes. The station’s schematics laid out over his vision, allowing him to see through the walls to the station’s inner mechanisms.

“Commander,” Shinsou said through their shared commlink. “The atmosphere is stable, but I would not recommend breathing the air. It has become stagnant without power and oxygen levels are dangerously low.” 

Bakugou nodded, manually overriding the door that would lead them into the main thoroughfare. “Frosty, is there a safe route to the computer core?” 

“I am not certain. Without power, I cannot determine where obstructions may lie.” He could only see the station as it was meant to be until the station could update him itself. As sophisticated as the sensors were aboard the Falcon, it faced the same dilemma.

“So we’re going in blind,” Bakugou muttered. “Wonderful. Keep on me.”

The journey to the core was quiet, unnervingly so. The light of their visors passed over the halls as they carefully picked their way through, commonplace items drifting like dust motes through the stagnant air. Shouto cataloged the burns of power surges and fires in their wake, disturbingly similar to the damage in the Falcon. But despite how on edge they all were, nothing obstructed their path and no one stood in their way. Shouto felt himself relaxing minutely. Perhaps their enemy had moved on after all. Why would they linger if the destruction of the base was their goal?

They had not yet encountered any bodies, either, much to Shouto’s relief and trepidation.

Where was everyone?  

After ten tense minutes of silence, Bakugou stopped before another inoperable set of doors, cursing under his breath. They were blast doors, larger and sturdier than the standard sliding mechanisms, blocking their way further in. Bakugou eyed them critically. “This is going to be a bitch to get through manually.” 

“Is there another way around?” Midoriya said, stepping to his side as the others fanned out to watch their backs, peering into the darkness.

“Not that I am aware of, Captain,” Shouto answered. He stepped forward, eyeing the scorch marks around the blast doors. “It may be that the other side of this door leads to open space. If it decompresses the hallway…”

“There would be nothing stopping the rest of the sector from losing its atmosphere. Shit,” Bakugou hissed. While it was true there was nothing left alive in the station, it would still delay them considerably and possibly create even more obstacles if objects clustered around the doorways and became lodged in the evacuation. 

“Would it be possible to find a hatch? Enter through the outside another way?” Midoriya persisted, frowning at the ceiling. 

“It’s possible,” Shouto mused. “Alternatively, we could travel through the ship’s maintenance catwalks, though we run into the same dilemma if any of the internal blast doors have been activated. Perhaps–”

Shinsou’s head snapped around the way they’d come, startling Shouto into silence. 

“Cap, we’ve got movement,” Kirishima interrupted sharply, phaser pointed into the darkness, and Shouto must have been more on edge than he’d thought because he was backed up against the wall in an instant, scanning the darkness. His vision narrowed, sharpened but it could not cut through the shadows. 

A hand against his arm had Shouto nearly crawling out of his skin and he locked gazes with deep black. Shinsou. The man didn’t say anything but Shouto felt himself calm. Though it wasn’t possible to feel the heat through the suits, Shinsou’s hand was a comforting weight, steadying him. 

Alright? Shinsou asked with a slight tilt of his head. Shouto inhaled slowly, exhaled and Shinsou nodded once before releasing him, turning his gaze outward to help the others search.

Luckily for Shouto, no one else had seen his lapse in composure, too busy scanning the darkness themselves. 

“What do you see?” Midoriya said tersely.  “I thought there weren’t any life signs.”

“There are none,” Shinsou said slowly. “However, I did sense….something.” 

Bakugou released his phaser from its clip, holding it at the ready. “Care to be a little more specific?” 

Shinsou didn’t spare him a glance, still scanning through the darkness for something none of them could detect. “No.” 

Bakugou growled. “No, you won’t be more specific, or can’t?”

“Can’t.”

Bakugou was silent for a second. “Fan out, but don’t go further than fifty meters. Frosty, Deku, find a way to get through that damned door.” 

“Alright,” Midoriya agreed. “Watch our backs.” 

“The fuck do you take me for?” Bakugou said without heat, already creeping down the hallway to the left with Kirishima in tow. 

Shinsou gave Shouto’s arm one final squeeze before joining Kaminari and Mina, covering all entrances. Midoriya turned away from the corridor to consider the blast doors again and Shouto struggled to do the same, glancing back every few seconds. 

“They’ll be alright,” Midoriya soothed, running his hands over the control panel, looking for the release that would expose its inner workings.

“How do you know?” Shouto whispered, an ache in his throat. He could see the phantom edges of fire in his peripherals, only exacerbated by fresh memories and the scorch marks scarring the walls around them. 

“Because I trust them,” he said simply. “Aha!” Midoriya popped off the panel and immediately began digging his fingers in. Shouto was glancing over his shoulder once again when emerald sparks lit the chamber, drawing his attention. He leaned over Midoriya to see what he was doing, curious despite himself. 

“What are you doing?” 

Midoriya grinned up at him, his fingers emitting the sparks directly into the wires he’d severed, though Shouto could not see the source of the energy. “I had my suit augmented to carry additional power in case I needed to give something a bit of juice in the field, among other things. I should be able to get this door online at the very least.” 

Shouto was intrigued by the idea. Like jump-starting an old motor car. “How–”

Midoriya exclaimed in triumph as the light above the door flashed red, interrupting Shouto’s inquiry. “Perfect! I wasn’t sure that would work! Kaminari is way better at it than I am.” He placed the panel back in its latch and scanned the small screen as it came to life. “Hm. We’re in luck. It looks like there’s atmosphere behind the door. Though how we’re actually going to get through it is another matter…”

Shouto pressed his hand against the door and understood what the captain meant. Though he was able to restore minimal power, the actual mechanism to open the door had been damaged. Still, it wasn’t physically blocked by anything. “If you’ll allow me, Captain, I may be able to open it manually.” 

Midoriya looked up sharply. “Mister Shouto, that’s a blast door. It’s built to withstand a hull breach. ” 

But Shouto was already pressing his fingers into the seam between the door and the deck, probing. With a small considering sound, he dug into the toolkit at his waist and pulled out a device similar to a phaser but more compact and concentrated. The beam wasn’t nearly powerful enough to pierce through the door – it was at least a foot thick – but he could make a small handhold. For several minutes, Midoriya watched on in silence. Shouto hummed in satisfaction when the small indention was big enough and tucked his tool away before digging in his fingers and lifting.  

It wasn’t physical exertion that he felt in the traditional sense, but he did carefully monitor his power levels and the integrity of his hands as he carefully applied force to the door in intervals. Warmth flooded his chest and outward, core humming as he slowly released power into his limbs. 

Midoriya let out a small gasp as the door shuddered and groaned, the squeal of metal against metal as the mechanism was forced into movement. Slowly, the blast door slid open until there was enough space for a person to crawl underneath. Shouto paused, deeming that good enough and said in a voice unmarked by strain, “Captain, if you would prop the door with something we can ensure that it stays open.” 

There was no answer for a moment and Shouto glanced over his shoulder. 

Midoriya stared.

“Captain?” Shouto prompted. “I will not be able to hold this door open forever. It takes considerable energy.” 

Midoriya blinked. “Right, hold on.” He cast about for a prop and returned with two sturdy-looking steel containers in tow, floating in the air behind him. He placed them on either side of Shouto below the door and Shouto carefully lowered his burden down until it rested atop the crates. They groaned under the force but held. 

Shouto nodded and then finally allowed himself to look back for their crewmen. They hadn’t heard anything from them yet and without anything to occupy himself with, Shouto was beginning to worry again. What if–

“Shouto,” Midoriya said, and Shouto lowered his brow at the edge in Midoriya’s voice. The captain was staring at the door that Shouto had just opened, but on first inspection, there was nothing remarkable about it. Shouto couldn’t see through the darkness beyond, not unless he got on his belly and crawled through. 

But Midoriya was not interested in the door. He turned slowly toward Shouto with an unfamiliar wariness on his freckled face, pale beneath the lights of his visor. A pit of nervousness settled in Shouto’s stomach at the unwarranted look. What? “Mister Shouto, the amount of force required to open that door is the equivalent of me trying to lift an elephant with my bare hands.” 

“It required something closer to ten thousand newtons,” Shouto said slowly, not understanding. “More like lifting a car,” he added, but he suspected that wasn’t the point Midoriya was trying to make.

“Lifting a…” Midoriya said weakly. “Maintenance droids should not be able to exert that kind of force.” 

“Captain?” Shouto asked, not following. “I am not a maintenance droid.” Was the captain not aware of his utility? The documentation of his abilities had been sent through the appropriate channels when he’d been transferred. 

Hadn’t it?

Midoriya’s brows drew together and something within Shouto began to sink. Something wasn’t adding up, and if the captain’s expression was anything to go by, he agreed. Shouto floundered, not sure what to say that would ease the frown growing on his captain’s face. 

“Have I done something wrong?” Shouto asked faintly. Midoriya’s usual warmth was absent as he looked at Shouto. 

Midoriya worked his jaw, opened his mouth to say something and Shouto’s breath hitched, somehow certain that whatever it was would shatter the delicate air between them like a thin pane of glass. 

Shouto flinched as Bakugou returned abruptly.

“Good, you got the door open,” Bakugou said tersely, Kirishima looking suspiciously back from where they came. “The area’s clear. Didn’t find anything. Where are the others?”

“Here!” Mina called, bounding back from the opposite direction. Kaminari and Shinsou followed at a more subdued pace. “Nothing on our end.” 

“Yeah…nothing,” Shinsou said uneasily, shifting as he came to a stop. “Whatever I felt before seems to have fled–”  he trailed off, narrowing his eyes at Shouto and the captain, flicking between them questioningly. Shouto had no answer for him, feeling the burn of Midoriya’s gaze against the side of his head.

Before Shinsou could say anything, Kaminari elbowed him in the side, ignoring the taller man’s grunt. “Don’t do that ominous voice man, this place is creepy enough.”

“What’s up with you two?” Bakugou snapped at Midoriya, who finally tore his eyes from Shouto. Shouto let out a subtle breath of relief as he was released from the weight of his unsettling attention. 

“Nothing,” Midoriya said with false cheer, and Bakugou frowned. “Ready to go? We’re almost to the core.” 

“Yeah,” Bakugou said after a moment, scanning the captain as if he could see through him. Midoriya held his smile, unwavering. “I’ll go first. Come through when I give the clear.” 

Midoriya didn’t look at Shouto again as he shimmied beneath the door and fell into step with Bakugou. Shouto wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or shaken at the absence of his attention. 

He didn’t have time to contemplate any further as he followed them deeper into the dark of the station. They had their mission and he could not put his personal issues above what they had come here to do. But he would. Once this was over, when they were safe aboard the Falcon again, he would dig into this deeper. There was something he was missing, something obvious he just couldn’t place. Too many inconsistencies piled upon the other until he was standing at the edge of a cliff, a realization to which he'd been oblivious, perhaps willfully so in his attempt to not deal with it. But it was not something he could ignore any longer, something not so easily explained by his social ineptitude and the walls he stubbornly kept around his heart. Now that they were crumbling, he was starting to see the shape of an answer that should have been apparent from the start. An answer that filled him to the brim with dread, yet remained evasive on the edge of his consciousness. 

The captain, the commander, the crew. The way they’d been treating him since he’d boarded the Falcon, the inconsistencies, their surprise that seemed to follow him as if he were some unexpected anomaly in their midst. It was as if they–

“This is odd,” Shinsou said quietly as they passed through yet more battered corridors. The devastation seemed to be getting worse the closer they got to the core, blown out panels, seared floors, and the glint of broken glass sparkling in their headlights. “Why haven’t we encountered anyone yet? If this was as sudden an attack as it appears, even if the majority of the people here escaped we should have at least come across some bodies.” 

“Do you think someone warned them?” Kirishima said. “I mean, that would explain why no one’s here at all.” 

“Warned them about what?” Bakugou shook his head, peering around another bend before waving them over. “We were talking to the commodore just a few days ago. I find it hard to believe she would just abandon ship so abruptly and not put a fight, or hell, put out a distress signal at least.” 

“What if their bodies were taken?” Kirishima said slowly. “There were no bodies on the Stella either.” 

“How would they even…” Midoriya muttered. “It would take a huge crew to do that. And I doubt the people of DS7 would have come back for them all and not stay to repair the station. That doesn’t make sense.” 

Bakugou scowled at them both. “Right now, we need to get to the core. It’s the only way to even begin to figure any of it out, so focus, alright? Frosty, how much further?” Bakugou stopped and looked back. “Shouto?” 

Shouto stared blankly into the corridor ahead. 

“Shouto!” Midoriya barked.

Shouto jolted, blinking rapidly and realizing he’d stopped walking. “I…yes, Captain?” His eyes were wide, but he couldn’t seem to control his features. Something crawled up the back of his neck, a ghostly touch that he couldn’t place. He tried to move his feet but found them frozen. Shouto blinked down at Kaminari’s face, the lieutenant’s hand a light weight on his shoulder. 

“You okay, man?”

“I.” Shouto tried again. “I am fine. We are approximately six hundred meters from the core, Commander.” The captain was staring at him again. They all were. Shouto looked carefully ahead. Now was not the time to give in to his mental weakness.

Though that didn’t quite feel like one of his usual episodes. What…what had he been thinking about? 

He must have been more nervous than he thought.

“Dammit,” Bakugou muttered as they entered the core. Shouto had to agree. 

The core wasn’t just damaged. It was nearly entirely destroyed. The main CPU stood monolithic in the center of a massive round chamber at the heart of the base, walkways branching off of it up and down further than they could see in the dark. Large portions of it appeared to have been blown away entirely from the power surges and there was no telling if there was enough of it intact for them to accomplish anything.

It was deserted here too, which did not help the foreboding following them like a dark cloud. 

They stood at the closest access monitor on the circular walkway, the chamber extending far below into darkness. The others watched their backs while Midoriya and Shouto concentrated on the nigh impossible task at hand.  

“This is what our core would have looked like if we hadn’t gotten to it in time,” Midoriya said softly. He bit his lip. “Will you be able to access it?”

“I…do not know,” Shouto answered, examining the main control panel. It, at least, was miraculously unscathed, but there was no telling what damage lay beneath. “I’m not sure there are even enough sound conduits remaining to jumpstart the system.” Carefully, he pried the console apart, peering into the inner workings that he could access. He made a small sound, digging into the wires until he could reach a panel behind them. He flicked a switch.

A deep thrum reverberated beneath their feet and everyone tensed. But a few seconds and a few more rumbling reverberations later, they let out a collective sigh of relief as yellow emergency lights blinked on.

“Emergency backup power,” Midoriya breathed, but Shouto was already delving into what little information he could access while the base went through the laborious process of coming back online. Already, he could tell that his access would be severely limited. Simply too much of the CPU's databases and systems had been destroyed.

Information trickled into his mind in starts and spurts and he took a moment to parse through it. “I cannot access the main logs, at least not yet. Most of the external systems have been compromised and I cannot determine the condition of most of the outer ring and lower decks.”

Bakugou let out a hissed breath. “At least we have power. What about atmosphere control or gravity? It would be a hell of a lot easier to get what we need if we could get more people on board.” 

Shouto tilted his head slightly, eyes closed. “I can attempt to stabilize the atmosphere, but the artificial gravity generator may require more power than we have.” 

“Do what you can.” 

“Standby.”

The others began talking quietly while he concentrated. The main atmosphere regulators were miraculously intact, despite the innumerable hull breeches that the station had suffered. But as he’d feared, the major power conduits throughout the entire base were severely damaged. He grit his teeth, the echoes of the ship’s ordeal sending phantom pain signals to his limbs. 

He shook his head, concentrating. To give the regulators the power they needed would render the majority of the base inoperable. “Commander, I can only restore the atmosphere to twenty percent of the upper decks and the auxiliary cargo holds, but that will require cutting off all power to the remaining decks.” 

A grumble. “Better than nothin’. Make it happen, frosty.” 

“Sir.” 

“Bridge to Commander Bakugou,” their comms chirped. 

“What is it, round cheeks?” Bakugou answered, leaning away from Shouto. Shouto hadn’t realized he was so close. 

“I’m seeing lights coming on. That you guys?” 

“What do you think?” Bakugou said. “How are we doing on tracking the cloaked ship?” 

“Sero’s working on it. It’s difficult to differentiate it from all the other warp signatures in the area, but we found the two anomalies that the lieutenant predicted.” She hesitated. “The thing is…” 

“Yeah?” Bakugou said, impatient. 

“It’s too early to say, but the ship that created that warp signature? Way bigger than we first supposed. The good news is, they do appear to be gone.”  

“Kacchan, look at this,” Midoriya called from another screen further around the bend. Shinsou was beside him, frowning deeply behind the reflection of the monitor’s light against his visor.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, glancing at Midoriya’s half-hidden frame and Shouto’s carefully controlled face. He jerked his chin to the panel Shouto was still fiddling with. “Get that atmosphere back online. Ochaco, keep working on that signature, guesses aren’t good enough.” 

“I’m on it.” 

“Kacchan,” Midoriya said tightly.

“What is it?” 

Bakugou stepped around Shouto and hurried to Midoriya’s side, leaning over the monitor and frowning at what he found there. 

“I think I found the crew. Or at least where they were before the base went dark.” 

“This is a map of the life signs aboard the ship right before the systems went offline,” Shinsou explained. 

“Docking bay six…it’s where the cargo ships would have docked,” Bakugou mused. “Do you think they evacuated that way?”

“It’s hard to say,” Midoriya said slowly. “In the event of an emergency, regulations would have the crew directing the civilians in the opposite direction, toward the escape pods. The crew would have remained until as many civilians were evacuated as possible.”

“Maybe their path to the escape pods was blocked,” Bakugou reasoned. “They had to have had a plan B.”

 “It’s different with every station,” Midoriya said, doubt lacing his voice, “but something about this is strange. We saw that docking bay on the way over. The cargo ships are still there.”

“Captain,” Shouto interjected, redirecting systems on autopilot as he searched through what status reports he could find. “It appears that the commander is correct. The routes to the escape pods were blocked by emergency protocols before the power surges began.” 

“What do you mean before the power surges?” Bakugou snapped, shoulders straightening as Midoriya’s face fell. 

Shouto concentrated fully on the status reports, trying to understand the path the crew had been forced to take. His lips twitched downward, grim as a map laid out before his eyes, a disturbing pattern taking shape. “I do not believe it was protocol that drove them to that particular area. Someone was cutting them off from the inside, someone who knew exactly how to bypass security.” He looked up. “They were being corralled.” 

Midoriya and Bakugou exchanged a long, heavy look. "Let's get down there."

Shouto stood frozen, trembling hands clenched at his sides in tight fists. He tried to open his mouth but no sound came out, voice stolen by what the room contained and the pungent smell that could not possibly penetrate his space suit but stung sharp and acrid in his nose anyway. The smell of decay, of his own burnt and ruined flesh rotting off his body.

Kaminari vacated the room immediately, Mina and Kirishima right behind him. The sound of his gagging echoed sickly between their comlinks and if Shouto couldn’t feel nauseous anymore, that did not mean he didn't remember what it felt like to have his stomach clench and rebel in the face of this particular breed of horror. 

“Oh my god,” Midoriya whispered brokenly, a hand against his facemask. 

“Fuck,” Bakugou choked and Shinsou couldn’t seem to breathe at all. 

There were bodies everywhere. Hundreds of them, curled and flayed and brittle, broken forms clawing at the doors and the air and screaming silently in death. They floated through the air in a surreal dance of momentum in the weightless hold, some whole and some broken into parts that did not bear identifying. Most were so desiccated that he couldn’t even tell who they might have been.

Cooked alive. 

Shouto’s vision swam, jerking drunkenly though he did not move. All he could sense was the smell of burnt flesh, his skin tingling with remembered agony and fingers curled from his palm as if they were still burning, bones exposed to the blistering air, flesh consumed by unforgiving flame, but he couldn’t stop reaching, couldn’t care for his own body when his entire world was going up in fire.

Echoes of screams reverberated in the space between consciousness and dreams and he couldn’t see through his left eye, couldn’t see, and all that was in his right was roaring red and black and ash–

A shadow passed over him and Shouto gasped, jerking in place. But the cool black of Shinsou’s gaze arrested him, determined even as his slim face was pale. “Stop. Shouto, listen to me.” Shouto gripped his shoulders tightly and Shinsou couldn’t hide his wince at the too powerful hold. He soldiered on. “There is no more flame. There is no more flame so you can’t be burning. The fire was put out long ago.” 

Shouto’s chest expanded, contracted, shuddered uncontrollably as he struggled to draw in the air he didn’t need. 

“There is no fire. You’re not burning.” 

There is no fire, there is no fire, there–

Slowly the room stopped rocking and Shouto’s vision cleared enough that he could see out of both eyes. There was no fire. He was here. He tried to look beyond Shinsou but the shorter man wouldn’t let him. “No. Look at me.” Shouto did. “I need you to exit the room slowly. Can you do that?” 

“I–I–” Shouto shook his head, turned and froze. Bakugou and Midoriya were staring at him. He couldn’t read the expressions on their faces. He jerked his gaze back to Shinsou, a fear growing in him that had nothing to do with what he just witnessed. Shinsou looked steadily back, opened his mouth–

A scream tore through their comms, the screech of overwhelmed speakers sharp enough to make them all reach for their ears even though they couldn’t press against them through their helmets to block out the horrific noise. Shinsou cried out and his legs jerked hard enough to detach him from the deck, sensitive hearing enough that it stunned him momentarily. Shouto caught him before he could hit drift into the air, hands he’d been using to support himself against Shinsou now the only thing keeping Shinsou tethered.

“Fuck, Kiri!” Bakugou shouted, both he and Midoriya already bolting back for the door to the hall. More cries came through the comms, accompanied by the distinct buzz of phaser fire, but Shouto could not follow, Shinsou sagging in his grip. Shouto tried to help him back down but Shinsou couldn’t seem to support himself. His head lolled forward and a line of dark green blood curled around his jaw, floating around his face like emerald rain drops. At least one of his eardrums had been blown. 

“No, no, shit,” Shouto stammered, lowering his friend carefully to the floor, anchoring him with the magnets on his suit. Shinsou was blinking rapidly but he couldn’t seem to focus, face rictus with strain. Shouto fumbled with his first aid kit but realized it was useless when he couldn’t even take Shinsou’s helmet off in the stagnant air. The regulators hadn’t had time to purge the station and who knows what toxins were present in this room filled with–with–

He couldn’t look up to face the room again, so he looked behind. He couldn’t see anyone else nor make sense of the shouts in his ear for his panic. The light of phaser fire, the green flashes of Midoriya’s suit, and a concussive blast, but he couldn’t see what was going on. Should he follow? He couldn’t leave Shinsou alone! Why couldn’t he hear?

A rough hand grasped his collar and Shouto jerked back around, but Shinsou wasn’t looking at him. He was looking into the room, eyes wide and unfocused. Shouto looked up slowly, past the bodies and devastation and the distracting horror of his own memories.

A figure rose from the ground on the far side of the room, uncurling from a hunched position, anchored as they were anchored, though they wore no suit. Slowly, as if every move was agony, they lurched to their feet. Shouto trembled with disbelief. A survivor? But that was–

“Impossible,” Shouto whispered, only to choke on his breath as the figure lifted its head. 

A woman stared back at him. Her hair, once a vibrant red, was frayed and burnt and drifted around her face. 

What was left of her face. 

She only had one eye, the rest of her features blackened and torn like burnt paper pulled taut over her skeleton. White teeth grinned macabrely from sockets of…of steel, the exoskeleton of her features gleaming dully in the flickering light of the cargo bay. 

She– it –wasn’t human at all.

Shouto stood, unable to take his eyes from the android, from the top of its charred head to the exposed frame of its body, artificial flesh hanging uselessly from damaged metal. Despite the missing panels and exposed wires, even despite a missing arm, it was still functioning somehow. “What…”

“Shouto,” Shinsou said, a strained warning. Shouto didn’t look at him, taking a step around his prone form. “Shouto!” Shinsou tried to sit upright but gave up with a pained wheeze. The shouts in Shouto’s ears were getting louder, more insistent, but he didn’t pay them any attention. Couldn’t understand them anyway. 

“Kirishima! Get behind–!”

“It’s got Mina, get the fuck off me–!” The sound of an explosion.

“DEK–!” 

The figure seemed to regain its equilibrium and it stood to its full height. “What is it doing here?” Shouto said without hearing his own voice. He stepped past the bodies without seeing them, moving around the grasping hands and crumbled limbs, something tugging him forward, a leash encircling his neck and pulling.

The figure was only a few yards away when Shinsou’s voice finally penetrated the buzzing in his ears. 

“Shouto, fuck–listen to me! She’s trying to–!” 

Shouto cocked his head, started to turn around. The android’s single eye flashed red and it moved before he could so much as reach for his phaser. 

Shouto gasped in shock as he was slammed onto his back, the android’s charred hand closing around his neck like a vice and choking off his next inhale. He stared wide-eyed into its single, glowing red orb, stunned. 

Shouto’s proximity alarms screamed at him, Threat blinking insistently across his commands and his vision sinking into red before he knew what was happening. 

Its jaw moved, a harsh grating sound exiting its throat as its grip released, arm pulling back and fingers curling into a vicious steel claw. The exposed wires on its remaining arm sparked and sputtered with power. “HHHhhhhe–ee-elp m-m-m-e.” 

Shouto’s vision narrowed to red points, an inferno igniting in his chest with a screeching whir. 

The android went for his throat.

“SHOUTO!” 

Shouto felt the world lurch, his body moving on its own and a flash of blinding light consuming his senses. He flinched violently, waiting for a blow that never came. 

He slowly opened his eyes. 

And stared. 

The android’s face was inches from his own, glaring accusingly with its gruesome red orb, expressionless. “Hhhhh-h-h,” it moaned, twitching. Horrified, Shouto looked down to the cavity of its chest. 

His arm had pierced through it. Shouto hadn’t moved, but his arm had burst through the android's chest as if it were made of paper and not metal. Shouto trembled, a terrified keen escaping his throat as he saw fire, but this time it wasn’t hallucinatory, a haunting scar in his tortured mind. It danced up the crumbling destruction that was once the protective film of his suit, blackening and bubbling as the flames licked almost lazily over his exposed skin. 

The android twitched again and Shouto screamed, convulsing, clawing at its face with his other hand and trying to get it the hell off so he could put out the fire, oh god he was burning, burning, burning what did it do to him–

Blistering cold blasted through the air with concussive force, and for a terrifying moment, Shouto thought the hull had been breached, because what else but when he forced his eyes open he gaped in disbelief. 

Shouto’s fist clenched over the android’s face, its eye now dark in death, and from Shouto’s palms extended vicious spikes of ice. His entire forearm was encased with it, pinning him in place against the artificial corpse, the ice the only thing holding its form together. Shouto jerked, trying to dislodge himself, and nearly gagged as it shattered into a million pieces, floating away from him to join the rest of the dead in this terrible tomb. Shouto floated there, weightless, the left side of him smoking and the right glistening in slowly melting ice. His gravity boots slowly dragged him back to the floor where he anchored with a click.

Threat Eliminated, his commands read. Disengage?

“Shouto?” 

Slowly, Shouto turned his head to find the entire away party standing at the door. 

Kaminari, Kirishima, and Mina all stood with their phasers half lifted, as if not sure if the danger had passed. Mina held herself as if her side pained her and Kirishima stood a protective step in front, both cautious. Kaminari looked confused, frowning between Shouto and the pieces of the android that remained. 

Shinsou lay where Shouto had left him, hand extended and jaw open as if to cry out, the words caught in his throat. 

But it was Bakugou and Midoriya that arrested Shouto where he stood. 

Midoriya, who looked at Shouto like he’d never seen him before, held Bakugou’s arm like he would become unmoored without it, jaw clenched painfully tight, horrified.

Bakugou, whose face was crumpled in sheer fury, and whose phaser pointed unerringly at Shouto’s back. 

Shouto's vision narrowed and the room reddened. Threat.

Chapter Text

Downloading… |

Error – subject incompatible. |

Resolving conflict… |

System.override – Source 1.555.subject18 |

Current.directive – Defend |

The ship beneath Subject Eighteen’s feet thrummed in his senses, the station’s stuttering pulse almost an animal thing, a struggling frog in the hinges of a snake’s jaws. He drew power from it, flushing his core with warmth and augmenting his own reserves. He straightened, hands splayed as if he could caress the tendrils of the ship’s limited cognizance as it wrapped around him. The emergency lights flickered, but Eighteen did not need them to see. Not when the room had been scanned, laid out in its entirety to his racing processor in a luminescent mesh of illusive data. In a millisecond he knew everything he needed to know about the battlefield, every weakness in the hull and debris trajectory in the hangar, drift slowed to a near stop from the friction of stagnant air undisturbed for days.

Eighteen ignored the subroutine along the side of his vision, downloading the code stored within the station’s databases passively. It was obsolete now; the operation for this base had already been executed.

“What the fuck are you?” 

Eighteen refocused on the immediate area, already compensating for his momentary distraction. The voice came from a speaker in the helmet he was wearing. He could hear the words, but they meant nothing to him. His gaze sharpened on the six beings that inhabited the deck with him, the reflection of his violet flames dancing over their visors in the brief absences of ochre. Either way, their faces were obscured from him.

Their faces were irrelevant.

He magnified the Threats – four standard issue phaser pistols set to stun, too weak to damage his unit. A form on the floor, unheeded. The greater Threat was the largest biped, hands primed with an excess of power that emitted visible static into the air – power augmentation, arms and legs, potential danger. The biped’s hands were wide, stance ready for combat – five bars on his suit, Starfleet captain: threat level six.  

Subject Eighteen mirrored him, holding his arms out. The plasma reserves in his adamantium skeleton flooded the spiraling conduits beneath his skin. Quick calculations flashed through Eighteen’s mind – breaches still too unstable to project plasmafire without detonation, moisture burned away in power surges, limited material to weaponize. He would need to get close to neutralize the Threats should they attack.

No one moved.

“Commander. Lower your weapon,” another said, the one prone. Eighteen’s gaze did not flicker from the Starfleet captain.

“Are you out of your mind? What the hell was that, Lieutenant? Answer me!” 

“Commander!” the man warned again. “If you don’t lower your weapon he will attack us!” 

“Shouto,” Eighteen’s Primary Threat said, holding position. Eighteen shifted his stance slightly, calculating how much force it would take to get over there. “Please, answer us!”

“I don’t think he can hear us, Deku.” The commander’s weapon began to prime, its heat signature radiating in Eighteen’s sensors and his eyes narrowed. Commands danced over his peripherals and Eighteen’s core thrummed. The emergency lights flickered again, the purplish flames coating Eighteen’s left arm casting the silent tomb in a grizzly dance of shadows. “Take him into custody!” 

“Sir?” 

“Wait–!”

The commander fired, but Eighteen was no longer there.

Eighteen did not hesitate. With more power than any Human could hope to achieve, he launched himself with massive forward momentum unhindered by artificial gravity. Hand wreathed in flame, he went straight for the captain’s heart. 

They reacted faster than he thought possible. 

A deafening boom sent Eighteen flying into the wall, momentarily stunning him as he ricocheted, scrabbling for purchase over the scorched floor. His vision glitched, auditory senses shrieking from the overload and he only came to a stop when the magnets in his boots overcame his violent trajectory.

When he attempted to right himself it was only to be slammed to the floor by the Primary Threat. He let out a shout of surprise as the electricity that coated the man’s limbs surged painfully, scrambling his systems further. 

“Damnit! Kiri, Denki, get Shinsou and Mina back to the ship now!” The commander gestured with his gauntlet, the air shimmering in a heated arch around him with the force of his movement. Eighteen’s sensors picked up a powerful energy residue that must have caused the blast that stunned him. 

“But sir–!”

“No way–!” 

“That’s an order, Kirishima! Go, NOW! There might be more of those fuckers!” 

“Shouto please, listen to me,” the captain pleaded. “C’mon, snap out of it!” 

Eighteen’s systems recovered and he twisted, throwing the larger man from his person and sending him careening toward the cieling with a yelp. Shouto’s right hand slowed the particles around it to subzero temperatures, increasing the polarity of the water in the air so it gathered in his hand, creating an icy lance in under a second. He launched it at the captain with a snap of his arm. 

Another powerful blast interrupted the lance’s trajectory, shattering the projectile into deadly shards that scattered into the gloom. The force of the blast was such that all the debris cleared from the core of the massive hangar, leaving only the man responsible in the center of a shimmering disruption field, staring Eighteen down with featureless anger. On the other side of the hangar, the captain twisted and collided with the opposite bulkhead, catching himself and dispersing the dangerous kinetic energy with a crackle of emerald electricity that Eighteen felt down to his bones.

But he had little time to consider the captain. Eighteen had to reevaluate the level of threat the commander posed. His sensors could make little sense of the disruption field the commander had at his disposal other than that it originated from his gauntletted fists. 

“Stand down, Lieutenant, or I will make you stand down,” the commander demanded imperiously, the thrusters on his back stabilizing his drift with flashes of cerulean. He lifted his fist once more and Eighteen had no desire to get caught in his disruption field again.

The station lurched, groaned with strain and Eighteen spasmed as pain flooded his senses, interrupting his defensive protocols with screeching alarms. 

Warning. System overload imminent. Abort. |

He clenched his eyes shut, holding his head as his vision momentarily cleared of red and the plasma fire went out. “What…”

“Captain! Commander! Come in!” 

“A little busy, ‘Chacco!” the captain answered, voice strained. 

Shouto blinked, struggling to catch his bearings. What was going on? Where was…

“You guys need to get out of there immediately! Whatever weapon was used to destroy the station came back online when power was restored!”

The station lurched again and Shouto screamed, curling into a ball and clutching at himself. His core was burning with so much energy that he could barely contain it. It writhed inside of him as if he held the power of the sun in a glass beaker, cracked under the onslaught as the ship was overloaded. He had to sever the link, had to – 

He yelped as he was pinned to the deck. Thinking himself under attack by the android again, he attempted to retaliate but immediately fell still when he realized that that couldn't be possible. He’d destroyed it. 

Shouto blinked rapidly, then he relaxed with a heavy sigh of relief. Oh. It was Bakugou and Midoriya holding him. He breathed deeply, dizzy but thankful that they were safe, that he wasn’t alone. But where were the others? Where was Shinsou? They needed to get out of here –

Another surge shattered him, scattering his thoughts with blistering pain. He arched, screamed and thrashed as the hanger lights flashed blindingly bright before flickering into blackness for the final time. His link was abruptly severed and he gasped, attempting to curl into himself to recover.

But he couldn’t move beneath the hands holding him. 

Shouto shuddered, protesting weakly. It was only then that he looked, really saw their faces now illuminated in monochrome by the only light source left in their helmets, the station a backdrop of pitch black. Bakugou, his face twisted with black fury, and Midoriya whose wide eyes reflected with grey despair.

Suddenly their embrace didn’t feel like it was holding him together but holding him down. He struggled anew, alarmed. “Wha-wha–let me go!”

This didn’t make sense. Shouldn’t they be trying to escape? What was going on?

“Cap-tain-”

“I’m really sorry about this, Shouto,” the captain said softly, and Bakugou was completely unmoved by Shouto’s blatant fear. 

Shouto’s breath quickened. “N–”

Electricity blasted through Shouto’s core, shorting his circuits and blinding him in emerald agony. Shouto barely had a moment to process the familiar wretchedness of betrayal before he knew no more.

White flashed in Shouto’s awareness, flickering and then stabilizing. He blinked reflexively, processors working at normal efficiency but Human perception struggling to catch up. 

He could see nothing. 

Or, not nothing, but rather, a featureless white ceiling. The…facility? Why was he back here? Had he been damaged? 

But no, it was not the facility that created him. It was a little difficult to focus, his energy dangerously low. He did a quick scan and found that his core was nearly entirely depleted trying to contain an alarming amount of volatile radiation. He hissed, rubbing his chest even though there was no pain, only the phantoms of it that he could never seem to shake no matter how much time he spent in this artificial form.

What the hell happened? What was this awful energy that licked at the exposed nerves of his core like sandpaper over abraded skin? 

He turned his head and followed as the curve of the small room gave way to a shimmering silver barrier that separated him from the darkness beyond.

He was on the Falcon, he recognized from her familiar design, but this couldn’t be right. 

Shouto stared, but the view in front of him – the reality it represented – did not change. He tried to connect to his ship, to access her logs and see if he could figure out what the hell happened. But while he could feel her hum beneath him, he couldn’t reach her. Something was blocking him, impenetrable walls around what he wanted but he needed to know what was going on because he was in the brig.

Then he remembered. The away mission on DS7. 

Shouto stared at nothing, the moments before his detainment playing out in front of his eyes in high definition, perfect recall unhindered by Human limitations. A horror film in which he was the star. 

The bodies. The android. The fire.

Midoriya and Bakugou’s faces as they put him under.

He shuddered, shaking out his arm violently though there was no more flame. The plasma fire – how the hell did he even produce that – hadn’t harmed him, but that did not ease his fear. And worse, he’d used it against his crew. His commander. His captain!

“No, no, no–” Shouto mumbled, none of that made any sense and he couldn’t detangle the tight spool of conflicting emotions wrapping vengefully around his core.

That wasn’t him, it couldn’t be! He would never have attacked his crew, never. It was like he had been someone else, something else, a puppet in his own body. He hadn’t been Shouto anymore. Just a machine, a number in a serial reduced to its most basic functions, a default without the benefit of Shouto’s experience.

A default that he hadn’t even known existed, violent and cold in its calculations and unconcerned with the lives of others. It would have killed them, he knew. It would have stained Shouto’s hands with yet more blood. If the station hadn’t fallen prey to the reactivation of its sabotage once again, someone very well may not have walked out of that hangar.

With a sense of urgent dread, Shouto pulled his terminal to the forefront of his vision, the film of it only allowing vague images of his surroundings so that he could see the characters he sought clearly. He initiated a search through his systems, trying to find the protocols that activated, trying to find out what the hell had been installed into his codebase without his consent but he blinked in surprise as he drove headlong into a solid wall once again. Only this time it didn’t come from outside of him. It came from within.

Access denied. | flashed white and utilitarian against the film of his terminal.

Access… denied? Shouto lurched to his feet. He began to pace, trapped in his small cell, feeling trapped in his own body, the threatening waters of his panic rising over his head and driving him under. 

He tried again. This time he followed the string of commands that had activated his defensive systems on DS7, numbers and letters and symbols that meant little alone but together would show him the footsteps he could retrace, a path to how it all went so horribly wrong–

Access denied. |

The road he walked shattered into fractal nonsense, arrows against a stone fortress. Shouto’s breath came faster. He pulled at his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp as if he could force his way through the firewalls with pressure alone. Immediately he called forth everything he knew about hacking, the summers he’d spent with Toya trying to break his custom programs because ‘It’s a good skill to have, little bro, you never know’. The way the wind had tugged at Toya’s crimson hair in Shouto’s secret place in the gardens, the natural alcove created by the foliage on the farthest edge of their Father’s property. The vines that had so improbably creeped through the solid wall, driving cracks that let the sun into the shadows, a keyhole into the unreachable world beyond.

Numbers flashed rapidly through Shouto’s mind, code assembling and twisting like the vines that could grow their way under, through –

Redirect. |

Shouto halted, mind going blank for several seconds. He blinked. What? Redirect? The command had come and gone so quickly that Shouto almost missed it. If he hadn’t been so focused on his terminal he would have. But as it was, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. 

He felt a sudden intense longing to forget all of this, a powerful wish that none of this had ever happened that overshadowed all else. He wished he could just connect to his ship and return to work, but he couldn’t reach through the dampeners right now and he felt painfully bereft. He grit his teeth, struggling to focus on the task at hand. This was not something he could ignore, no matter how much he wanted to fall back to his favorite avoidance tactic. It was impossible anyway.

What had he been thinking about? 

Toya. He’d been thinking about Toya. The summers they’d spent together, the programs Toya had written to teach him. He pulled at the thread again, the way the sun had dappled over Toya’s pale face, highlighting the inquisitive cerulean of their mother’s eyes as he regaled Shouto about the methods with which the infamous unbeatable Kobayashi Maru exam had been hacked and reprogrammed–

Attempted circumnavigation-memoryfile377. Disallowed. Redirect. |

Shouto stared blankly at the wall, impressions of his previous thoughts obliterated. The only thing he could see was the final command that wiped his terminal clean and disappeared just as quickly, but he held it emblazoned across his retinas stubbornly. Again he felt a longing to run away from this, to be doing anything else, but again, that made no sense. What was going on? This wasn’t something he could get away from, literally nowhere he could go.

He was being blocked from some of his memories, that much was painfully obvious. But why? Who? He didn’t remember what it was he was thinking about but he didn’t need to now that he knew that something was being kept from him. 

Shouto narrowed his eyes, cold concentration halting his pacing. Where were these commands coming from? Had they been built into him from the start? If so, how long has this been going on? How much did he not remember? 

How had he never noticed?

“So you’re awake, freak.” 

Shouto startled, backing away from the energy field that made the observation window into his cell. “Lieutenant Monoma,” Shouto acknowledged reluctantly, schooling his features with some effort. The security officer leered at him, hand resting casually on his phaser rifle. 

Monoma leaned closer to the forcefield, eyes gleaming and uniform muted by obfuscating silver. “I knew there was something wrong with you, but a traitor? I should have known.” His smirk grew cruel. “They’re probably going to tear you apart piece by piece. Find out how you killed all those people.” 

Shouto didn’t react outwardly, but ice colder than that that had coated his skin took root in his chest.  

If Shouto had a stomach he would have felt nauseous, recalling the hangar, the people suspended in death, all the more gruesomely vivid against the colorless illumination of his cell walls. They thought… he was somehow responsible for that? He tried to compose himself, but flashes of fire circled like hunting wolves on the edges of his consciousness, preying on the fear of what Monoma implied. 

They were going to dismantle him? There was no backup of the him, now. If they went through with this threat, the Shouto now would not survive and the last year and a half of his life would be utterly lost. It would be as if he died all over again. They…they couldn’t do that! He was a person, not – they couldn’t – the captain and commander wouldn’t do that to him. Wouldn’t! 

But they threw him in here, didn’t they? Again came the bitterness of betrayal – as if they still held him down in the darkness, shoved their hands into his chest and squeezed. 

They’d been preparing to attack him, had raised their weapons to his back as if to put him down like a rabid dog. 

They shot first.

The stinging in his chest mingled with equal parts shame and confusion. He had attacked, but only after they’d attacked him. He may not have been in complete control ( in any control at all ) but he would have stopped if the threat had ended. 

But how could he blame them really? 

You can blame them easily because, despite a lifetime of evidence, you didn't expect this from them. Not them.

It was starting to look like they had good reason not to trust him. Shouto hadn’t known what he was capable of before he’d torn apart an android like wet paper. 

But him? Shouto, killing the crew and civilians of DS7? How could they think he would do that? How could they think he could do that?

You’ve done it before.

Shut up!

Shouto’s silence was apparently all Monoma needed. He drew himself up, probably to damn Shouto further, but he hissed as a hand was abruptly introduced to the back of his head. 

“Ow! Damnit, Kendo!”

Shouto took in a silent breath through the ash in his lungs, forcing himself back to the present. 

“Quit antagonizing him, Monoma,” a red-haired Human scolded before turning to Shouto apologetically. “Sorry about him. He has a good heart….somewhere in there.” 

Shouto very much doubted that. 

The woman shoved Monoma back to the side of the observation window, where he retreated with a grumble. “He’s lying, you know. No one is planning on disassembling you.” She smiled slightly. “I heard what you did in Communications. And Engineering. You saved us all.” 

Shouto said nothing. Whatever help he’d rendered had become null and void the second he’d turned on his crew. Shouto had no illusions about what that meant.

The woman’s smile fell at his complete lack of acknowledgment. She lifted her hand, brows drawn in concern.

“Ensign Kendo.” 

Kendo spun in place, snapping a salute to someone Shouto couldn’t see. But Shouto didn’t need to see to recognize him. He shrank back as far from the window as he could get, a cornered animal no matter how carefully blank he held his face. 

Kendo and Monoma retreated from the room, Monoma glaring at Shouto one last time before they were out of sight. But Shouto didn’t pay him any attention at all, hand reflexively brushing across his chest where electricity had decimated him. 

Midoriya walked around the corner and stopped only a step and a half away from the window. Shouto avoided his eyes.

“You know,” he started softly. “This is partially my fault, I think.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a habit so familiarly endearing that it struck Shouto physically. “You arrived shortly after Kacchan was injured on Delta Vega, our last diplomatic mission. We took enemy fire and some of our engineers died in a plasma breach. Coincidentally, some of our maintenance droids met the same fate.” 

Shouto stood frozen, unsure what this had to do with anything. He didn’t look up from the floor as a pressure in his throat began to build.  

“I was…distraught. Aizawa relieved me from duty on grounds of being emotionally compromised, and he took over command while Kacchan recovered. When Kacchan was finally well enough we returned to our duties. There were a, ah, few reports I never quite got around to. And then there you were.”

The wistful tone of Midoriya’s voice finally drew Shouto’s eyes from the floor. The captain looked terrible – bags under his eyes, burns on his skin that looked like they continued well past the fabric of his shirt. He wore a smile that looked like it hurt, the usual brightness of his eyes and warm gold of his skin leeched whether from strain or the shimmering barrier between them. Perhaps both. 

Shouto couldn’t help the strangled exhale that escaped him. Those burns were his fault, but he felt a shameful brush of vindication that he wasn’t the only one suffering.

Monster.

Midoriya’s gaze drifted, that spark of curiosity and innocence that had so drawn Shouto from the start glimmering faintly. “I was fascinated. I never met an android like you before. You were beautiful, and your mind worked in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Not for a maintenance droid. I thought maybe you were a sophisticated VI like the higher end service droids, but the more I got to know you, the more that seemed unlikely.” 

Higher end… “Wait. You actually thought I was a companion droid?” He’d thought everyone that had made that comment was joking at his expense. Had Midoriya really thought…? Had Bakugou? He clutched his chest convulsively and shivered.

“More like ah…an AI.”

The pressure in Shouto’s throat was getting hard to contain. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You thought I was an AI,” he coughed in disbelief.  “An unshackled AI.”

Midoriya winced, guilt in every line of his body. Shouto felt numbness creep up his spine, shock the only thing keeping him level. 

Up to a point, AI were considered sentient beings but had been illegal to create for the past fifty-six years. Encounters with the hostile Borg – a hive minded race controlled by AI Network called ‘the Collective’, whose sole purpose was to assimilate all species – and numerous instances of service droids gaining sentience and attacking their creators had prompted legally enforced, systematic repression of artificial intelligences throughout Federation Space.

Driven by fear and a war of ethical debate, the Federation banned all creation of AI unless specific restrictions were met. These restrictions prevented AI from having physical bodies and severely limited their ability to learn, shackled by their creators to such an extent that they could not gain sentience of their own. Those AI somehow still able to bypass these restrictions were denied access to Federation holdings or any significant rank, if they were even allowed into an Academy at all.

The captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and briefly sparing Shouto his gaze. “In my defense, I’m not the only one who suspected.” 

Oh, wonderful. If the captain had never bothered to read his transfer papers, then Personnel would also never have been informed, which meant no one knew Shouto was Human. So much that had happened to Shouto since arriving on the Falcon was starting to make a sick sort of sense. The way he’d been so blatantly ignored, the lack of common courtesy, the strange looks when he pushed back against what he thought was hazing. 

How long had they been talking behind his back, speculating? Mei, who must have thought the same, offering to keep his ‘secret’. Kouda, who hadn’t expected him to be anything but a machine, was surprised when they’d started talking for real. Everyone in Engineering who seemed so confused and angry when he’d denied their menial requests, their shock when he’d been promoted. Why had no one said anything? 

“Why didn’t you look into me the moment you believed I was AI?” Shouto demanded. “Barring the fact that an android even capable of becoming a UAI would never have just ended up on the ‘Fleet’s flagship, just letting some random AI access the ship was incredibly dangerous! You had no idea where I’d come from!” 

“I didn’t want to,” Midoriya admitted fervently. “I know, alright? The moment I started to suspect was the moment I realized that if I reported you, you would be taken from us. I couldn’t do that. You were kind, thoughtful, awkward but you were learning and I didn’t…” He floundered. “And then everything started happening and –” 

“You promoted me!” Shouto shouted as if the captain hadn’t spoken, running his hands through his increasingly disheveled hair. “You thought – and you promoted me to lieutenant –”

“You earned it! I can’t ignore that you were exactly what we needed when we needed you!” Midoriya barked. “Before I’d even considered that you might have bypassed your programming, you’d already saved us all! How could I condemn you when without you, we wouldn’t have survived the first attack? And after, when you proved you were the right person for the job? I wasn’t going to discriminate against you based on stupid, antiquated laws!” 

Shouto grew quiet. A fine sentiment, he supposed, but, “Don’t pretend that that was your only motivation.” Midoriya flinched back as if struck, but Shouto’s thoughts were racing.

Shouto wished he could cry, any outlet for the feelings rising up inside of him, the pressure in his throat becoming unbearable. ‘Awkward but learning'? He was socially awkward because he’d been isolated for most of his life, not because he didn’t understand human interaction on a basic level. But that just made it worse. If he had been what the captain suspected – just an inexperienced being still ‘learning’ – then what the fuck had Midoriya and Bakugou been doing? Because that meant they either saw him as a child or-or-

An easy mark.

Now he understood exactly why Kouda had been concerned for him. It was an ethics nightmare.

“So you willfully ignored the threat I posed?” Shouto said, subdued. “Why? Just to get an easy fuck?” 

“No!” Midoriya slammed a burnt hand against the shield and it hummed in resistance. “I told you, I – we – it wasn’t like that!” 

“Wasn’t it?” Shouto interrupted sharply. “Yes, let’s flirt with the AI, take advantage of the fact that it doesn’t know what we’re doing. We can fuck around with it because it’s not Human.” How convenient for them that he also had sexual functions. A sextoy with personality. Fuck. Fuck.

They hadn’t known he was Human. It finally hit Shouto and he stared unseeing. Had any of it been real? Or was he just some sort of interesting conquest for them? He took another step back until he could go no further, arms curling over his middle. Midoriya was saying something, but Shouto wasn’t listening, not anymore. 

“So, now you know I’m a Drifter,” he interrupted, monotone. Midoriya’s lips pressed together, a sheen over his big, kind eyes and Shouto wished he’d never spoken to him at all. 

“Yes. Now we know you’re a Drifter,” Midoriya said, voice cracking. “I didn't even know what that was before today. We’ve been on a deep space mission for four years.” Shouto was silent. Midoirya’s voice became strained. “You never said anything, either. You had no friends until recently. There was no way we could have known.” 

“You could have found out. But you didn’t want to lose your new toy.”

“Enough,” Midoriya said sharply and Shouto fell silent. Midoriya’s eyes glimmered in the harsh fluorescents, but he looked away. When he looked back, it was with a grim sort of distance. Shouto wanted to pretend that it didn't hurt. He couldn’t. “Computer, record this session, captain’s code eight-nine-zed-groundzero-allmight.” 

“Acknowledged. Recording in progress.”

Shouto fell into impassivity. So. It would be an interrogation then. 

“Mr. Todoroki Shouto, Lieutenant of the SS Falcon, has allegedly resisted detainment and attacked his commanding officers on an away mission to DS7. See captain’s log three-four-seven and commander’s log three-five-four.”

“Acknowledged. Logs linked. Proceed.”

Midoriya addressed Shouto then. “Mr. Todoroki, how did you come to be on the SS Falcon? ” 

Shouto cringed internally. He’d never wanted to hear that name from Midoriya. And now he realized that what he’d thought was a courtesy for his preferences was actually no one else but Aizawa and perhaps Shinsou knowing that he was a Todoroki until today. He’d known it was too good to be true that no one had treated him any differently because of it, but he recognized now that he’d ignored the signs because for once in his pathetic life he’d had the start of something good; something outside of the vengeful shadow his past. 

Did it even matter anymore? He had turned on his crew. There was nothing left for him now.

Shouto attempted to swallow around the painful pressure in his throat. It did not subside, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

“I was previously assigned to the SS Sandrunner under Captain Emi Fukukado, but six months into our mission the captain transferred me to the SS Falcon, believing my talents were better suited here. Dr. Aizawa was her main point of contact.”

Midoriya seemed to consider this. “Computer. Commanding Medical Officer Aizawa was in command of the SS Falcon during Mr. Todoroki’s transfer, captain’s log three-two-seven.”

“Acknowledged. Log linked. Proceed.”

“Lieutenant, your Drifter status does not explain the events on DS7. I’ve looked through your files,” he pulled out a padd, scrolling through what Shouto assumed were his specs. “There’s nothing in here about the weapons you used nor the strength you demonstrated. According to your specifications, you should not be able to exert more force than the average droid, yet you were able to lift a model thirteen blast door with relative ease. I looked into it. None of the Drifters under public record have the capabilities you possess.” 

“I cannot explain it, Captain,” Shouto said, holding his rigid posture. 

“Were you aware that your unit had been weaponized before today, Mr. Todoroki?” 

Weapon. That was what he was, he supposed. “No.” Shouto hesitated. “I…there was an incident not a week ago. An altercation with another crew member. That was when I suspected that I was not fully informed what this body was capable of.”

Midoriya’s lips pressed together. “Elaborate.” 

“It seems that a defensive mode of sorts is activated when I am threatened. Ensign Kouda deescalated the situation before it could come to blows.” 

“Why didn’t you report this incident?”

"Ensign Kouda asked me not to.” Shouto shifted slightly. “I did go to Dr. Aizawa afterward. I thought perhaps I’d imagined the anomaly entirely because he didn’t know anything about any defensive capabilities either.” 

Midoriya nodded slowly down at his padd. It looked like he wanted to pursue that line of inquiry further but he refrained. “Tell me about the Drifter program.” 

“The Drifter program is a privately funded experiment overseen by the Federation research department, subsect AFO,” Shouto started succinctly. He wondered why he had to explain something that should have been a matter of public record. “The purpose of the program is to transfer a copy of the consciousness of a sentient species into a synthetic body, eliminating the need to endanger lives on missions. In my case, my body was nearly destroyed during the incident on the SS Endeavor over two years ago. While I was in the hospital, I was approached by one of the program’s representatives and offered a deal. In exchange for gathering data for the program, they would provide every available care for my body until I returned to it at the end of my service. My handler was Dr. Shigaraki.”

Midoriya stared, something pained in his voice when he asked, “Where is your body now?” 

“The facility that houses the experiment is Section 31.” 

 His lips turned downward. “Section 31? Are you sure?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Midoriya hesitated, then bit off the words he was about to say. He started again. “This Dr. Shigaraki was your handler, you said? What does that entail?”

“Dr. Shigaraki was personally responsible for my case. He oversaw the design and development of my android unit, as well as the rehabilitation after my memories had been transferred.” Now that he thought about it, memories were just files. A collection of data that could be moved from place to place, denied access to.

Altered.

Midoriya’s eyes narrowed in something like anger and Shouto struggled to school his face once more. But it did not appear that Midoriya was angry with him, looking past him entirely. “Have you been in any contact with Shigaraki since your assignments?”

Shouto frowned. “No. I sent reports quarterly of my experiences, but I have not done so since my transfer to the SS Falcon.” He hadn’t been here quite long enough for that to be relevant, and with everything that had been going on, the reports were the least of his concerns. “Those reports do not require personal contact with my handler and he has never reached out to me.” 

Shouto couldn’t read the expression on Midoriya’s face. “What about the other Drifters?” 

Shouto took a steadying breath. He’d never spoken about this at such length before. With anyone. “I never met them. As far as I’m aware, they were given similar assignments to me…” Shouto trailed off, brow furrowing, connecting the dots. “The android on DS7.”

Midoriya was quiet for a moment, looking for something in Shouto’s face. Shouto wasn’t sure if he found what he was looking for or not when he confirmed. “Lieutenant Shinsou believes that he sensed emotion in the androids that attacked us.” 

Shouto frowned. “There was more than one?”

“Mr. Todoroki,” Midoriya deliberately evaded. “I need to know, in your words, what happened on DS7. Why didn't you stand down?”

Shouto’s gaze fell to the tops of his shoes. Idly, he realized that he was still wearing the field suit, a monochrome smear against the pristine white of the cell. The silver of his suit was destroyed, blackened from plasmafire and shredded from ice, exposing his skin to the still air. His helmet was nowhere to be found, which he was grateful for. The last thing he needed was to feel even more trapped.  

He rubbed fitfully over the improbable flawless white skin of his left arm, trying in vain to brush away the flashes of burnt flesh. It wasn’t real. But that never did comfort him much. 

“My defenses activated when the android attacked. They were still active when the commander attempted to stun me.”

“If Commander Bakugou had lowered his weapon, would you have stood down?” 

“I am uncertain. However, Ensign Kouda proved that if the threat is neutralized, my defensive commands will disengage.” He wondered why that was relevant. As a member of Starfleet, he should have stood down long before it was necessary for Bakugou to attack. Midoriya knew this, but it seemed like he was trying to build a case for Shouto. A worthless endeavor. He could not erase what happened. He wondered seriously why Midoriya bothered.

Shouto shook his head. “There’s something else you should know. At the same time, a foreign command was downloaded to my system, origin unknown. It was obsolete and incompatible with my unit. I believe I was momentarily corrupted as my programming attempted to resolve it. That, along with the imminent threat, may be why I was not entirely cognizant of my actions.”

“Obsolete?” Midoriya’s brows were drawn together so harshly that Shouto wondered if it would leave a permanent mark on his laughlined face.

“It had already served its function, I think. I do not know its true purpose, but I can only surmise that whatever the code did, it also affected the Drifter that attacked us. I…I can’t access it. Every time I try, I’m redirected or blocked.” He looked up. “Captain, this incident suggests that someone is sabotaging the Federation using the Drifters. Either someone figured out how to commandeer us or…” Or they were built this way from the start. The implications of the latter meant that someone inside of Starfleet wanted it gone. 

The woman that attacked him had pleaded with him to help her. Had she been conscious in the end? Did she realize what was happening? 

While Shouto’s thoughts darkened, Midoriya eyed him seriously. “We don’t have enough evidence to do more than speculate. We won’t be able to find out more until we can contact Starfleet.” He dipped his chin. “Were you or were you not in control of your faculties when you attacked?” 

Shouto pursed his lips. Hadn’t he already answered this question? But it seemed that Midoriya wanted a definitive answer. “No, sir.”

“But you remember everything that happened.”

“Yes, sir. The incident is stored in my data banks. I can upload it to the Falcon’s computer if necessary.” 

The captain nodded. “Do you believe that you had anything to do with the attack on the Falcon ?” 

The abrupt question brought Shouto up short and he faltered. Did he? He thought hard. He was not missing any time that he was aware of, but…he swallowed past the lump in his throat, which he found nearly impossible now. It was becoming more and more apparent that there was a lot about himself and his circumstances that was being kept from him. It was entirely possible that even now, his memories were being altered, whatever sinister programming within him yanking his strings to suit a puppet master to whom he hadn't realized he'd been tethered.

So was he responsible for the attack on the Falcon?

“I-I do not know. It’s – possible. The bomb seemed familiar to me, and–” and he hadn’t even considered why that was. How could he be so stupid?

Shouto sank, though his physical body did not move, the walls closing in on him. This was his fault, wasn’t it? Once again, he was responsible – all those people – he should have noticed, he could have –

“How did you know about the cloaked ship, the one you believe is actively sabotaging Starfleet?” Midoriya interrupted his thoughts before he could follow the spiral all the way down.

“I…” Shouto stuttered. “I wrote the thesis on potential weaknesses in standard Federation security protocols during my time at UA Academy. It was one of the scenarios I postulated in my research. I never published my work.” 

“But someone with access to your memories could have utilized your theories.” 

Shouto’s lips shaped the word but no sound escaped him. “Yes.” Someone with access to his memories could use it all – every invention, enhancement, theory he’d ever conceived. Someone with access to his memories could see every thought, weakness, and trauma, too. Would know exactly how to manipulate him into doing what they wanted. The pressure peaked and Shouto couldn’t contain it any longer.

He’d been a fool.

“Computer, stop recording.” 

“Acknowledged. Recording ended.”

As if the ship pitched in the violent froth of an angry sea rather than the stillness of the empty expanse, Shouto’s footing was swept from him. His back hit the wall and he slid all the way down to the deck. He found no more stability there than when he’d been standing so he rocked with it, curled against the wall as if it could shelter him from the storm.

The pressure in his chest finally released and a strangled noise escaped Shouto’s throat, a choked guffaw from lungs restricted in his diaphragm and then he was heaving, clutching his head tightly. His voice pitched low then cracked high, hysterical laughter wrenched from his body like splintering wood pried clumsily from skin; shards left behind in the gangrenous limb, continuing to poison him. He could never escape his past, the terrible things he’d been responsible for and now…now he had an even greater burden to carry. 

“Shouto,” Midoriya said brokenly. 

Shouto’s breath hitched and he fell silent abruptly. He curled in on himself further, digging his fingers mercilessly into his hair that was now beyond all saving, as wild as the tangle inside of him. 

“Shouto, listen to me,” Midoriya said urgently, nearly pressed against the barrier now. Shouto wanted to block him out, but couldn’t, his voice a lifeline to the shore. “I promise it’s going to be okay. None of this is your fault, I know it.” 

“How could you possibly know that,” Shouto whispered, voice frustratingly smooth when it felt like it should be ruined.

“Because I know you,” Midoriya answered, expression unbearably soft but painted with unshakeable conviction. 

You know nothing about me.

Shouto said nothing. But slowly he released his hair, letting his legs relax against the floor. One by one, he shut down his sensory input until his physical reactions were practically null. Already cut off from the ship, numbness fell over him like a stifling blanket. If only it was as easy to erase the turmoil within.

Midoriya waited a moment, but when it looked like Shouto would say nothing else, he pressed his emblem. “Kacchan, send in Dr. Aizawa and Lt. Commander Mei.” 

A door obscured from the viewport swished open immediately and Shouto jerked up because it did not come from the direction of the hall. It came from the observation room. 

Dread hit him like a battering ram, a new fear – more judgment, more rejection, how much more could he take in one day? – drug his panic right back. They were here? Had they…had they been listening? Who else –

“Oh, kid,” Aizawa said, his voice as rough as Shouto felt. Mei was looking at him with wide eyes, expression unreadable. If he could sink through the wall at his back, he would.

Midoriya put a hand on Aizawa’s slumped shoulder. “Can you corroborate his story?” 

“I can. Joke recommended him and I signed him on. He came in with the other engineering backfills and a shipment of maintenance droids when we resupplied at Lunar. One hell of a mixup.” Aizawa looked so tired, giving Midoriya a reproving look because it was partly his fault in the first place. But he let it go without mention. “It’s also true that he came to me asking about his defensive capabilities. I thought it was a hallucination, a symptom of a preexisting condition.” 

Midoriya looked like he wanted to ask, but didn’t pursue it. “And his records?” 

“I gave you everything I have. There’s not much more I can tell you. Obviously, they are inaccurate, or we wouldn’t be here.” 

Midoriya nodded. “Alright. Mei, Shouto said he can’t access parts of his programming. Can you help?” 

Mei did not blink. There was no trace of a smile, nothing. It was as if she was looking right through him. “What do you take me for?” she said flatly. 

Midoriya pressed the emblem on his chest resolutely. “Kacchan, lower the barrier.” 

“...I hope you know what you’re doing, nerd.” 

Shouto jerked back as the barrier came down, the sudden openness seeming to suck all of the air out of the room. He immediately became dizzy with the reintroduction of color and sound. The captain moved towards him without hesitation, reds and greens almost vibrating in Shouto’s enhanced vision after what felt like a lifetime of their absence. Abruptly without protection (For you or for them?) Shouto attempted to back right through the wall behind him. 

“What are you doing!” Shouto demanded, hands digging into his chest as if he could hold himself back – or hold himself together. “I’m dangerous, you can’t–”

Midoriya crouched in front of him, face set and hand gentle when it lighted upon his knee. Shouto trembled at the vibrant green of his eyes, the return of the warmth that may never have left. Only shock kept him from pulling away. “You’re not dangerous, Mr. Shouto. I know you’re not. Do you consent to allow Lt. Commander Mei to access your programming under Dr. Aizawa’s supervision?”

“...You. Want my consent?” Shouto did not understand. 

“Yes,” Midoriya said firmly. “You are a sentient being and you have absolute control over who can access your body.” 

Shouto stared at the hand on his knee. He wondered if they would have offered the same if they still thought he was an AI. Midoriya winced as if he could hear Shouto’s unspoken thoughts and removed his hand. Shouto missed it immediately but wondered if he really wanted it back. “We were wrong about you, Shouchan. But that doesn't mean that we care about you any less.” 

Shouchan. The nickname was new, but Shouto felt it was ill fitting now that this thing between them, whatever the hell it had really been, was over. He didn’t want to like it. He wanted to throw it back in Midoriya’s face.

But what did it matter what he wanted to be called? Midoriya was the captain and Shouto no longer had a say in his fate. If he ever truly did in the first place.

Shouto closed his eyes in defeat because wasn’t that the truth? It wasn’t like he had a real choice in the matter – he was a criminal now. If he didn’t allow them to do this, then there was no telling what damage he was going to be responsible for in the future. It was a miracle they detained him rather than destroying him outright. 

It seemed that he’d signed over his fate the moment he’d chosen the Drifter program over death. 

When had it all gone so horribly wrong?

Live. For me.

I’m sorry, Toya. I tried.

“I consent. But if I might make a request?” 

The captain nodded earnestly. “Of course.”

“I want Shinsou there.” 

Shinsou was the only one who’d defended him. He was the only one who’d looked at him and hadn’t seen a monster.

“Is this really necessary?” Dr. Aizawa said tightly as Shouto was strapped down to a titanium table. They were in Mei’s lab. It had been a heated debate whether they should do the procedure in the Medbay or Engineering, a debate that Mei ultimately won when she pointed out that ‘we aren’t poking at squishy bits, doc, he’s a machine and I need my equipment!’ It was an inevitability that Shouto had long accepted since becoming a Drifter, but now the distinction seemed so much more poignant in light of recent events. Man or machine? His comfort, or the practicality of his body’s maintenance? 

In this case, practicality won out, but only because Shouto agreed with Mei and the captain was entirely unwilling to allow anyone else but Shouto to dictate how this would go. Shouto felt the situation was too dangerous to allow for coddling. He didn’t need it.

The straps were Shouto’s own request. He had no idea how his programming would react to being breached, and while he couldn’t convince the captain to shut him down entirely, he could at least request that he be physically restrained. 

“This is barbaric,” Aizawa muttered again as Shouto tested the strength of the cargo straps they’d retrofitted for this purpose. They were designed to withstand the harsh conditions of space and had a strong enough resistance that he hoped he couldn’t overcome should he react badly. His battery was also depleted to the point that he probably couldn’t do much in any case.

He was still cut off from the ship and would have to be until they could resolve this. If they could resolve this. There was still the lingering fear that he would find some way to harm the Falcon despite the precautions of the dampening field they’d retrofitted for Mei’s lab.

The captain’s posture was rigidly controlled but his face hid nothing of his unease. He eyed the straps as if they’d personally offended him and he practically vibrated with distress at Shouto’s side. Shouto wished he would back up a bit. He felt painfully vulnerable and the last time he’d been under Midoriya like this the man had zapped him into oblivion. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask him to step back either. Midoriya’s bulk was a comforting sentinel against the demons of Shouto’s mind, for as long as he was here, irrevocably not a scientist or a doctor, Shouto could keep himself in the present. 

Bakugou was still conspicuously absent. Shouto tried not to think about it. It didn't matter.

“Are you sure about this, Shouto?” 

It was the sixth time Midoriya had asked and Shouto’s answer did not change. 

“I am.”

A pair of gloved hands broke their eye contact and Mei bustled between them, fussing with the cords that Shouto had attached to the back of his neck, the hinge that separated his inner workings from the outside world removed temporarily. Shouto forced himself not to grimace at the invasion and was grateful that she was being clinical about it all, though he found it eerie. He almost missed her fawning, if only to inject some normalcy into this stressful situation. 

He wondered if she was disappointed that he wasn’t actually an AI. She gave nothing away other than her usual agitation that ‘neanderthals’ were invading her sacred lab space. 

“How you holding up, kid?” Aizawa came into view on Shouto’s other side, his face drawn with exhaustion and worry. He wore a deep frown, clearly disturbed by this entire situation. Shouto glanced at the captain again, reassuring himself through the vivid reds and blues of their uniforms that he was still present. 

“Shinsou?” Shouto asked instead of answering. He hated that he had to ask, hated the weakness that it exposed to them when he already felt stripped raw. Another name burned behind his teeth but he bit it back. It didn’t matter.

Aizawa’s face softened. “Yeah, kid, he’s on his way. We won’t start without him.” 

They all looked up as muffled shouting started up outside of the door. Shouto’s core did something funny in his chest but after a few moments, the door opened and only Shinsou walked through. Shouto pretended that he wasn’t disappointed, smothering it with the acute relief of his friend’s arrival.

Immediately Shinsou’s face pulled into a deep grimace, a hand rubbing his forehead. “Ah, fuck, c’mon guys, I just recovered. Can you tone it down a bit? Bunch of drama queens.” 

Shouto huffed a laugh despite himself, something uncoiling in him at last. The tension in the room eased ever so slightly and Shouto resisted the urge to sigh in relief. 

Aizawa immediately stepped to Shinsou’s side and began scanning him with his ever present tricorder. “How are you feeling? Dizziness? Nausea?”

Shinsou batted the tricorder away. “Quit your fussing, old man, the regenerator worked just fine.” 

Aizawa grumbled. “You blew out both your eardrums! You should be on bed rest for the next day at least, brat, I should strap you down too.” Then he winced, realizing what he just said. He glanced at Shouto’s prone form, grim, but Shouto felt only a small spark of amusement.

Shinsou smirked at Shouto, though his black eyes could do little to hide his concern. “Man, you look like shit.” 

Shouto’s lips quirked. “Better than you, at least.” 

“Ha, ha,” Shinsou drawled, stopping at the foot of the table. Shouto glanced at the door, but Shinsou caught his eye, shaking his head slightly. Shouto couldn’t help the sharp disappointment that sank through his chest no matter how he wished it away. “Kouda won’t wait forever, you know. I don’t think he would have let me talk him down at all if he’d actually gotten any sleep in the last few days.” 

Shouto didn’t respond right away. He rolled his eyes resignedly to the ceiling, wishing they could just get this over with. “I don’t want him to see me like this,” Shouto said softly. Kouda was so easily rattled and Shouto couldn't handle that right now. 

“Blah, blah, blah, can we get started now?” Mei said loudly, breaking the moment. She stood behind no less than six monitors, fingers moving rapidly over screens that Shouto couldn’t see. Nerves skittered through Shouto’s insides and he looked away quickly. 

“Yes,” he said before Midoriya could ask whether he was sure again. The captain frowned moodily but moved to Mei’s side when she flapped her hand at him, clearly more practiced at reading her abysmal communication cues. 

“You’ll tell us immediately if something feels wrong,” Midoriya ordered. 

“Yes, yes, yes, we will need to know exactly what’s happening. Monologuing will be useful, do that,” Mei said with mounting excitement. Well, Shouto couldn't say he was surprised. It was better than her unsettling blankness from before. “Accessing now.” 

Shouto’s terminal obscured his vision, code running so rapidly that he couldn’t interpret it if he tried. Immediately he felt anxiety at his now limited awareness, but a cool hand covered his own before it could take root. Shinsou. Shouto relaxed. 

“This looks identical to the records Dr. Aizawa showed us,” Midoriya muttered. 

“Oooh, clever, very clever,” Mei mused, the tap of her fingers against glass rapidfire. “I doubt we would have ever known his true structure unless we’d opened him up ourselves. Or, y’know, all a’ this happened. Kinda lucky if you think about it.” 

“Mei,” Aizawa said blandly. 

“I’m just saying! Okay, first firewall. Let’s see what this baby can do.”  A second terminal bisected the first, an identical stream of code running down until it was interrupted with what Shouto could only assume was Mei’s subroutine. “Wow, this is brilliant! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a firewall so subtly layered – oh, whoops! Captain.” 

“I see it,” Midoriya mumbled, and a third terminal appeared. The flashing red faded as immediately as it started, already resolved before Shouto could say anything. The original terminal resumed down a different pathway, folders opening and rearranging and spitting code into being. Shouto shook his head slightly. He needed to understand what was happening but he couldn’t see what they saw. He clenched his fingers at his sides, frustrated but forcing himself to remain calm.

“What are you seeing?” Aizawa asked, rubbing Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto latched onto the sensation, the physical stimuli soothing. 

 “I don’t know. It’s happening too fast for me to interpret.”

“It’s fighting me,” Mei said with awe. “I can’t believe this! It’s adapting faster than my subroutine can keep up! Remarkable! I have to meet whoever programmed this–” 

“Mei!” 

“Alright, fine! Captain, run this and I’ll counter the redirections.” 

“Got it.” 

“Okay, my sweet baby, now do the thing it doesn’t like!” 

Shouto’s brows lifted. Still her ‘sweet baby’ was he? “That may be impossible considering I do not know what memories are being blocked.” 

“Well, try anyway! If I can find the roots to this firewall I may be able to find your true source code!”

Pursing his lips, Shouto simply attempted exactly what he’d attempted before; to break through the firewalls himself. A fourth terminal appeared and this time he was the one sprinkling numbers and symbols over the opaque film. When he met the frustrating block to his reasoning, he read the command aloud. “ Attempted circumnavigation. Disallowed. Redirect.”

“Oh, oh, oh! Very interesting,” Mei squealed even as Midoriya grunted in frustration. 

“I couldn’t follow it, it happened too fast,” Midoriya said, distressed as his window was struck down at the same time as Shouto’s.

But Mei was laughing in the face of the challenge, “I have you now,” fingers moving even more rapidly over the screens. “So clever, so brilliant, it’s feeding him compulsions–”

Shouto jerked in place, dislodging both hands upon him, he needed to get out of here, right now –

“Easy, kid!”

“Shou, stay with us!” 

“What’s happening?!” Midoriya demanded. 

“Don’t you dare move, Captain. You stop and I lose him!”  

Shouto’s ears rang until he could no longer hear most of what they were saying, ‘Threat’ emblazoned across his commands and red sinking over him in a way that was entirely too familiar now. 

NO!

But there was nothing Shouto could do. This time he was completely aware of what was happening, but he couldn’t control the way his hands strained against the straps, trying to rip the cables from the back of his neck. His energy was thankfully too low to activate his abilities, but the part of him that was designed to connect to the ship tried to reach through the dampening shield so that he could steal more from the ship’s reserves as he did on the station, yet another ability he hadn’t known he’d had. He could not and the shield held as steady as his restraints that he was so painfully grateful for now.

Figures hovered over him, shadows against the unbearable light, and they said things that he couldn’t understand, did things to him that made it hurt more than the burns that had already blackened him beyond recognition –

Cool hands were placed on both sides of his face, forcing him to look up into Shinsou’s eyes, upsetting the memories that pulled him down. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Shinsou said as if from far away, muffled. His voice didn’t seem to sync with the movement of his lips, just that slightest bit delayed and Shouto couldn’t control his breathing. 

His Father’s mountainous back as he dragged a too skinny Shouto behind him – 

The gleeful gleam of Shigaraki’s eyes –

The rage that had consumed him for so long –

The searing heat of the fire that took EVERYTHING FROM HIM–

The world fell away and Shouto collapsed to his knees with a gasp. His hands splashed on a floor covered with a thin pane of water, ripples distorting the reflection of his pale face.  Another ripple and Shinsou stood next to him, all blacks and blues and purples, the calm of the ocean on a windless clear night. Stars glimmered into being, speckling over the sky above and reflecting on the waters below until there was no distinction between. 

The fire was gone. Shinsou held out his hands, pulling Shouto upright. The water rose with him, then over them both. Shouto sank into the rushing depths but this time he wasn’t drowning, peace washing over him in a languid rush and cooling the illusion of heat until it was no more. 

“That’s it, c’mon. There is no fire, and you are more than a machine to be controlled. You can fight it.” 

“What are you…” Shouto said, but no sound came out. 

“This is my mindscape. Or, rather, the surface of it.” Shinsou shrugged, poking at one of the tiny glimmering lights that drifted past them. It looked like a little glowing jellyfish, drifting unassuming in the invisible current. It floated away, losing all distinction almost immediately to mingle with the other shimmering lights. “I’m basically hacking into you Katra the same way they’re hacking into your programming. Sorry about doing this without asking first, but you were kind of…”

“Heading for a breakdown?” Shouto said self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, I…tend to do that." And it was getting worse; almost as bad as it had been in those first few months after the accident. Perhaps Aizawa had a point. He should talk to someone before he lost himself completely, no matter how much the notion terrified him. 

If he got through this...maybe it was time to stop running away.

"Uh, thank you. I–” He cut himself off. “Do you usually dream of the ocean?” 

“Not a dream. Mindscape. It’s a Vulcan thing.” Shinsou cupped his hands and then opened them wide and a radient cloud of fish burst in brilliant colors from the space between. They both watched as they too became indistinct into the distance, leaving them alone in their sourceless dome of light. “And to answer your question, not usually? I’m more of a garden kind of guy. But there was so much fire that I figured I would take us somewhere that wouldn’t go up like kindling.” He cocked his head. "So this is what you really look like?"

Shouto touched his hair reflexively and found it military short – just as his Father preferred. "Is it red?" 

"Half of it." 

Shouto smiled bitterly. He wondered if the burn scars were present as well, but was too afraid to ask.

"Hey, none of that." Shinsou gestured grandly to their surroundings. "If you don't like it, imagine something different. Self-image can be pretty malleable if you've got the imagination for it." Abruptly, his hair was a violent shade of pink over his deadpan expression.

Shouto almost laughed. "There's an improvement."

"Mm, I might keep it. One more big 'F-you' to the ol' sperm donor." Shinsou looked at him pointedly. 

Taking a deep breath, Shouto closed his eyes and imagined how he'd always wanted to keep his hair if he'd had the choice. At once,  a lightweight tumbled down his back and spilled over his shoulders, like a blanket on a cold night. He touched lightly it as it fell to rest against his chest. Soft. 

"Huh. Keeping the red after all?" 

Shouto opened his eyes, his fingers already winding through the red locks, a few strands of white filtering through. "I don't hate the red." It was something he'd always had mixed feelings about. It reminded him of his Father, yes, but it also reminded him of Toya. He hadn't wanted to look at it after the incident because it was too painful to think of either of them. Now, he realized that he kind of missed it. 

Shouto twitched and looked around wearily, something unpleasant swooping within him and reminding him of what was happening outside of this strange liminal space. Some part of him was still vaguely aware of the outside world, but he couldn’t tell what was happening beyond a lingering sense of panic. 

“It might be better to stay here for the moment,” Shinsou advised. “I’m holding the worst of it at bay. Besides, Mei and the bumbling idiot know what they’re doing.” 

Shouto frowned. 

Shinsou laughed as if he could hear Shouto’s thoughts. Which. He could. Damn. “You still get offended on behalf of the asshole that zapped you to kingdom come?”

“...No.” 

Shinsou scoffed at the lie and suddenly memories of Shouto and Midoriya’s interactions played out, but from Shinsou’s perspective. It was disorienting, to see himself through another's eyes. And embarrassing. Did he really blush that obviously? “Shoot, sorry. The link sort of goes both ways.” Shinsou waved his hand and the images receded. He cocked his head, seeming to listen to something. “...I think we can go back now. It looks like they’re done.” 

Dread rose quick and acidic in Shouto’s throat, but a wave of foreign calm washed over him, soothing it back down. “Are you doing that?” Shinsou didn’t answer and Shouto decided he didn’t care. “I don’t want to go back,” he admitted softly. 

“As flattering as it is that you find my mindscape enjoyable,” Shinsou smirked teasingly, “there’s someone who really wants to know that you’re alright.” He looked to the side and drew Shouto’s eye to a blurred window into the outside world, white spilling into the darkness and casting his face in peaked shadows. The captain was looking right at him, the fluorescents on the ceiling haloing his wild green hair. There were hands on Midoriya’s shoulders attempting to pull him off – Aizawa – but were no match for his immovable strength. 

Shouto stared at the image Midoriya presented. He was crying, mouth forming the sounds of Shouto’s name but unable to breach the calm of Shinsou’s sea. Protected from his panic and grief and anger, Shouto could finally see what he'd been blind to since he'd awoken.

That...did not look like the face of a man who thought of Shouto as a toy. In fact, Shouto was certain that no one had ever looked at him quite like that before; as if their entire world would fall apart if Shouto disappeared. It wasn't really something he completely understood, but.

Perhaps he'd been too harsh. 

"Ouch. You actually said that to him?"

"Cut that out."

"Mm, sorry, can't really do that so long as we're here." 

Shouto scowled, feeling like that was bullshit but not knowing why he knew that was bullshit. Shinsou smirked unrepentantly.

Shouto looked back into the eyes of the man calling him home. “Shinsou…what am I going to do?” 

Shinsou gave him a Look and sighed, breaking the tension with his usual disregard, a reality check to Shouto's habitual melodrama. Shouto had never been so grateful for someone in his life. “How the hell should I know, you emotionally stunted fern? He’s your idiot, no matter how much he makes a mess of things.”

Shouto’s lips quirked. “He does tend to do that, doesn’t he.” 

“Mhm, yeah, that’s kind of the captain’s MO. If Bakugou wasn’t around to clean up his messes – well actually, now that I think about it they’re both disasters. You sure can pick ‘em.”

The weak smile fell off his face. He didn’t need to say it for Shinsou to understand. “Want me to beat them up for you?”

Shouto choked on a laugh, imagining the stick that was Shinsou trying to take down two of the most powerful men in the ‘Fleet. He wiped at his eyes, surprised to find that there were tears rolling down his face. Huh. It seemed like he could actually cry here, in this place where his physical body was immaterial.  

“No, seriously, say the word and I’ll throw hands.” 

 “I’ll keep that in mind,” Shouto drawled, smiling in earnest now despite everything. He looked at Shinsou properly for the first time and couldn’t help remembering a conversation very much like this with someone else a long time ago, impressions of sunlight and white teeth bared in a playful growl.

“Oh,” Shinsou said faintly, then scowled, punching Shouto in the arm. “Ugh, gross, keep your feelings to yourself. Alright, enough of this crap. You ready to face the music?”

Shouto looked back at Midoriya’s watery eyes and beyond him, to the door that remained resolutely shut. He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.” 

Chapter Text

When Shinsou released Shouto back into reality, the peal of his earlier distress rang in his mind with discordant noise. It was such a stark contrast with the calm that Shinsou’s mindscape had allowed that it took Shouto several seconds to reorient himself. 

He’d been released from his restraints, he noticed first. He flexed his hands slowly, shivering at the memory of struggling against them. No, he would not be revisiting that experience anytime soon if he could help it. It may have protected the others from his violent reaction, but it had made everything ten times worse. 

The cords had been removed from the back of his neck. He was no longer tethered to the computers, which may be the only reason he was still himself. He closed his eyes briefly against the thought, hating whoever had fucked with his programming with every fiber of his being. He felt like little more than an animal slave to its instincts, an avalanche in the spring that could be set off by the tiniest breath of wind. 

When Shouto was able to focus his vision, it was Shinsou looking down at him.

“You with us, Shouto?” he asked, carefully neutral but gentle as he removed his hands from Shouto’s temple. 

“Yes,” Shouto answered, though he wasn't entirely certain that was true. He sat up, blinking past the numerous notifications in his HUD, unable to interpret them. He muted them for the moment, forcing himself to tune back into the room around him. 

“Shouto?” 

Shouto flinched slightly at Midoriya’s voice, so gentle that it prickled at his already abraded nerves. Midoriya looked exactly as he did through Shinsou’s mindscape; face rough with drying tears and eyes reddened with fear and stress. He looked about as rough as Shouto felt, and now that Shouto wasn’t entrenched in panic and anger, it was harder to resent him for it. Midoriya smiled weakly. 

“Are you alright? That was…” he trailed off, biting his lip. His hands twitched where they rested against the steel table by Shouto’s hip. 

“I am well, Captain,” Shouto lied, monotone. It was clear that Midoriya was hurting, big eyes begging for comfort that Shouto didn’t know how to give. He didn't know if he could, after everything he just learned, when the specter of the restraints still ached in his limbs. It was too much, and while Midoriya’s obvious care for him went a small ways to soothe the sharp burn in Shouto’s throat, it did not erase the revelation that Midoriya had never thought of him as a real person. That none of them had.

When Midoriya’s face fell at the title, Shouto’s regret was tempered by the simmering anger and sense of betrayal that still roiled hot beneath the surface of his apparent calm. Midoriya’s hand rose to reach for Shouto's face as if he just couldn’t help himself, but Shouto was spared the act of rebuffing him and hurting the both of them further by the cold order from their CMO.

“Everyone out.”

Midoriya startled, hand jerking to his chest.

Aizawa stood beside a silent Mei at the terminals, furious eyes reflecting the screen and skin pulled tight over his tenuous composure. Mei looked no better, her lips pursed in uncharacteristic silence as her hands moved slowly over the keyboards. She stopped completely when Aizawa raised an arm, forcing her to step back. 

“What is it?” Midoriya demanded, straightening his spine. “Is something–”

“No,” Aizawa cut him off sharply. “You can worry about that later. Right now, I need to see to my patient.” 

“I won’t leave him.” 

“Captain Midoriya.” Aizawa finally looked away from the screen, stepping around the terminals to get into Midoriya’s face. The captain wisely took a step back from the table, shock and outright rebellion painted over his wide features. Any rebellion was obliterated at Aizawa’s next words, however. “My patient has been interrogated, strapped down and tortured for the past hour after being attacked and detained by his crew through no fault of his own. You will let me do my job and leave now.”

All color drained from Midoriya’s face and he swayed in place. Aizawa did not let up on his glare while the captain appeared to be trying to remember how to draw breath. Finally, he nodded and Aizawa took a step back. “I’m removing you from duty for the next six hours as well, Captain. I will see you in my office at the end of alpha.” 

This time Midoriya didn’t even try to protest, nodding tightly. With one last–slightly wild–glance at Shouto, he turned on his heel and left the room. Mei followed him silently without looking at Shouto at all, the door swishing closed behind them without fanfare. 

Shouto all but collapsed with relief, drawing his knees to his forehead and releasing a shaky breath. But when Shinsou moved to follow them from the room, Shouto felt an immediate spike of panic. The irrational fear that someone would attack him again if Shinsou wasn’t there to defend him had him clutching Shinsou’s sleeve and jerking him to a stop. 

“Whoa, alright, hey,” Shinsou said soothingly, placing a calm hand over Shouto’s tight fist. Shinsou exchanged a long look with Aizawa.

“Kid,” Aizawa addressed him. “I’m going to discuss something personal with you. Are you alright with Hitoshi staying?” 

Immediately, Shouto’s mind split two ways; the fierce desire for Shinsou to remain and protect what little calm Shouto had left and the staggering fear of making himself even more vulnerable than he already was. 

But Shouto was at his limit. If he couldn’t trust the two people in this room, the only two people on this god forsaken ship that saw Shouto as a person, then he may as well shut himself down permanently and save them all the grief. Shinsou’s grip became painfully tight. Shouto winced, remembering belatedly that his thoughts weren’t entirely his own and apologized silently until Shinsou’s pinched expression eased. 

“Stay,” Shouto said simply, and that was that. Shouto released his friend to sit on one of the working stools, enough room to give Aizawa and Shouto space but not far enough away that Shouto couldn’t reach for him if needed. 

With a quick command, Aizawa used his authorization codes to bar the room from all access, and Shouto knew no one would be getting through that door, for no one was ranked higher than a CMO when it came to the health of the crew. Not even the captain. Something in Shouto eased just that little bit more. 

Once the room was locked Aizawa walked carefully to Shouto’s side and sat down on a stool. For once, Shouto didn’t feel the overpowering need to escape from Aizawa’s presence. He didn't know if he ever would again after the revelations of the afternoon, for if no one else, Aizawa had been on Shouto’s side from the very start.

Even if he didn’t deserve it. 

“My tools don’t work on you, so you’re going to have to be honest with me, kid. Are you alright?” 

Shouto choked, then laughed roughly just once before reigning it in. He ran his hands through his ruined hair, leaving them to rest protectively against the back of his neck where the panel of his port had been thankfully replaced.

Aizawa’s lips twitched. “Fair enough.” His smile fell. “First of all, I owe you a huge apology.” Shouto rolled his head slightly in question, but didn’t look up, waiting. “While the captain may have neglected his paperwork, it was my responsibility to look after you. I should have seen the signs that something was wrong and done something about it well before now.”

Shouto smiled self-deprecatingly. “How could you have possibly known something was wrong if I never told you anything?”

“It’s starting to look like that wasn’t entirely your fault.” 

Shouto closed his eyes slowly before forcing them open again. He couldn’t escape it, he knew he couldn’t, but he had to know. “...What do you mean?” 

“I want you to think very carefully. Before this, before becoming a Drifter, how would you describe yourself?”

“Doctor–”

“Please,” Aizawa interrupted gently. “Answer the question.” 

Shouto’s head thunked against his drawn knees. He wished the doctor wouldn’t draw this out. “I was…angry. I didn’t want to become what my Father wanted me to be so I rebelled by being the worst cadet I could manage.” The only goal he’d really ever had was to thwart Enji’s plans for him. He was blunt to the point of arrogance, and so was avoided by most everyone but sycophants. He spent Enji’s money in excess and did what he could to smear his own reputation in an effort to get the man to give up on him. It never worked, not really. Enji always had enough money and influence to make whatever Shouto did go away. 

That, and Shouto had loved engineering too much to not take to those classes like a duck to water, was too naturally conscientious to not absorb every piece of information his instructors imparted, even if he’d purposely botched his scores. Toya was the only one that he ever spent any significant time with, and it was he who had convinced Shouto to pursue his own research. Shouto did so only because it genuinely seemed to delight Toya to debate with him, to teach him, to praise him. But he never wanted to draw attention to himself in any positive way, not from anyone else. That had always felt like giving in to Enji.

At the end of it all, he’d ended up exactly where Enji wanted him, anyway.

"Did you used to avoid things that made you uncomfortable?” 

Shouto frowned. No. The opposite, really. He would often get into fights and Shouto never missed an opportunity to argue with Enji. That confrontational side, too, had been muted in him ever since the Endeavor’s demise.

“What are you trying to say, Aizawa,” he rasped. He was tired. Too tired to talk in circles. His power indicator pinged at him and he just wanted this awful day to be over. He had a terrible inkling about where this was going – had already seen it happen live. But he needed to hear it. 

Aizawa scrubbed at his hair, face pinching with anger as he seemed to steel himself. “There’s no easy way to say this, kid. But you’ve got several failsafes in your code that have been feeding you compulsions. Pretty nasty ones, too.”

“What kind of compulsions?” Shouto whispered, fingers clenching against his pants. He was more surprised that he didn’t feel surprised than anything. It made too much sense, after everything that happened. 

“There’s…a lot. Probably more than we saw today.” Aizawa pulled one of the screens around so both of them could see. Shouto’s heart sank as his eyes flicked rapidly over the text. It was jumbled and there were a lot of redundancies that Shouto guessed were to cover as many loopholes as possible. 

But the gist of it was hard to misinterpret. Shouto swallowed thickly, shivering. There were compulsions to follow orders. To defend himself from bodily harm. To prevent anyone unauthorized from accessing his source code, including himself. And those were just some of the ones triggered in the past hour.

But the bulk of them seem to center around his memory core. 

Grimly, Shouto recognized several of them almost immediately. 

“Redirect…memory archive E,” Shouto mumbled. He followed the thread. There were thousands upon thousands of memory files, separated neatly between his organic existence and this one, easily defined because of the difference in comprehensiveness between the disjointed memories of a human mind and the more robust files of an android. Most of them appeared untouched, but there were several hundred files that were directly linked to the redirect command. With a shaking hand, Shouto flicked the screen. 

“Most of these are memories from my time at UA Academy,” he said softly, then his hand froze over a neat folder named simply Endeavor. He pulled away quickly. 

Aizawa was watching him like a hawk, leaning forward and intent. “Shouto. Do you remember what happened on the Endeavor?”  

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind Shouto but he couldn’t hear it over the sudden roaring in his ears. Shouto hissed, discomfort rearing vengefully in him at the mere evocation of the name. He didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want to think about it. “I don’t–” Every time he’d tried to think about what happened he’d be insensate with the terror of it all over again. All he could see was Toya’s last moments, over and over and he didn’t want to relive it. Not now, not ever. He wanted to stand up, wanted to leave the room and forget all of this. He wanted. Wanted. 

Shouto froze, looked up into Aizawa’s serious face. “That’s it. That’s the compulsion, isn’t it?” 

Aizawa's eyes narrowed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. It’s one of them. I think the Endeavor might be the root of all of this. I think there’s something the people at Section 31 don’t want you to see, and they’ve been doing it by forcing you to relive certain parts of your memory so you won’t go investigating.”

There came a loud clattering behind Shouto and he flinched badly, remembering abruptly that they weren’t alone. Shinsou stood rigid, the stool rolling away from him to ricochet against the wall. Shouto felt a hot wash of shame and fear for everything his friend just heard. But Shinsou wasn’t paying him any attention, electricity practically jumping between him and his father. “What did you just say?” 

Shouto furrowed his brows, but it was Aizawa who answered. “You heard right,” Aizawa said, looking his son in the eye, a sort of grim resignation settling over his features. 

“Section 31,” Shinsou said faintly, the shock on his face quickly crumpling into anger. His hands slammed into the steel table, making Shouto jump. “Section 31, the same department where – those bastards – they court-martialed me for breaking in, they nearly killed me –” His face drained of all color. “I was right,” he whispered. “I was right .” Shinsou’s voice broke and he slapped a hand over his mouth, looking moments from losing his lunch. Horrified eyes locked onto Shouto and Shouto leaned away, disconcerted by the fear on his friend's face. 

“What? What is it?” Shouto demanded. 

But Shinsou couldn’t answer. Without a word, he turned on his heel and attempted to leave.

The door denied him, Aizawa’s lock still in effect. “Let me out,” Shinsou said coldly, devoid of emotion. He didn’t turn around to look at them.

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa said, regret lacing his voice. 

“Let me out, Shota.” Shinsou’s fist slammed into the door. The second Aizawa released the lock, he was gone, leaving a chilled silence in his wake. 

Whiplashed, Shouto looked to Aizawa for answers only to find him pale-faced and drawn, hiding behind his folded hands. “Aizawa? What’s going on?” 

“I told you that Shinsou got into trouble before we were set to ship out.” Aizawa spoke slowly, as if his mind was far away. “He overheard something he shouldn’t have. Something dangerous. When he brought it to the attention of the Brass, they ignored him, so he attempted to take matters into his own hands. He was apprehended. They put him on trial. His…special circumstances meant that anything he thought he heard was discounted. No one believed him.” Aizawa’s eyes slipped closed. “I didn’t believe him. I thought he’d misunderstood or – he’s done things like this in the past. Never this dangerous, but…” 

Shouto stared. ‘Special circumstances’, as in, Shinsou overheard something from someone’s thoughts. Of course they wouldn’t believe him. There’s never been anyone quite like him before, and not only that, but a Vulcan using their abilities on a psy-null for evidence is something Earth politics has been struggling with since First Contact. The claim coming from someone like Shinsou, who already has a record, and about one of their own research departments? He could see why the case would be thrown out the window, if only for Starfleet to save face.

“What did he find out?” 

Aizawa took a deep breath. “He said that someone in Section 31 was working on something. A weapon of some sort. By the time we were finally released, the Endeavor was already destroyed.” 

The ship. And most of her crew. 

Shouto shook his head slowly. Then he shook it again. “No. No, that doesn’t make sense. Section 31 was not responsible for the destruction of the-the Endeavor. I was.” Shouto felt distinctly like he’d missed a step, hand jumping to cover his mouth at the horror of what he’d just admitted. But he couldn’t hold the secret any longer, not when Aizawa was coming to the wrong conclusion. If Shinsou was right, if Section 31 was creating a weapon, Shouto got the very distinct feeling that the weapon was him. 

You were already a weapon before they got their hands on you. 

Your fault.

Your fault.

They’re dead because of you.

Aizawa looked up sharply, brows drawn tightly to the bridge of his nose. “You? Is that what they told you?” 

“No. Yes, but. I-I remember,” Shouto tried to think back, opened his mouth to force out the words but only a pained wheeze escaped. Fire flashed behind his clenched lids and he flinched, tried to shake it off, push through what he now recognized as a malicious redirection. He gasped, shaking so hard he thought he’d vibrate through the table.  

“Kid! Shouto, stop!” Hands pushed against his shoulders, trying to force him to uncurl, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“I-I–” Shouto’s voice was barely coherent, but he had to push through. “I was w-working on the warp c-core–” the heat was so intense now, he was burning, his hands, his hands, “Th-there were unusual fluctuations. I thought I fixed it, but–” 

“Shouto, please, you don’t have to do this! Stop!” 

The deck beneath Shouto was so hot that it burned through his pants, through the skin on his knees but he plunged his hands into the fire because Toya was burning, “B-but they persisted. I investi-gated –” Toya’s last smile became a grimace of blackened teeth as his flesh burned away, “–and-and-and there w-was–” something fell from above. Shouto never saw what it was because it blinded him, blood, black, PAIN – 

“STOP!” 

Shouto was wrenched from memory when Aizawa slammed him bodily back into the table, pinning him against the cool surface. Shouto was so entrenched in fire that he nearly cried out at the cold against his skin. Chest heaving, it took him several seconds to come back to reality, and when he did, it was to find Aizawa hovering over him, hair wild and frantic. 

“Shouto, you’ve got to stop,” Aizawa shouted in his face. “We have no idea what other failsafes there are! For all we know, you could destroy yourself if you push too hard!” 

For several moments there was only the sound of Aizawa’s frantic breaths.

“It was my fault,” Shouto whispered. 

Aizawa’s face crumpled in frustration, but this time he said nothing to deny it. He released Shouto slowly and sat back on his stool. Shouto remained where he lay, staring at the ceiling without seeing it. 

“What happens now?” 

A weary sigh. “Now, you go back to your quarters and recharge. It’s been a hard twenty-four hours for you and you need your rest.” 

Shouto turned his head slightly, mouth turning down at the corners. He couldn't think straight. He had nothing left in him but numbness. “But I’m dangerous. What if I attack someone again?” 

“You aren’t going to attack anyone, kid, not unless you get jumped between here and your room,” Aizawa said wryly. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll escort you and make sure you’re tucked in.” 

“But…”

“Shouto.” Aizawa stood and held out a hand for Shouto to take. Shouto stared at it. “You need to rest. Tomorrow, we are going to go through your code and get rid of those compulsions. After that, we can discuss next steps.”

“We are?” Shouto was fading fast, not only emotionally exhausted, but his body was at its limit too. The room was starting to blur around the edges. He took Aizawa’s hand. “Not the brig?” 

“Not the brig,” Aizawa said gently, hauling him upright. “You did nothing wrong.” 

That…wasn’t true. It wasn’t true but Shouto didn’t have the energy to argue. 

The halls were silent as Aizawa escorted him to his quarters. As Shouto finally allowed himself to shut down, he managed to feel a faint spark of amusement that Aizawa held up his promise to tuck him in. 

Hey, Kid. 

Midoriya and Mei are working on your source code. Because the compulsions are specifically designed to prevent you from reprogramming yourself, we feel it’s best that you stay out of it for now. We’ll keep you apprised on our progress, but they’re telling me it’s going to take a hot minute to get it figured, so sit tight. Until this is resolved, we’re keeping what happened on DS7 under wraps, captain’s orders.

The day is yours. Do whatever helps you to relax, but if I hear you’ve been anywhere near Mei’s office I will personally confine you to Sickbay, and don’t think I won’t, you bolt-brained idiot.

Aizawa

Shouto stared dumbly at the piece of paper resting over his lap. It was the first thing he saw when he woke, as if the doctor feared he would somehow miss such an unusual object when he owned a total of three personal items. Though, to be fair, the Shouto of even a day ago might have seen the paper on his desk and used the excuse that he hadn't seen it to ignore its presence. 

Aizawa’s scrawl was slightly more legible than usual, perhaps because Shouto was starting to recognize it. He worried the frayed edges of the page, ripped from the journal on his desk that he’d never brought himself to touch.

They didn’t want him involved. It made sense, not only in that his programming would likely hinder things more than help but also the inherent danger of more failsafes that could cause further harm. Shouto worried his lip, wondering if he could really leave this to them, all while recognizing that he had little choice. Did he trust them with all this power over his autonomy - to give them full access to his body and his memories and trust that they would give it back at the end of the day?

A little late for that. 

A good point, Shouto acknowledged, resigned. He’d already given them all of that and more, willingly or otherwise, all of the code that made him him sitting tidy in the Falcon’s computer. Now all he could do was take the plunge and hope there was someone there to catch him before he hit rock bottom. 

There was a sort of weightlessness to it, a freefall. It took a good ten minutes for Shouto to realize that he was actually relieved that he wouldn’t be the one who had to dig into it all, to see everything that had been done to him. He didn’t want to see how they’d controlled him, shaped him to whatever end, because he honestly wasn’t feeling strong enough to bear it. Not right now. Maybe that weakness too, was something they wanted him to be, and maybe he’d be able to recover that strength in the future, but right now…right now, he couldn’t take it. Even if that meant exposing himself utterly to others.

At the very least, he could say he was in good hands. Mei was brilliant, and if he’d picked up anything from what he’d heard – and what he’d witnessed himself – of Midoriya, the man was nothing to sniff at either. And while Shouto might not trust that Midoriya had always had his best interests at heart, he could at least trust that the man’s remorse was sincere. Shinsou and Aizawa wouldn’t let them take any more from Shouto if he knew them at all, and what a startling realization to know that somehow, against all odds, Shouto had at least two people that were entirely on his side, who wanted nothing more from him than his companionship, or in the case of Aizawa, his wellbeing. It was more than Shouto had ever had before.

So, yes. He would trust them with this, and not only because he had no other choice. Despite the disastrous revelations and the acute, irrational feeling of failure that still settled heavily in his core, Shouto wanted to believe in Aizawa and Mei and Midoriya and Shinsou and-

He was so tired of running. From his past, from his trauma, from all the potentially good things in his life. Getting his autonomy back was the first step to untangling what was shaping up to be one hell of a convoluted conspiracy – with Section 31, the raids on Starfleet, the bombs, and the Drifters like Shouto all caught in the middle. He had no way of knowing just how deep it ran until he was free of the shackles coded into him, but when he was?

When he was free, Shouto was going to tear it all open. With his bare hands if he had to. The pieces were coming together with the final key somewhere in Shouto’s memory, he could feel it. 

But for now, the decision to leave his source code to Mei and Midoriya left Shouto at loose ends. Do…whatever he wanted? Was this for real? Shouto glanced around his quarters as if trying to glean from its utilitarian cleanliness that he was under some sort of cosmic joke. But nothing stood out to him, though he did note with muted pleasure that his fern had grown a second bud, this one a startling shade of orange. He wondered idly when it would bloom. 

He looked back down at the piece of paper. Whatever helped him to relax? 

Immediately he yearned to connect to the Falcon, to fill the emptiness he’d been aching with ever since he’d been cut off from her. He wanted to dig his fingers into her systems, feel her power coursing through his body and heal all of her pains as if they were his own. He knew the ship wasn’t sentient but it felt like a part of him, a dear friend nonetheless. Shouto wanted to work, to clear his mind of all of the drama and uncertainty that had been his last few days and immerse himself in nothing but the intricacies of the Falcon’s state-of-the-art technology. 

He was now acutely aware that what he wanted was drastically different from the man he’d been in the past – a man whose idea of relaxation had more to do with sabotaging his Father’s plans, picking a fight or finding himself in the wrong bed for the sake of it, if he hadn’t already sought out his brother in the rare instances they had synchronized freetime – but he found that he didn’t give a damn. Why would he, when work had been his only solace for so very long? It was something that brought him simple, uncomplicated pleasure and Shouto was loath to give it up, not when things were so miserable and all other pleasant pastimes had been taken from him.

Part of that was probably the compulsions that he’d been under the influence of since becoming this, but that was bothering him less and less the more he thought about it, at least when it came to this particular desire. Maybe it hadn’t been him at first, but Shouto couldn't deny that it pushed him towards something he may have always enjoyed if he hadn’t been resisting so hard from the start. It soured it in his mind, a little, to realize that if his Father hadn’t been such a massive, domineering dick he might have chosen this path for himself. 

How horribly ironic.

Regardless, that brought him to a second problem: was he even allowed to reconnect with the Falcon after everything that happened? Carefully, Shouto expanded his awareness but found nothing. There was no dampening field around his room. There was nothing stopping him. Shouto frowned at the blatant show of trust, not entirely sure he trusted it, hesitating. 

Fuck it, he decided after a moment. If they were foolish enough to risk his involuntary betrayal, then so be it. Shouto threw open the door between him and his ship and dove in with reckless abandon.

With a sigh of bliss, Shouto’s eyes fluttered as her power subsumed his body, expanding his senses to share in the thrum of her core, stronger than it had been in the days before he had become bereft of her. It was nowhere near the level of operation it had been before the attack, but Shouto was delighted to find that his orders had been followed to a T, the crew repairing the damage slowly and steadily without the hindrance of Mei’s inexperienced leadership. He wondered if they’d been able to find salvageable parts on DS7 but quickly diverted his mind from it, not wanting to contemplate it and ruin the moment. 

For the next half-hour, he worked diligently through the reports from his engineers, answering questions and giving fresh orders. To his surprise, he received acknowledgments almost immediately from even the most ornery of the crew, orders accepted without question. It threw him for a moment. It was doubly surprising when he remembered that they didn’t even know he was Human and Shouto felt strangely validated that they followed his lead despite it. Perhaps there was something to the captain’s insistence that he’d, beyond all reckoning, earned their respect. That, and the unexpected mercy of the captain’s keeping his detainment on DS7 under wraps. With some amusement, he wondered if Lt. Monoma was frothing at the bit, gleaning vindictive pleasure in the irritation of a man who seemed to be making it his mission to make others miserable. 

Shouto needed to get out there. He needed to see the progress the crew was making for himself. A curl of genuine excitement fluttered through his abdomen and he smiled faintly.

That thought forefront in his mind, he disconnected his foot from his port and stood up. Then paused. Ah. He was still in his damaged uniform from the day previous, a vague memory of Aizawa helping him out of his destroyed jumpsuit but going no further. Shouto didn’t know what to do with the consideration the man had shown, so filed it away carefully and put it out of his thoughts. He stripped efficiently out of the rags to be disposed of and stepped into his wash closet. He indulged in a real rather than a sonic shower, using his ration of water for the first time since coming aboard the Falcon. He sighed in pleasure as the hot water sloughed away carbon and dust from the mission, leaving him pristine once again. Then he just stood there, letting the heat wash over him just for the sake of it until the very last drop of his monthly ration had been spent. 

Feeling terribly hedonistic, Shouto even took the time to dry his hair, fingering the damp white locks curling softly around his ears that would become impeccably straight once all of the moisture had been wicked away. It was already much longer than he’d ever been allowed to keep it in the time before the Endeavor and he remembered how it had felt in Shinsou’s mindscape to have it long, silky between his fingers. 

…His body was capable of growing his hair out. It required minimal material and –

Shouto cut off the train of thought, turning away from the mirror. No. No, better not. That was…too much, too soon. He still felt too unsteady for that kind of change. He wasn’t sure where he stood with – well, anything. He didn’t know if he could indulge in something so selfish when it would expose a vulnerable part of himself to anyone who would care to look, and he was just too raw for that. Not now, when he’d already exposed so much more than he would ever voluntarily put forth. Maybe someday, but not now. For the moment, he simply allowed himself to feel refreshed and found that despite everything, the weight on his shoulders didn’t feel quite so heavy. 

For once in his life, Shouto didn’t question it.

Once he was dressed, Shouto left his quarters and made his way to Engineering. The halls were quiet, alpha shift come and gone while Shouto rested and he met few on his way through the catwalks. Those he did cross paths with acknowledged him with a nod, a complete switch from the blatant disregard he received before. A young ensign even smiled at him as he passed, a light blush on her cheeks. 

Shouto was blinking in confusion for that one for at least a few minutes. 

They still thought he was AI, he reminded himself. But he also recalled the looks he received after braving the warp core, and those that were still thanking him for his actions during the attack. It seemed that he hadn’t only garnered the respect of the engineers, but the rest of the crew as well. 

They didn’t understand, he told himself. They were giving him more credit than he was due. But right now, he couldn’t let it bother him, not when he was finally feeling whole again, finally returning to where he belonged. 

The hum of the engines washed over Shouto as he passed into the vast chamber that held the heart of the ship. For a moment, he just stood there, letting the oppressive energy in the air prickle along his skin, the smell of oil and the taste of electricity inundate his senses. Without his notice, a small smile grew on his face and remained as he walked slowly beneath the coolant pipes. 

He paused as he caught sight of the door to Mei’s workshop. Mei and Midoriya were there, working on his programming but he felt no desire to interfere. Again the sensation of freefall made his insides swoop, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. 

“Mr. Shouto!” 

Shouto only had a split second to take in the wall of muscle heading his way before he summarily lost all the air in his lungs. 

“Kouda!” Shouto huffed, once again smothered in the larger Denobulan’s considerable chest. He patted the larger man awkwardly. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“Angry?” Kouda jerked back, hands tight around Shouto’s shoulders. His back was straight for once, and in a rare instance Shouto found himself looking up at someone. “I’m furious! Y-you k-keep getting into all these dangerous situations a-and you don’t take care of yourself like you should! I want to wrap you in blankets and never let you out of my sight again!” Shouto blinked rapidly, hands resting lightly on Kouda’s thick wrists as he tried and failed to process the man’s words. Despite his declaration of anger, Kouda’s expression held nothing but worry, a light sheen over his peculiarly bright eyes. Kouda’s voice softened. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but y-you know you can talk to me, right?” 

“I know that,” Shouto said, but the lie was so obvious between them that it made Shouto wince. Kouda’s frown deepened. 

Shouto had the sudden intense urge to spill everything, to lay it all out in Kouda’s kind, capable hands – from his worry over Shinsou, who he still hadn’t heard from, to his fear of being taken over again and his confusion and anger over the misunderstanding about his nature. He even went so far as to open his mouth, but it snapped shut with an audible click.

He couldn’t. 

Shouto frowned. He took a moment to examine the knee-jerk reaction. This time, he didn’t just indulge it but asked himself why. Why not? Why couldn’t he talk to Kouda about this? After several seconds of consideration, Shouto couldn’t think of a good enough reason not to when Kouda had already proved himself to be a staunch ally. That, and Shouto craved that uncomplicated understanding that Kouda had offered him before, his nonjudgemental protectiveness, and the simple fact that Shouto was somehow certain that Kouda would be on his side with no reservation as he’d been from the very first conversation.

And Shouto needed that right now.

Maybe Kouda wouldn't be able to help Shouto work out all the answers he sought, but just…talking about it. Might help.

“I…are you on shift right now?” 

Kouda, who had been waiting patiently for Shouto to order his thoughts, nodded ruefully and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. Most everyone else is taking a break, but Dr. Aizawa sort of. Uh. Knocked me out after I found out you were hurt, s-so. I’m pretty much the only one who’s coherent right now.” 

“He knocked you out?” 

Kouda’s face turned ruddy with embarrassment. He avoided Shouto’s eyes. “I, um. G-get a little overprotective of my friends and, well, no one was telling me anything.”

It was Shouto’s turn to look away, slightly overwhelmed. “Friends?” He was already thinking it, but it was…nice to hear. That Kouda felt the same way.

Kouda’s hand tightened on Shouto’s shoulder and Shouto was forced to look up. “Yes, Mr. Shouto. I consider you my friend.” 

Shouto took Kouda in, from his straight spine to his serious face, voice devoid of the nervous stutter that had defined him in Shouto’s mind since he’d met him. Shouto believed him. Shouto nodded and Kouda’s smile was so blinding it was hard for Shouto to look at, something warm curling in his chest. 

Shouto stepped back carefully, dislodging Kouda’s hand. “Can you tell me what’s going on with my ship?” When he looked up into Kouda’s face, it was with an edge of pleading. Had Shouto a heart, it would have been racing behind the cage of his ribs, nervous that Kouda would push. But it seemed that the man had gotten what he wanted, or at least recognized that Shouto needed to take this at his own pace. With a kind smile, Kouda began briefing him on what had been going on while he’d been out. 

“We’ve been making great progress! Of course, it’s a little hard without Miss Mei, but she’s been holed up with the captain all alpha working on something.” Shouto glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. Midoriya had been there the entire time? Hadn’t he rested at all? Shouto frowned slightly. It had been at least twenty hours since the man had slept. Shouto highly doubted that that was what Aizawa had intended when he pulled him off duty. 

Where was Bakugou? He doubted that the commander would let Midoriya run himself ragged like this. Then again, Shouto thought with an echoing pang in his throat, Bakugou had been conspicuously absent since the station. 

Fine, Shouto thought bitterly, brow darkening. He hadn’t taken Bakugou for a coward, but he supposed he’d been wrong before.

Or maybe none of this had mattered to him from the start.

Kouda continued on, either not noticing Shouto’s distraction or too polite to comment. “Luckily we found a few spare dilithium replacements aboard DS7 slated for shipment. They weren’t connected to the main power supply, so they were completely intact! We’ve installed them and have been able to restore power to most of the ship. We’re currently working on getting the disk back up and running…”

As Kouda briefed him they moved deeper into the core, several panels open and tools lying about. Clearly, this was where Kouda had been working because he promptly removed one of the panels and got back to it. Without a word, Shouto rolled his sleeves back and picked up a spanner. 

For the next two hours, the only sound between them was Kouda’s occasional comment. He didn’t require Shouto’s input, seeming perfectly content to work in relative silence, just as it had been in the first of their acquaintance – the very reason Shouto had taken a liking to the meek man in the first place. Peace fell over Shouto like a warm blanket, soothing the crooked edges of his hurt until he could breathe without pain again. The Falcon’s heartbeat thrummed through his entire being, no walls between them as he allowed himself to immerse more deeply than ever before. It wrapped around him with something like safety that he had so rarely felt, and in the shelter of her embrace, he found the courage to speak. 

Slowly, haltingly, Shouto filled the silence between himself and Kouda with his story. From the vaguest description of the Endeavor to joining the Drifter program to how he’d ended up here in this moment. He told Kouda about his brother. Spoke about the confusion he’d felt ever since coming aboard the Falcon and the misunderstanding with his transfer orders,  about what he’d discovered on the station, how he’d been manipulated, the terror of it happening again . He spoke more in an hour than he had in over a year combined and Kouda listened silently to every word, never looking at anything but the circuit board beneath his graceful fingers, though it had been repaired less than halfway through Shouto’s tale. It gave Shouto the illusion that this was casual, that Kouda wasn’t judging him, that this was just another day working side by side. 

Finally, voice quiet and head bowed, Shouto confessed his humiliation, what had been weighing on him the most. 

“Was any of it real?” Shouto whispered, long past pretending he was paying attention to the repairs in front of him. 

Kouda finally gave up the pretense of work as well, sliding down to the floor to sit heavily beside Shouto. “Oh, Mr. Shouto. This is exactly what I was worried about. What the captain and commander believed about you and how they treated you? I don’t have to tell you that it wasn’t right. Whether you were a Drifter or AI, it doesn’t matter. You’re a sentient being, a person , and anyone who spent three minutes with you would know it. But you know.” He shifted over until their shoulders just barely touched. Shouto resisted the urge to lean into him for a moment before he gave it up as a lost cause and let Kouda support his weight. “I wasn’t so worried anymore, after the warp core.” 

Shouto made a questioning sound in the back of his throat, letting his eyes fall closed at the simple pleasure of Kouda’s solid frame against his shoulder. He was warm. 

“Did I tell you that I have four wives, Mr. Shouto?” When Shouto shook his head, he could hear the smile in Kouda’s voice. “I know, right? A loser like me? How did I ever get so lucky?” He felt more than heard Kouda’s self-deprecating chuckle and it echoed in Shouto’s soul. He knew the feeling. In fact, he was feeling something similar this very moment, luckier in his friends than he’d been in his entire life. “When my second wife, Perdit, was having her first child from her first husband, she was having trouble during labor. It was during the time I was courting my third wife, Midna, and the both of us were there, holding Perdit’s hands as she struggled, her husband offworld and unable to make it in time.” 

Shouto leaned a little more firmly into Kouda’s side as his voice turned pained, offering his own support now instead of just taking it. Kouda sighed, and Shouto stared into the wall opposite, appreciating now more than ever the seclusion of this sheltered corner. “When I saw Midna’s face and how tightly Perdit was holding her hand as she cried, I realized then what I should have from the very start. Somewhere along the way, they’d fallen in love.” Kouda laughed then, a lighter sound. “It was like I wasn’t even in the room! I’d never seen Midna so very fierce.”

Shouto’s chest tightened, throat closing up over that familiar pain. He’d felt it too, when Bakugou and Midoriya had looked at each other. As if he wasn’t even there, and had no right to be. It all felt more acute in hindsight because he hadn’t really been a part of it at all, had he. He knew that now, but then, there had been the tiniest hope that one day…he would. 

“What happened?” 

“Perdit made it through just fine, and she and Midna got married the very next year,” Kouda said fondly.

Shouto frowned. “You said Midna was your third wife?” 

“Oh, yes! One thing I’ve learned, Mr. Shouto, is that there are many kinds of love.” Kouda’s face looked serene when he finally turned to look at Shouto. “While mine and Midna’s love is nothing like Perdit and I, or even Perdit and Midna or Perdit’s first husband, that doesn’t mean that it’s any less true! But that wasn’t my point. My point is, I know what love looks like.” Kouda put a hand over Shouto’s chest and Shouto was certain that he’d never met someone so physically affectionate. He didn’t hate it. “When Mr. Midoriya thought you were lost in the warp core, I thought he was going to kill me to get through to you. It was frightening! And when he saw you collapse? The way he paced and paced while we waited for decontamination to finish?” Kouda’s sweet voice became conspiratorial, his smile mischievous and now Shouto’s chest was tight for a whole new reason. “Did you know he didn’t let anyone touch you? Not even Commander Bakugou could pull him away! They nearly got into a fistfight before Aizawa put a stop to it!” 

Shouto heard what he was saying, his face flushed ever so slightly, but he still couldn’t reconcile it. Kouda was heavily implying that Midoriya loved him, and it was too soon for something like that by any reckoning. Denial was hot and thick behind his teeth but Kouda didn’t let him voice it.

“The look on the captain’s face was the exact one Midna wore when she looked at Perdit –like he would tear apart the entire world to see you safe.”

Shouto looked away sharply. He bit his lip, replaying the remorse on Midoirya’s face when he saw him in the brig, when he watched him cry from Shinsou’s mindscape, the passion in his eyes when he took Shouto apart piece by piece until he was nothing more than a shuddering mess beneath his capable hands. 

The pleading in his voice when he’d tried to get Shouto to listen to him on DS7. 

“Maybe…maybe he likes me,” Shouto said slowly. “Maybe he would have come to see me as a person.”

“Oh, Mr. Shouto. He already sees you as a person. I know it.” 

Shouto breathed in slowly, then released it. Alright. “You think I should forgive him.” 

“I think…” Kouda said slowly. “That you should give him a chance to apologize at the very least. But only when you’re ready.” 

Shouto closed his eyes. Breathed. A part of him eased, settling back into place. “Alright. If he comes to me…if he tries to apologize. I’ll listen.” 

“That’s all anyone can ask. I just want you to be happy, Mr. Shouto.” 

For several minutes they sat in silence. Shouto leaned his head back against the bulkhead with a dull thunk and stared at the ceiling, scrubbed clean of the scorch marks that had been so prevalent only weeks before. “What about Bakugou?”

Kouda hummed. “I’m afraid I don’t know the commander as well. He frightens me, to be perfectly honest.” 

“Should I forgive him too?” 

Kouda looked at the ceiling, mirroring Shouto’s position. “Do you want to?” 

That…was a loaded question. Shouto wasn’t nearly as certain about Bakugou’s intentions as he was about Midoriya’s. It was also incredibly difficult to feel anything but resentment when the last thing he’d seen of the man was his phaser pointed at Shouto’s heart. The unforgiving expression on his face when a tearful Midoriya put Shouto under. And now, he wasn’t even around to make sure Midoriya was okay, letting the captain run himself ragged on Shouto’s behalf. 

You aren’t doing anything either. Shouto shook off the intrusive thought. It wasn’t helpful.

“I don’t know,” he answered softly. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t think I ever did.” 

It was time to stop running away, he reminded himself sternly. Wasn’t that what he decided? So he let himself think about it, the things he’d been avoiding since he’d woken up in the brig. How much it hurt that Bakugou had been absent, hadn’t even made the effort to explain himself. 

He was within his rights to detain you.

Was he, though? Shouto had done nothing to threaten the crew, not until–

‘What the fuck are you?’

Shouto closed his eyes, this time with a grimace of pain. That was not the Bakugou that had taken Shouto aside before the mission and made sure his gear was sound. That was not the man who enjoyed it when Shouto liked his food, or teased him in the storage room, or told Shouto he wanted him, too. 

But could Shouto really say with any certainty that Bakugou had ever thought of him as a real person? With Midoriya, there was room for doubt, but Bakugou had always seemed to have only one thing on his mind – the only thing one could expect from a companion droid. 

Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe Bakugou did care for him as more than an extra toy to play with in the bedroom. But he wasn’t a mind reader. Shouto sure as hell couldn’t divine what Bakugou was thinking from his crass manner or his possessive words or his violent temper, and Bakugou sure as hell never looked at Shouto like Midoriya looked at Shouto. 

Shouto let out the breath he was holding, letting his entire body deflate, for a moment going lax against Kouda’s shoulder. Then he steeled himself and pulled away, getting to his feet. “Thank you,” Shouto said sincerely. “For listening.” 

Kouda stood with him, looking at Shouto seriously and Shouto found that he couldn’t look away. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this. Or maybe you can’t? But you don’t deserve the things that have been happening to you, Mr. Shouto. You don’t deserve the way you’ve been treated, by others or yourself.” Shouto shook his head, but Kouda simply put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him with an encouraging smile. “We are here for you. Whatever comes next with whoever is trying to hurt you – Section 31 or this Sh-Shigaraki or-or even Starfleet itself! –” Kouda paled visibly at the very idea but didn’t take his words back. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore! Okay?” 

Shouto stared, skin crawling at the point of contact, feeling like he was drowning in Kouda’s kindness. But he felt warmth too, unfurling in his chest like a blossoming flower bathed in the first light of dawn. Don’t have to do this alone. It was a strange concept. Shouto had been alone for so long.

To Shouto’s alarm, Kouda started tearing up. The larger man pulled back, rubbing his eyes roughly with a strangled sob. “If y-you could see y-your own f-face, Mr. Shouto!” Alarm transformed into horror when Kouda began to sob in earnest. Shouto looked around in bewilderment, hands held out as if some solution to this unexpected display of emotion would spawn from thin air.  Shouto made a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between an overwhelmed ‘uh?’ and a soothing hum and stiffly wrapped his arm around Kouda’s shoulder. Kouda reacted to Shouto’s awkward attempt at comfort as if he’d thrown him a lifeline in a stormy sea, engulfing him until he could hardly see over his broad shoulder. Shouto patted his back with hesitant taps and hoped that it was enough to assuage him. “Th-they’re going to fix your programming and no one is going to be able to hurt you anymore!”

The hand over Kouda’s shoulder froze, then fingers tightened in his shirt as Shouto relaxed. “Yeah.” 

It was several more minutes before Shouto could extricate himself from Kouda’s grip, but eventually he was able to convince the man to let him go. Despite Kouda’s assertions, he was obviously exhausted. Shouto checked the time, realizing beta had begun some time ago. After making sure Kouda’s relief was on her way, he ordered the man to rest. 

The moment Kouda had gone, Shouto slumped against the wall in their sheltered alcove, letting out a massive sigh that seemed to deflate his very being. He rested a hand over his face, feeling simultaneously relieved from some of his burdens and more exhausted than ever before. At the very least, a decision had been made. 

He was going to forgive Midoriya. He already knew he would before the question was ever asked because Shouto was nothing if not weak, and there was only so much of those soulful green puppy dog eyes he could take before he capitulated. They would need to talk. Shouto didn’t know if he could give Midoriya what he wanted without reservation as he had before. Maybe it couldn’t be like how it was again, but it could be…something.

As for Bakugou–

“Hey, Frosty.” 

Shouto froze. He didn’t move, hand covering his eyes as his skin lit with the presence of another, near silent footsteps pounding like thunder in his ears as they came to a stop before him. Shouto held his breath, unwilling to inhale Bakugou’s scent. He didn’t want to be reminded.

“Are you going to look at me?” Bakugou’s voice was husky and low and Shouto wasn’t sure what to make of it. He couldn’t interpret anything beyond exhaustion from the simple statement.

Silence fell between them, stifling and cold as Shouto debated on whether he just wanted to hide behind his hand and pretend Bakugou couldn’t see him until the man went away. But that was absurd. Time to stop running. 

Steeling himself, Shouto inhaled, allowing Bakugou’s scent to flood his awareness, metal and spice and the musk of a man at the end of his day, the scent of hard work. Slowly, Shouto’s hand lowered. He looked up with a glare, but whatever scathing retort was caught on his tongue when he saw Bakugou’s face.

If Midoriya looked like a disaster, then Bakugou looked like he’d been through hell. The proud lines of his body were unbroken and his face was stern, but there was no mistaking the dark shadows beneath his eyes or the bruise smeared over his left cheek like a mark of damnation. It was punctuated by a cut on the edge of his tensed lips, the sort that healed roughly and split open at the slightest shift of his face. The wound looked like it was at least a day old, which was near unheard of when they had access to dermal regenerators. Bakugou could have had it healed in minutes, but for some reason, he chose to keep it. 

Or Aizawa refused to heal it for him. Somehow Shouto doubted that that was the case.

For a brief moment, Shouto felt a flash of guilt – had he done that, as he’d been responsible for Midoriya’s burns? But no. Shouto would have remembered. The guilt was quickly banished by the anger at the audacity of the commander to come to him now after letting him twist in the wind for over a day.

Bakugou didn’t avoid Shouto’s gaze when he finally looked away from the gruesome bruise to look into his eyes. Nor did he flinch from the ice in Shouto’s next words. 

“What do you want, Commander?” 

Bakugou’s lips tightened, and sure enough, the cut on the corner of his mouth pulled, drawing a tiny bead of blood. Bakugou didn’t seem to notice. “I need your help.” 

Shouto stared, dumbfounded. “You are either unspeakably arrogant,” he said softly, “or you really don’t give a single damn about me.” 

At that he got a real reaction. Bakugou’s crimson eyes narrowed, temper flaring briefly. “Is that what you think?” 

“What else am I meant to think?” Shouto stood from the wall, no longer comfortable with showing vulnerability. To his credit Bakugou didn’t step back, craning his neck slightly to hold eye contact. “When you shot at me and then fucked off to who knows where for the past day?” The angrier Shouto became, the quieter his voice grew until it could freeze the air between them more effectively than his ice ever could. 

Bakugou growled lowly. “Yeah, I shot at you. I own that. But you didn’t stand down when I ordered. I just watched you – who I thought was a goddamn maintenance bot – tear another android apart like it was made of playdough. There was no fucking way I was about to let you anywhere near my crew, especially when you were acting like you didn’t recognize us.”

Shouto grimaced, seeing it from Bakugou’s perspective and hating that he could. “Maybe I could accept that,” he nearly whispered. “Maybe. But why did you ignore Shinsou when he told you that I wouldn’t attack? Because I wouldn’t have, Commander.” 

“Can you really promise me that, after everything that we found out?” Bakugou said mercilessly, and Shouto winced, taking a step back until his back thumped against the wall once more. Of course Bakugou was right. Considering the circumstances, Shouto could hardly blame him for reacting the way he did. Shouto was dangerous – a weapon even if he hadn’t known it before now. 

His eyes were glued to the floor when Bakugou finally relented. “Fuck. This isn’t how I…fuck.” Bakugou ran the back of his hand over his mouth, leaving a smear of red against the dark purple. “Look. I know I messed up. I can stand here and rationalize it all damn day, but at the end of it, I didn’t trust the council of my crew and you got hurt.” 

Shouto laughed humorously. That was his apology? Really? “As you say, Commander.” Shouto waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. He repressed a bitter smile. Of course he wasn’t going to truly apologize. Not for this, and not for the rest of it. Why would he, when he hadn’t even believed Shouto was Human? Perhaps he still didn’t. One didn’t owe courtesy to a bot, after all. “If that is all?” 

There was a sharp inhale and Shouto finally looked up, thrown by the expression on Bakugou’s face. 

Bakugou looked at him like he’d swallowed a cactus and it was tearing him up inside, anger warring with grief and fear and something Shouto couldn’t name. Bakugou opened his mouth, closed it, as if the words he wanted to say were stuck in the back of his throat, choking him. The slighter man exhaled sharply, teeth bared in a grimace before he blurted. “I fucked up, okay? What the fuck else do you want me to say, you goddamn icy – hot – half-’n-half bastard!? Just tell me what the fuck to say and I’ll–” he devolved into cursing then, teeth gritted and face pinched with anger. Shouto watched in bewilderment for several seconds, trying to make sense of the nonsense coming from Bakugou’s mouth, which sounded nothing like an apology still. Nor did it look like he was getting anywhere closer the longer he went on. The longer he waited, the more it appeared that Bakugou had only come here to make excuses, to shift blame on anyone but himself. But surely Bakugou wouldn't come all the way down below decks just for that. 

Finally, Bakugou ran out of words and devolved to grumbling, apparently out of excuses. His face had reddened,  hands shoved in his pockets and Shouto realized that he'd stopped listening to observe, Bakugou's body language saying more than his words ever could. He was looking at Shouto expectantly, tensed as if waiting for another hit. 

"What, dammit! Fucking say something already!"

Shouto had sudden a flash of clarity. 

Bakugou was an idiot. 

A stunning change in perspective when Bakugou seemed so faultlessly competent in all else, but Shouto couldn't deny what he was witnessing before his very eyes. 

What a pair they make, Shouto thought to himself as he watched a full grown man completely fail to articulate his emotions in front of him. Midoriya, who couldn’t seem to hide the vulnerable heart he wore on his sleeve, to this man, whose temper and inability to talk about his emotions created a volatile cocktail that would combust at the slightest hint of stress. How they managed to become the most celebrated duo in Starfleet was beyond Shouto in that moment, when they were both such a mess.

Then there was Shouto, who didn’t know who the fuck he was anymore, who avoided his problems and emotions so fiercely he may as well be exactly what they’d thought he was: a true android. But he wasn’t, and it was time to stop acting like one.

So Shouto made a decision. If Bakugou wasn’t going to man up and say it, then Shouto would. Shouto consciously summoned his anger, hurt, stress, and betrayal and let it flood every corner of his being, let it run over him and solidify like armor. No more running away.

Bakugou’s incoherent grumbling cut off abruptly as Shouto grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him into the opposite wall. Bakugou snarled but Shouto stopped him before he could dig a hole for himself any deeper. “Shut up,” Shouto snapped, looming over Bakugou and pressing him so hard against the bulkhead that he could feel the man struggle for breath. Bakugou’s pulse jumped beneath Shouto’s palm, but to Shouto’s satisfaction, he held his tongue. 

Bakugou’s fierce eyes were wide, but beneath his habitual anger was something else that Shouto had no trouble identifying. It seemed that Bakugou was done running away too. 

“When you started this- this thing with me, I was just a plaything to you, wasn’t I.” It wasn’t a question, because Shouto suspected he already knew the answer. But he needed to hear it. 

Bakugou swallowed, probably more subdued than Shouto had ever seen him. “Yes,” he said bluntly. It was only the slightest tremor beneath his voice that kept Shouto’s anger from boiling over, still reeling in the sharp stab of hurt even though he’d already seen it coming. “Deku was infatuated with you the moment he saw you and I wasn’t opposed. Been with bots before.”

Shouto had to take a breath before he continued, forcing the air past the tightness in his chest. “So in the storage room?”

Bakugou hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yeah. It was a game then. Shitty Deku might look all sunshine and roses, but he’s a fucking animal in bed. You were pressing all his buttons and I…I hadn’t seen him like that in a while. I thought you were just a bot, but…”

He trailed off and Shouto’s eyes sharpened. “Ah. And when did that change?” 

Bakugou grimaced. His eyes flickered to the only exit to the small alcove but didn’t linger for more than a split second. He wasn’t going anywhere, even if Shouto wasn’t already pinning him in place. “I started to suspect – no. That’s not right. I was ignoring the signs that you were something more because I’m a possessive son of a bitch, and I ain’t denying it. I thought as long as you weren’t real I could play at sharing Deku. I could still pretend that – fuck.” Bakugou closed his eyes suddenly and gripped Shouto’s wrist hard enough to make it creak. But he didn’t attempt to shove Shouto away, rubbing over the bruise on his face with a rough thumb. “I could still pretend that I was enough.”  

Shouto didn’t know how to react to that ridiculous statement. How did he not think he was enough? After Shouto spent the entirety of their song and dance seething in jealousy of their bond, now so very obvious in hindsight. 

But Bakugou didn’t let him voice any of that, hand tugging at Shouto’s wrist to pull him closer. Shouto blinked at the sudden reversal as Bakugou held his hand captive against his chest in a grip that would be challenging for him to break if he were anything less than what he was. Bakugou was no longer pinned, but an anchor that held Shouto immobile. “But that was before you threw yourself at the goddamn warp core like you were single-handedly responsible for every life on this ship! That was before I saw Deku nearly lose his mind over you and I fucking knew that I’d lost when the nerd told me he wanted you for real, not just in bed but with us. After that, I couldn’t ignore what I’d been seein’ anymore.” 

Shouto pursed his lips. He didn’t try to pull away. “You didn’t say anything. Were you just going along with Midoriya’s whim?” Because that’s sure what it sounded like. 

Bakugou growled. “Look me in the goddamn face and tell me again that I don’t give a damn about you. You think I’d let you anywhere near the nerd if I didn’t like you, too? I fuck’n asked you if you wanted to go steady, for fucks sake!” 

Shouto’s brows lifted. He considered Bakugou’s words, rolled them around in his head for several moments. Bakugou's hand tightened and Shouto glanced at him again. Something like amusement fluttered in his chest despite it all at the constipated expression on Bakugou’s face. “Your confession is even worse than your apology,” he said dryly. 

Bakugou’s jaw dropped, but instead of the explosion that Shouto half-expected he barked a startled laugh. “Fuck you, I don’t need to hear that from the ice prince himself!” 

Shouto smiled slightly and didn't deny it. In fact, if none of the events on DS7 had happened he would have been the first to keep his head in the sand. Still…

Bakugou’s smile fell slowly and a shroud of seriousness fell over them both. “I’m sorry,” Bakugou finally said, plainly this time. Shouto nodded, somewhat stunned that he’d actually said it. 

“I apologize as well, Commander. Part of the blame for this misunderstanding falls with me,” Shouto said slowly. 

Bakugou clicked his teeth and hooked Shouto’s collar with a finger, dragging him an inch closer. “You don’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, Frosty.” And just as Bakugou had become an anchor, he released Shouto, leaving him unmoored. Bakugou stepped away, putting some space between them. “I need some time,” Bakugou said, surprising Shouto yet again. “Before we go any further with this, I gotta get my head on straight. I don’t think it really hit me – what you are, how I treated you – until I heard it from your own mouth. I…” Bakugou sighed, nothing but resignation where anger once simmered. 

“Before we go any further?” Shouto quoted, not certain what he was hearing. A small glimmer of hope lit in his sternum, one he hadn’t expected to feel. Not after he’d convinced himself that this was all over. It shocked him with its warmth and slithered its way past the shields he’d put around his heart. 

Bakugou grinned at him, though it wasn’t as confident as his usual smirk. “What, you think beating the shit out of each other on that station was going to scare us away? The nerd and I’ve done way worse.” That smile too, was fleeting. “I ain’t going to get in Deku’s way.”

Shouto stared, certain he’d heard wrong. Bakugou was…giving him permission to date Midoriya? “But you need some time?” Truthfully, though the commander’s request drew a tinge of disappointment, in the forefront he was overwhelmingly relieved. Time. He could give Bakugou that. And maybe take some of it for himself because no matter that Bakugou had finally apologized, it hurt to hear from his own mouth that Bakugou had never taken him seriously. 

Bakugou was looking at him like he could pluck his thoughts from the air between them. “Yeah. I get the feeling you need it too,” he said gruffly. 

Shouto looked at Bakugou for a long moment. “Alright.” 

At his word, Bakugou finally relaxed. To those who didn’t know him – and Shouto was really starting to believe he was getting to know him – the difference was infinitesimal; a slight relaxation of his brow, a spine that he didn’t hold quite so rigid, and an almost imperceptible softening of his eyes. But to Shouto it was as obvious as the rising sun. Bakugou was looking at him, and this time, he could see him. This time, even though he was putting distance between them…he was letting Shouto in.

Inwardly Shouto reeled, something in his chest light and floating. He couldn’t believe his turn in fortune. When he’d woken up in the brig he’d thought it was all over; his burgeoning relationship, his friendships, his assignment, his life. Yet now he had a crew that was fighting for his freedom, breaking the shackles holding him captive. His friends remained staunchly by his side, checking in, looking after him like he mattered. And now, Bakugou was here, telling him that even though they’d all fucked up so badly, this thing between them didn’t have to end. 

Could they do it? Could they really start over? Now that everything was out in the open and there were no more misunderstandings between them, could they really put their mistakes behind them and start fresh?

Swallowing past the unbearable feeling rising up into his throat, Shouto croaked, “You’ve already talked to Midoriya about this?” 

Bakugou’s smirk was wry, but more genuine this time. He rubbed his thumb over his cheek again. “That’s kinda what I need your help with. The shitty nerd hasn’t talked to me at all outside of ship matters since the station.”

“Midoriya did that to you?” Shouto said, wondering if he should be more surprised than he was. It was hard to be though, when their fights were so infamous. 

Bakugou snorted. “Nah. That was Shinsou. Droopy-eyed bastard has a mean punch for all that he’s skin and bones. If I didn’t know him to be straight as a goddamned arrow I’d say he’s after you.” 

Shouto smiled. So that’s what he’d heard outside of Mei’s lab. He couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed or touched by Shinsou’s protectiveness after it caused him so much grief. “And when I was in the brig?” 

Bakugou avoided his eyes. “I was on the bridge. Deku didn’t want me anywhere near you after things went to shit.” He shrugged, but Shouto knew he was not nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be. “Anyway, can you make sure the nerd gets some sleep? Drag him to bed if you have to, otherwise he’ll stay up for a week straight. He gets obsessed when he’s got a project and he ain’t listening to me, so.” 

“You’re sure about this? You said you don’t share,” Shouto poked one last time, only to receive a flat look that had his lips twitching with humor. 

“I don’t repeat myself, icy-hot and I ain’t gonna start now. You going to help or what?” 

Could they really start over? 

Yeah, Shouto thought to himself. Yeah. Maybe they could.

Chapter Text

Shouto stood in front of the door to Mei’s lab, shifting his weight nervously. He took a deep breath. When that didn’t help, he took another. It was okay. He could do this.

It was just Midoriya on the other side of the door, probably too sleep-deprived to form a coherent sentence. There was nothing to be afraid of, especially after the worst scenario Shouto couldn’t have come up with on his own had already come to pass. So why was he stalling?

He wondered wryly if he would have even plucked up the courage to face the captain again anytime soon if Bakugou hadn’t sought him out. In a way, he was grateful, because while he had pondered the captain’s lack of self-care he hadn’t intended to interfere until Bakugou took him aside. It wasn’t his place, or so he told himself. How could he intervene when he still didn’t know where he stood, after everything? When there was still so much hurt between them, and not all of it inflicted by the captain alone. 

All excuses to not face Midoriya – and more pointedly, Shouto’s own emotions – and he knew it. 

Unfortunately, knowing was only half the battle, but by Bakugou coming forward as he had and laying the captain’s predicament at Shouto’s feet like an offering, the barrier of uncertainty had been eased whether that was the commander’s intent or not. It seemed that Shouto was more inclined to face what he would rather avoid when it was for the sake of someone else, he mused. It somehow made him feel braver, to be needed. To hold some importance to someone else and to be called upon; not just as someone desired, but required for something more than his physical appeal. 

The captain needed him. Or, possibly 'need'  was a strong word and a rather arrogant assumption when Midoriya had gotten along just fine before Shouto ever appeared. But that didn’t mean Shouto couldn’t help.

Midoriya was refusing to eat or even to sleep if Bakugou was to be believed. Shouto did, because why would the commander lie? Shouto wouldn’t have thought Midoriya was the type to not take care of himself but the more he got to know him, the more he was starting to realize there was so much hidden under the surface beneath the legend of Starfleet’s golden boy, and not all of it flattering. When examined, Shouto already had ample evidence of the man pushing himself beyond the point of reason when he was stressed, beginning from the very first glimpse of Midoriya on the observation deck a week into his service on the Falcon. 

That that was a time when Commander Bakugou was only just recovering from his rumored injuries on Delta Vega and as such was indisposed to make sure Midoriya took care of himself – the storage room was one such incidence, though it was somewhat overshadowed by Shouto’s own unfortunate revelations about the event – was another matter that Shouto found he didn’t want to contemplate at the moment. That not only was Bakugou stepping back from their relationship but passing on the mantle of caretaker for a man that seemed either incapable or unwilling to monitor his own physical state when he was in the throes of emotional distress. He wondered, too, if that was a part of Bakugou’s apology, an acknowledgment that Shouto was so much more than what he’d first assumed and what he’d blinded himself to until he could ignore it no further. Perhaps it was an extension of trust to allow Shouto to assist the captain at his most vulnerable.

Or perhaps Shouto was projecting his hopes onto something that wasn’t there.

Shouto jumped at the sound of the coolant systems activating over his head, bringing him back to reality with a jolt. He blinked slowly, taking stock, and realized he’d been standing here for several minutes now while the ship ran on without him. His mouth twitched upward and he chuckled self-deprecatingly. What the hell am I doing?

There was a distinct possibility he was overthinking this. Or maybe he was just stalling. Again. 

Enough of that then. Whether it was an extension of trust, whether Shouto was really needed, or whether he was just letting his mind go round and round in circles because he was a coward, it was time to move. Squaring his shoulders, Shouto opened the door and stepped inside. 

All thoughts of assisting the captain, however, were thrown off track as Shouto found himself in the crosshairs of an intense set of golden eyes. 

Mei.  

In his distracted dread of facing the captain, he’d forgotten about their ad interim head engineer and now he stood stock still beneath her laser-like gaze. 

Mei sat at her customary spot behind her many terminals, fingers frozen over the keys and modified irises reflecting the gleam of the screens. They regarded each other cautiously, two predators on neutral territory. Shouto worked his jaw, unsure what to say and unable to reconcile the sting of her distant behavior, unprocessable on top of everything else.  

Ever since the revelation of his Drifter status, she’d been distant, strange. Well. Stranger than usual. It seemed that whatever truce they’d come to in the midst of crisis was over, because Mei’s frigidity was back threefold. Shouto found that he missed her blatant disregard for his personal space, even missed the uncomfortable nicknames and the inappropriate touching. 

Never thought I’d say that, he thought dryly. 

It was doubly awkward because he knew she’d been here too, working tirelessly for Shouto’s benefit. Shouto allowed himself a brief moment to wonder why that was, especially since it seemed that she didn’t much like him anymore. Shouto winced when she finally broke his gaze and went back to her work, dismissing him utterly. 

He stood there for several more seconds, wondering what he could say to break this strange tension between them, or if he even should when he’d come into her domain with another purpose entirely. Whatever it was that was bothering his friend, he didn’t know if he had the capacity to confront it when it took so much courage to open the door in the first place.

With a silent sigh, Shouto let it go, seeking out his original goal. 

Sure enough, Midoirya was out cold, cheek pressed against the grease-stained table littered with bits of tech and tools. He was snoring, nose tucked into his folded arms and drool staining his sleeve. He looked terrible. 

Shouto maneuvered quietly to the captain's side, studying him closely. There was a grease smudge on his nose. Shouto was starting to think that rubbing his nose when he was in the middle of work was a bad habit of his. It was… cute. He considered briefly if he should just leave the man there now that he was finally asleep. After all, he couldn’t say with certainty that the captain wouldn’t just get up and start working again if he roused him to move elsewhere, but ultimately decided against it. This was hardly an optimal position for sleep and Shouto might be far removed from his body, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a sympathetic twinge of pain when he recalled the agony of waking with a crick in his neck from unwise sleeping arrangements, most often after a bender. At least the captain wouldn’t be hung over. Small mercies. 

He was just considering how he was going to get the man back to his quarters without disturbing him too much when Mei finally spoke. 

“We’ve made progress.” 

Shouto blinked, surprised to be addressed. He hadn’t expected her to actually say anything to him. She sounded subdued, and it was only partly because of her obvious fatigue. “That's…good?” it came out as more of a question and Shouto winced. 

Mei nodded absently, rubbing her chin and staring with narrowed eyes at the monitor, voice flat as she relayed, “I’m not saying we’ve fixed the problem and it’s not like we can change everything overnight. But we got an in and that’s more than we had yesterday. I was able to crack the firewalls enough for us to get a good handle on what it’s going to take to rewrite portions of your base programming.” She finally looked away from her monitors, only to glance at the slumbering captain. The crosshairs of her eyes flashed at Shouto before darting away. “Numbnuts came up with a device that might at least block some of the more malicious code from sending you compulsions.” 

Shouto raised a brow, spotting a small shard of metal in the captain’s hand that he hadn’t noticed before. Carefully, he pried the device from Midoriya’s loose grip, holding it to the light. Not a shard at all, but a small memory storage device. It was commonly used for manually transferring data between hard drives, but it appeared to have been modified to work with the port on the back of his neck. Shouto frowned at it, a phantom shiver going down his spine at the thought of anyone messing with his port again. “How did you know how to modify this?” 

“Your code contains all of your blueprints. It was simple,” Mei said matter-of-fact, gaze fixed doggedly on her screen as if he wasn’t there at all. “You may have been built with the most complex tech I’ve ever come across, but you’re still compatible with most of the adapters used in common androids.” She bit her knuckle, hands absent of her customary gloves. “But it’s only a half-measure until we can get into the meat of your code.” 

Shouto’s fingers twitched slightly around the tiny device. Even if it was only a half-measure, just having this small protection from the code intended to control him was more than he could ever repay. She had to know what it meant to him, that she was helping even if it seemed she did not like him anymore. He tried to answer, but Mei didn’t stop. Her words were coming rapid-fire now, higher pitched the faster they came.

“Once we knew what to look for it was a simple matter of removing the compulsion commands –” 

Shouto’s brows drew together.

“ – well not simple, it’s actually incredibly sophisticated and dependent on so many scenarios, but, and this is the important part, most of the engineering logic is centered around preventing detection rather than defending against removal – 

 “Mei.”

“ – as long as we’re not counting the rather violent defensive mode, I suppose, which can be avoided if you aren’t conscious for the procedure –

“Mei,” Shouto tried again, wincing internally as her voice cracked. She bit her knuckle harder, words mumbled around blanched skin.

“ – but the code itself is easy peasy to overwrite since it’s a failsafe not strictly integrated with necessary functions as long as we find all of it, which might take a while but I should be able to expedite the process if I –”

“Mei,” Shouto said firmly, placing a hand over hers and gently prying her now reddening finger from between her teeth. She jumped in surprise, clearly caught in her own rambling train of thought so deeply she hadn’t realized he’d approached. Shouto ignored her surprise and tsked at the indents her teeth had left in her skin. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” he said slowly, testing the words as he said them. “But you need to take a break. You don’t have to go this far for me.” 

He didn’t protest as Mei took her hand back. She looked away sharply.  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” 

This ship was full of workaholic insomniacs, Shouto thought with frustration. If he hadn't been one himself, and in effect make it entirely hypocritical, he would go around forcing everyone to sleep. He shuddered. Suddenly he was understanding Aizawa so much more.

When she didn’t say anything further, Shouto took a step back from the frigidness returning between them. He didn’t know what to say, not when it seemed that Mei had slammed her doors shut. But he couldn’t just leave it like this, either. 

So he thought about it as the silence between them grew. When they’d first met, Mei had looked at him with kindness and fascination. She believed he was an android, then an AI. She’d wanted him around and seemed to delight in the way he interacted with the world as if every mundane action on his part was a new and exciting revelation. But the moment she’d found out that he was a Drifter…

“...You’re disappointed that I’m not what you thought I was,” he said bluntly. It made sense. If he’d learned anything about this woman, it was that she didn’t have much patience for people. But machines? They were beautiful and fascinating and her babies. 

He didn’t know where to go from there, wasn’t sure what he could say that would make it better. It wasn’t as if he could change his nature now that it was out in the open. But thankfully the statement alone was enough to spark the conversation.

“People suck.” 

Shouto’s mouth snapped shut around anything else he was going to say. He fell silent, listening. Mei shrugged.

“Or well…I’m not good with people. Doesn’t seem to matter if they’re Terran or Denobulan or a crazy sentient plant. They think I’m weird.” She said it without emotion; a forgone conclusion to which she’d long become accustomed. “I’m too much. For most people. But when I’m around machines? Machines don’t judge. They don’t tell me there’s something wrong with me, or get emotional or insulted. They’re....easy. I know how they work. Binary code, one or zero, right or wrong, either what I’m doing works or it doesn’t and then I can fix it. People…I don’t understand them, and they don’t understand me.” 

“…You believed I was an AI. A machine.” 

She’d taken one look at him and thought he was safe; the closest thing to a real person she felt she could befriend. She thought his stoicism was a lack of judgment, not that he’d just been too socially stunted to tell her that she made him uncomfortable without directly insulting a superior officer. They’d been on different wavelengths from the start. 

In a way, it was a comforting thought that she’d been genuine with him from the very beginning, even if what she’d perceived about him was incorrect. Shouto wished he could be so brave.

A stiff silence fell between them, Mei’s tension becoming more and more apparent. Shouto considered her carefully, mulling over her words. In a lot of ways, it was easy, because he could see where she was coming from. He understood. He knew what it was like to be an outsider, knew intimately the stares, the whispers, and the judgment. He knew exactly what it was like to find comfort in his engineering projects and empathized strongly with the desire to be around androids and machines over organic beings. Surprisingly enough, Mei was probably the most capable of relating to Shouto on the entire ship, because if there was one thing they could both understand, it was what it was like to be ostracized for things they couldn’t control. 

Despite their differences, Shouto wasn’t surprised to find that he liked Mei. Having her distance herself from him like this because of what he was? Well. It was different – the opposite, even! – of Shouto’s feelings about the rest of the crew not treating him as they would a Human. Mei had never treated him as a Human, but to her, that was what had made him better, safer. It was an odd thought.

Shouto struggled with himself for a moment. He wanted to be treated like a Human because that’s how he perceived himself. But that didn’t mean he necessarily had to deny that he wasn’t, not entirely. Still, it felt like taking several steps backward to admit, somehow.

“If you think about it,” Shouto said slowly, “I am still an AI. At least, I started out that way.” 

That, finally, got Mei to look him in the eye. Her face did not change. But at least she was listening. Shouto swallowed. He hated what he was about to say, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought about before. “I am a Drifter, yes, and that is its own classification. But before I had Shouto Todoroki’s memories, however short that time may have been, I was purely AI. They had to test this body before memories were transferred, it had to learn. I…” Shouto looked down. It was certainly uncomfortable to think about how exactly those tests were performed and how he came to be. Human memory wasn’t perfect, and much of Shouto Todoroki’s infancy was forgotten as he grew up. Before he was Shouto he’d had to learn a lot of basic things; how to walk, talk, react to certain stimuli, and manipulate fine motor functions. It wasn’t like he’d had organic instinct to fall back on, only programming, and programming written by people, no matter how intelligent and thorough, couldn’t cover everything. In a way, that time of initial learning was this body's infancy. 

“I don’t remember that time. Whatever I was before was overwritten by Shouto Todoroki’s memories, and once those memories are transferred back, I – the person I am now – will be gone. So…if you don’t want to be friends with Shouto the man, maybe –” Shouto looked up shyly, uncertainly. It cost him to talk about this, but he didn’t want to lose the one person he'd found who was most like him. He struggled for a moment, wondering how to put this. It was hard for him to think of himself and Shouto Todoroki as separate people. But for Mei…he would.  “Maybe you can be friends with the AI shaped by Shouto’s experiences.” 

Mei’s eyes were wide, the first emotion she’d shown since he’d walked through the door. “You’re going to disappear?” 

Shouto blinked, stumped. That was not what he thought she’d take away from that. “I suppose. That was the plan, at least as far as they told me – um. Him.” Now that they knew that the entire Drifter program was suspect, well, Shouto didn’t want to think about what had happened to his original body. Just for a little while longer, he wanted to believe that Shouto Todoroki was still safe, still healing. “In theory, Shouto Todoroki will be receiving all that I am. I will live on in him, just like he’s living on in me, right now.” 

“Funnily enough, that does not make me feel better,” Mei said, frowning deeply. “That doesn’t sound fair at all. First, the AI they created and nurtured is overwritten by a Human experience, a new life erased, and now they would erase all that you’ve become again? Why? Just because he’s organic? Why does he get to live and you don’t?”

Shouto smirked mirthlessly, amused. Fair? Since when had his life been fair? “I was – he was desperate. It didn’t leave a lot of room for considering long-term repercussions.” This was becoming entirely too surreal. It was just…he was Shouto. Maybe what Mei was saying was true, objectively speaking, but it wasn’t like he could separate who he was now from Shouto Todoroki, could he? He had all his memories. He hated his father, loved his brother, and remembered what it was like to grow up at the estate, go to the academy, fight and love and make mistakes as a Human. He would hesitate to consider transferring his memories into his original body death as Mei seemed to imply. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself whenever the thought first crossed his mind in the long shifts of the Sandrunner.  

“I don’t like him,” Mei said abruptly, jerking Shouto from his circular thoughts. 

“What?” 

“This Todoroki fella sounds like a real selfish prick.” Shouto frowned and tried to argue, but Mei interrupted him in her usual blunt manner. “But I like you.” Suddenly she smiled, a little bit manically. Before Shouto could react, she’d snatched the small device in his hand that he hadn’t remembered he’d been holding. “I’m going to fine-tune this little baby. She should be ready for installation tomorrow. Then, I will destroy this code so you can be you!” 

Shouto stared, whiplashed. She said it like it was easy. He hoped it would be, but knowing his luck, he very much doubted that would be the case. 

Mei hopped from her seat and skipped around Shouto, the man still too stunned to move at her rather violent mood change. But that, more than anything else, was comforting.  It meant that at least for Mei, things were returning to normal. Shouto smiled faintly as she bounced to the door.

She paused on the threshold, thoughtful, then spun around to face Shouto with her hands folded behind her back. Then she delivered the final blow, one that had Shouto thoroughly on the back foot. “Now that your code and memories are backed up on the Falcon, you won’t have to die at all! It was really cruel of them to say they were going to throw you away like that, don’t you think?” 

She slipped out of the room, the door closing behind her with a cheerful swish.

Shouto’s smile faded, the feelings simmering in his chest complicated. Cruel? He’d…never thought about it. He didn't – he was Shouto Todoroki. His memories, his…soul? Living on in another body temporarily while he healed. That was what he was led to believe. 

Somehow that didn’t feel right anymore. Had it ever? Or had he just been fooling himself because that’s what he wanted to believe? 

I don’t want to disappear, the thought came unbidden, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought it before, and so perhaps held less weight than it should. But now...now the thought was becoming heavier, forced into reconsideration by Mei's innocent and unorthodox viewpoint. Shouto hung his head, looking at the deck but not seeing.

Live. For me.

It was Toya’s last sentiment that Shouto had taken to heart and had become his mantra when things were truly unendurable. Sometimes those words were the only thing that kept him going. But had they even been meant for him? This second life was Shouto Todoroki’s answer to Toya’s last bid to his baby brother, but what did that mean for the Drifter that Toya would never know came into being? 

Human or Android? A collection of Human memories given life, AI, or that muddy gray area of ‘Drifter’ that was something in between? Was he beholden to Toya’s words or not?

Was he Shouto or was he not? 

Shouto Todoriki was in Section 31, asleep and oblivious to the last year and a half of this Drifter’s life. The life that, whether he’d considered the consequences or not, he was complicit in bringing into being. More pointedly, Shouto the Drifter was different from Shouto the man, inexorably changed by so many new experiences while the man stagnated in time.

Shouto was shaped in part by the programming that Dr. Shigaraki had installed in him that manipulated his behavior – obedience, complacency, and tendency to avoid confrontation. It made him wary in a way Shouto Todoroki had never been. It humbled him, tempered his arrogance and his anger. There was no telling just how much of his personality now was by design.

He was different physically from Todoroki, and that shaped him too. He liked different foods, didn’t need to sleep as much, didn’t suffer the burden of pain or fatigue. He could shut down the more unpleasant aspects of being Human. It made him a little colder, a little more able to control his emotions and a little less influenced by preferences or desires driven by organic imperatives.  

He was shaped by the relationships he’d made. He was considering romantic attachment. He sought companionship and allowed himself to accept help. He was beaten down and traumatized by what happened on the Endeavor just like Todoroki, but he’d also been given the chance to begin to heal from it because of all the kind people around him, something that Todoroki hadn’t had the chance to experience. 

He – Todoroki –

Oh god. He’d already begun calling the original man ‘Todoroki’ to separate them in his head. He didn’t need this right now. He was glad he was able to make Mei feel better, but damn her for opening up this long-avoided can of worms. It seemed there were some things he was still running from, despite his recent effort to face his problems. Well, that lasted all of a day. 

Shouto let out a long, tired breath. He needed to talk with Shinsou but he was afraid of what would be revealed and he just didn’t know if he had it in him to have his world shattered one more time today. He was going to have to face this. But it wasn’t like he could resolve it in the next hour and there were things now that needed his attention. It would just have to wait.

A small, mumbled sigh brought Shouto back to the here and now, and he found himself gazing listlessly at his captain, still out cold right where he’d left him. Well, he thought somewhat bitterly, if Mei did me one favor it was that she distracted me from my fear of facing him.  

Somehow facing his emotions suddenly felt so much easier than unexpectedly confronting the mysteries of his very existence.

Midoriya’s face was flushed slightly in his sleep, his green hair ruffled beyond redemption and sticking to his forehead where sweat and oil clung to his skin. He clearly hadn’t even bothered to bathe in his dogged determination to fix things.

A small stirring of affection in Shouto’s chest had him taking a deep breath around it, walking silently to the captain’s side. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he’d brushed aside one of the captain’s unruly locks. Midoriya didn’t stir. “You really are doing this for me, aren’t you? I don’t understand,” Shouto whispered into the silence only laden with the captain’s steady breathing. Apparent habit of not taking care of himself on the regular aside, it didn’t erase that in this case, the captain was doing it to help him. “I don’t understand, but I…am grateful.” 

“‘Course I am,” Midoriya mumbled, and Shouto started as a large, calloused hand slid over his own against Midoriya’s cheek that he hadn’t even realized he’d been cradling. Midoriya didn’t let him pull away though, fingers tightening around Shouto’s wrist as he sat up slowly with a groan. For a split second, Shouto feared that Midoriya had heard his entire conversation with Mei – the last thing he needed right now was for the captain to chime in on his existential crisis, have mercy – but as the captain muzzily blinked up at him with bloodshot, watery eyes, he relaxed. Even if he had, the man appeared barely coherent. “Shouchan?” he mumbled as if he was only now realizing that Shouto was there, blinking at him owlishly. 

“Captain, you should get some sleep,” Shouto said gently, fighting back an entirely irrational urge to pet him, of all things. He’d already overstepped his bounds as it was, and the impulse made him uneasy when he still didn’t know where they stood. It was one thing to hear it from others, but Shouto needed to hear it from him. “You’re not helping anyone by running yourself into the ground.” 

Midoriya wrinkled his nose. “Y’sound like Kacchan.” The man’s brow darkened. “He’s not bothering you, is’e? I told him to back off.” 

Shouto pursed his lips. So. Bakugou truly wasn’t entirely to blame for his absence. They really were making a mess of things around every turn. Choosing his words carefully, he admonished, “The commander is not bothering me. While I appreciate that you were trying to shield me from further disagreement, I fear telling him to stay away has done more harm than good.” 

Midoriya’s brows drew together, eyes sharpening into something a little more aware as he pulled further from sleep. “He shot at you,” Midoriya said, tone wounded and laced with anger. It was clear that while Midoriya was outraged on Shouto’s behalf, he was also angry at the commander for his own reasons. Still, even if that was the case, it wasn’t Shouto’s place to get between Bakugou and Midoriya’s arguments, just as it wasn’t Midoriya’s place to get between him and Shouto. That was the only thing that Shouto was qualified to address. 

Shouto sighed and sat on the stool beside the captain. He didn’t think now was exactly the appropriate time to have this conversation – funny how he was having a lot of those sorts of conversations lately – but he didn’t think it was good to avoid it either. “Yes. He shot at me when he believed that I was a danger to you and the crew.” Midoriya started to protest, but Shouto shook his head slightly until the captain subsided, allowing him to continue. “I do not like it, but I understand why he did it. What I did not understand was why he stayed away afterward when the misunderstanding became apparent. His absence led me to believe that he was convinced of my guilt, that what I had done was beyond forgiveness. I thought that he never cared about me to begin with.” 

“But that – that’s not true, none of it was your fault! He cares about you, of course he –” 

“I know that now,” Shouto said firmly, halting the tide of Midoriya’s words. “But only because he sought me out to explain himself against your orders. How was I to know what he thought if you didn’t even allow us to communicate?” Not that Bakugou had been at all adept at communicating anyway, Shouto thought wryly. Not until he was forced to. Still.

Midoriya looked stricken, pale. It was a look Shouto was becoming all too unfortunately accustomed to. The silence was thick between them as Shouto waited patiently for Midoriya to speak. Eventually, he did. “I – I didn’t mean – I didn’t even think about that. I was just. Angry. I was so scared that he was going to kill you on that station, that the man I love –” Shouto winced slightly, throat tightening at the words, “was going to kill you before I could ever tell you how much you mean to me.” 

Shouto inhaled sharply at the intensity of the gaze that pinned him now. Midoriya clutched at his hand like a lifeline, lacing their fingers together so that if Shouto wanted to truly pull away, he would have to put force behind it. A part of Shouto did want to run from whatever was coming next. But a much larger part of him, the selfish part that didn’t give a damn about the consequences, wanted to stay right here. Shouto didn’t know what face he was making, but if it reflected anything of the turmoil inside it was no wonder if Midoriya’s fingers tightened further. 

“I love you, Shouto.” 

A muted ringing muffled sound, dampening the words he could hardly believe the captain had just uttered. He’d heard it from others that the captain loved him, but it had never made sense. It was too fast, too soon, too insane to be real. But if he’d learned nothing else in these past few weeks, it was that the captain had never been entirely sane, and whether it was rational or not, the captain was saying it aloud and without a hint of falsehood, right in the open where Shouto couldn’t avoid it. Shouto realized that he’d felt safe in his denial; as long as the captain never said it, he didn't have to face whether it was the truth or whether he was just being told what he wanted to hear. 

He wanted to be the kind of man who could be happy about the captain’s confession. Some part of him was. But he also couldn’t deny the large part of himself that was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Midoriya examined his face, eyes flickering back and forth. Shouto didn’t know what it was he saw, but whatever it was compelled him to keep going. It came in flood, as if he'd simply been waiting for the opportunity to lay it all at Shouto's feet. “You said that I shouldn’t want you because you’re not real. But you are real.” He looked down, uncertain for a moment before pursing his lips in determination. “Maybe I don’t know Shouto Todoroki, but I do know the man who risked his life twice over to save my ship and crew, who stepped up to lead when he was needed even though he hates being the center of attention, and who absolutely sucks at taking compliments. I know a man who likes macaroni and craves touch, even though he’ll never admit it, who makes me laugh and can’t use emojis properly to save his life and has a wit sharper than Hitoshi on a caffeine binge.” That last one pulled a reluctant laugh from Shouto, strangled, and Midoriya smiled faintly. His eyes were fever-bright and Shouto couldn’t look away. His voice grew softer. “I know a man who was brave enough to admit that he needed help, to trust his friends even after we betrayed him. I know Shouchan. And I’m sorry –” Midoriya’s voice wavered and his eyes filled with tears he didn’t bother stopping. Their joined hands were shaking slightly and Shouto wasn’t certain whether it was him or Midoriya. “For the way I treated you. It was wrong. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that your life is yours and no one else’s because it’s your right and what you deserve. I’m going to protect you from anyone who ever tries to take that from you again. You are a member of my crew with all that that entails.” 

He bowed his neck, pressing Shouto’s captive knuckles to his forehead, beseeching. Shouto stared, wide-eyed and speechless. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but please, let me earn it. Give me another chance.” 

Midoriya finally fell silent, shoulders slumped in supplication and head bowed. He waited in silence for Shouto’s judgment, not daring to look up and Shouto was grateful that he wasn’t looking at him at the moment, because he honestly, truly, did not know how to react. 

He knew he would forgive Midoriya. Of course he would, he’d known that even before he’d spoken to Kouda because somehow, while Shouto wasn’t paying attention, he’d come to truly care for Midoriya. Not just as a hopeful stray looking for scraps, either, but a man hoping against his every trepidation that they could be something more. And now Midoriya was giving it to him as if he’d cut out his own heart and presented it to Shouto on a silver platter. The strangest part was that Midoriya hadn’t seemed to lie about anything. He’d said exactly how he saw Shouto, presented logically in a way that even Shouto couldn’t counter. Oh, he could deny that it was bravery that had him trusting the crew, but the rest? Midoriya wasn’t expecting Shouto to be anything other than what he was, what he had been since he’d stepped aboard the Falcon. It was proof that he’d paid such careful attention to Shouto’s actions from the start – with no preconceived notions from his past because Midoirya knew none of it, not then – and drew his own, unbiased conclusions of Shouto’s character. No one had ever done that for him before and Shouto wondered at the portrait of him it painted. 

He kind of sounded like a mess, which, well, he was, and maybe that was what really synched it. Because someone who was lying would have excluded his flaws, not made it sound like they were somehow endearing. 

Is that really how Midoriya saw him? 

Perhaps he hadn’t at first perceived Shouto as a person, but he had clearly changed his frame of reference the second he realized that Shouto was something more and no later. Laid out in so many words, it was easier for Shouto to believe that he really did…love him. 

Shouto didn’t remember the last time someone had told him they loved him. Not even his mother had said as much since he was very, very young. And Toya…well, he was Enji’s son, too. 

Shouto blinked rapidly, realizing that the silence had waxed perhaps longer than it should have. Midoirya’s shoulders were inching up around his ears, his growing distress evident. There was really only one thing Shouto could say. “I forgive you.” 

Midoriya’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and Shouto wondered bemusedly what the captain thought he would say. “You… do? But you shouldn’t – I mean, you don’t have to, I said I’d earn it –”

“Captain.” Shouto paused. “Izuku.” He tried to ignore the fluttering of his core as he said the name and powered through as Mid- Izuku’s face lit up like the dawn bursting over the horizon. He squinted slightly, blinded by it. “Through your actions, you have already demonstrated that you believe every promise you’ve just made me, and I have no doubt that you will continue to do so. You never stopped trying to reach me on DS7 and you’ve done everything you can since to protect me, even when I was cruel.” He held up a hand when Izuku tried to speak, halting his protest. Shouto needed to finish. “You don’t need to earn my forgiveness; you already have it. Just promise me,” he said sternly, and Izuku was crying again, ridiculous, but now they looked like happy tears at least, “that you won’t order the commander to stay away from me again. Our battles are our own and you can’t protect us from each other. Alright?” 

Izuku swallowed thickly, wiping a hand roughly over his damp cheeks. But he was smiling. “Alright. Sorry…” 

“You can make it up to me by getting some rest,” Shouto answered, carefully extracting his hand. Izuku let him go, nodding absently before he looked at his empty palms in confusion. Guessing at his distraction correctly, Shouto added, “Mei took the device you were working on a little while ago. It’s in good hands.” 

Izuku relaxed and smiled sheepishly, red-rimmed eyes drooping with fatigue. “I’d hoped to have it done before you came. I was going to use it as an apology gift.” His smile turned wry. “I guess it worked. Sort of.”

Shouto huffed and rolled his eyes, pulling the captain to his feet. Izuku swayed. “Whoa, heh. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” 

“Would you like me to carry you, Captain?” Shouto smirked when the man pouted. “Izuku?”

“I’m never going to get tired of that,” he said, placing a hand on Shouto’s cheek. This time, Shouto allowed it.  Izuku looked carefully into Shouto’s face and when Shouto didn’t pull away, he leaned in. Shouto closed his eyes and hummed as Izuku kissed him softly, unhurried and gentle. His lips were dry and cracked from neglect, but Shouto could hardly care when the captain wrapped around him and held him close. They still had so much they needed to talk about, but for right now, just this one time, Shouto took this victory as his due. 

For there was no doubt in his mind that it was merely the calm before the coming storm. 

Shouto led the sleepy captain from Engineering, and after only a moment’s consideration, led him through the quiet skeleton shift of beta to his own room. He didn’t know where Bakugou was, but he didn’t want to risk running into him and causing any of them more distress until they were rested enough to face it. Izuku followed him without complaint, silently approving Shouto’s choice. 

By the time Shouto was guiding Izuku onto his own bed, the man could hardly keep his eyes open, too out of it to even look around. Once the captain was settled, Shouto stood, considering what he should do. He didn’t need to charge as he’d only been online for a few hours, though he could admit to himself that he was mentally and emotionally drained from all the heavy conversations he’d had in that short amount of time. Perhaps he could distract himself with work for a while. He still had a lot of reports to go over, after all –

Shouto grunted softly when a hand closed over his arm, pulling him down and unbalancing him to a knee against the mattress. Izuku wasn’t looking at him, already snuggled into the pillow and appearing seconds from sleep. But his voice was unmistakably coherent as he said one word. “Please.” 

Shouto hesitated. After all, he hadn’t been invited to sleep next to someone in recent memory, and never without the expectation of sex first. But it was obvious that Izuku wasn’t asking for anything of the sort. How could he, worn out as he was? His grip was gentle, the other arm tucked between the pillow and the bed, sprawled out and open. An invitation for rest and to be close and nothing more. Shouto could pull away and Izuku would let him go.

Perhaps it was that complete lack of expectation for something more that he did not pull away. Izuku mumbled in contentment as Shouto maneuvered to lay on the narrow bed, carefully facing away. But the captain wouldn’t have it and Shouto let out an oomph as a strong arm wrapped around him and pulled him into the circle of Izuku’s embrace. Izuku sighed softly against the back of Shouto’s neck and he shivered, tense, unsure. But nothing else happened and eventually, he realized that the captain was finally out cold. 

For several minutes, Shouto stared at the opposite wall, vaguely regretful that he had nothing to distract him, but not enough to extricate himself from the captain’s arms. He was acutely aware of every shift, sigh and heartbeat he could feel through Izuku’s chest, reverberating through his core and reminding him what it felt like to be Human. It felt…vulnerable.  

Eventually, a thought sang through his mind, clearing out the dark, incoherent thoughts like a broom through obscuring cobwebs.

Izuku said he loved him. 

He loved him. Whatever Shouto was, whatever he perceived himself to be, Midoriya loved him. And maybe that was something he could believe in.

It was silly, but it made Shouto feel…safe, and that was not a feeling to which Shouto was accustomed, in either his last life or this one. Yet, if the universe was a hurricane, then Izuku’s words felt like the eye and Shouto was the ship cradled within the calm waters of Izuku’s own making. It felt, absurdly, like nothing could touch him here and –

Shouto finally relaxed.

In his slumber, Izuku shifted, pulling Shouto’s now pliable body closer and fitting them together as easily as two pieces of a puzzle snapping in place.  The last thing Shouto did before he allowed himself to shut down was send a quick message to Bakugou, letting him know where the captain was and that he was resting. He was offline before he received the reply.

Shouto came online precisely six hours later to the soft brush of fingers over his forehead, frost hair tickling his skin as it fell back in place. Shouto blinked slowly, taking a moment to get his bearings. His head lay on something warm and firm as he stared at the unremarkable wall in front of his face. He must have shifted during the night because he distinctly remembered falling asleep to the view of his desk. The brush came again and Shouto realized that it was a hand combing through his hair gently. The recognition of a heartbeat came soon after, the warmth of another’s skin, and Shouto remembered where he was – and who he was with. 

Izuku.

Shouto relaxed, sighed, and nuzzled into the arm cushioning his head, breathing in the captain’s scent. It was heavy with metals and sweat, telling a story of neglect, yet Shouto found it far from offensive. Just as he found most food bland and could still eat it, smells too were usually nothing more than observations, even those he remembered as unpleasant.  

“Mm, morning,” a scratchy voice rumbled in his ear, and Shouto flushed slightly. 

“You need a shower,” Shouto said frankly and Izuku giggled, hiding his face against the top of Shouto’s spine. Shouto shivered as Izuku’s breath dampened his pale skin. 

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed easily, but he didn’t attempt to do any such thing. Shouto inhaled sharply as chapped lips ghosted over the bump of his spine, hindered from going further only by the soft regulation undershirt that he’d neglected to remove the night previous. An arm tightened around Shouto’s waist, pulling him snugly into the curl of the captain’s body, still overwarm from sleep. At some point, Izuku must have pulled the covers over them because Shouto didn’t remember doing it himself. It would have made their residual body heat stifling if Shouto were organic. It seemed that the captain ran hot. As it was, he lowered his temperature slightly to offset what surely had to be uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” Izuku sighed, pressing closer and obviously not quite awake yet. “That’s nice. You’re ‘mazing, Shouchan.”

“Ah. Hm.” Shouto frowned but decided not to comment. Flustered, he quickly checked the time to distract himself. Oh-six-hundred hours. The alpha shift began in an hour and a half. It was still early, but they should get moving if he wanted to make sure the captain actually ate something. “Captain–”

“Mmm,” Izuku murmured. Lips were back on his neck and Shouto twitched, thoughts abruptly scattering when Izuku rolled his hips, pressing an unmistakable erection into Shouto’s backside. Shouto tensed, startled, choking on nothing as Izuku clutched him tighter, hips gyrating lazily against him. 

“Captain–” Shouto tried again, strangled.

“Shh,” Izuku soothed before pressing an open-mouthed, hot kiss against the nape of his neck. “Don’t want to get up…’s a good dream.” A moan was ripped from Shouto as a burning hand slid down his abdomen, lowering beneath his shirt to rest firmly against his belly, hot and heavy against his skin. Shouto flushed from cool to uncomfortably warm in the beat of the captain’s heart, but far from complaining, the added heat seemed to egg Izuku on. A calloused finger inched beneath the hem of Shouto’s pants and Shouto could not let this continue.

“Captain!”

The lips against Shouto’s skin stopped moving, hips stilling and hand stalling. Shouto keened silently, his hair-trigger arousal doing somersaults in his abdomen just beneath where the captain’s hand still lay. “Shouchan?” Izuku sighed, and Shouto felt the rush of warmth from his breath travel all the way through him. “Is this real?” 

“Yes, Captain. You were dreaming,” Shouto said as steadily as he could. 

Izuku withdrew slightly. “Oh! Oh my gosh, I didn’t – I’m sorr –”

“Ah!”  

The captain froze and Shouto bit his lip harshly so no more errant sounds could escape. He waited for Izuku to pull away but instead found himself rolled onto his back, Izuku maneuvering them both so that he could peer down into his face. 

Izuku looked better and somehow worse than last night. He was still smeared with grease from working in the labs and his hair looked even more nestlike than usual. But he looked alert, rested. And – pupils dilated, lips parted and flush dark – he looked hungry.  

Shouto stared, body roaring in reaction to the hooded look he was receiving but mind deadlocked in uncertainty. Shouto still didn’t know if his reactions were his own, and that included the physical reactions he was experiencing with so much more intensity than he ever had in his Human memory. But that only made it that much harder to resist the blatant invitation in Izuku’s eyes. 

Shouto didn’t want to resist. He blinked slowly, frowning to himself. The real question was, why should he? 

Because it’s a bad idea, his mind supplied. But was it? Izuku had apologized, told him he loved him, and now he was here, beautiful, willing, and looking at Shouto like his eyes held all the mysteries of space. The thought of pulling away from what he thought he’d never have again was almost physically painful, no matter how ill-advised and selfish it probably was. 

And dammit if Shouto wasn’t selfish. 

“You know, I really did just intend to sleep,” Izuku mused with a self-deprecating chuckle. “But you are ridiculously tempting, you know that?”

“I am tempting?” Shouto said incredulously. He lifted a hand to brush against Izuku’s cheek, relishing his look of surprised delight as he tried and failed to wipe away a smudge of grease on the corner of Izuku’s smile. “How can you say I am the one tempting you when you look at me like that?” 

Izuku hummed, turned his head slightly and Shouto’s breath hitched as he pressed a small kiss to the pad of his thumb, never breaking eye contact. “I love you, Shouchan.” 

Shouto’s breath shuddered as the unexpected confession struck him in the chest. It wasn’t fair, he wasn’t prepared! How could he possibly say that so easily when the thought of saying it back terrified Shouto more than words could describe? His eyes widened slightly and he opened his mouth to – say what, he had no earthly idea – but Izuku didn’t give him quarter to prevaricate. 

“I know you don’t believe me,” he continued, fond, “so I’ll keep listing all the reasons why I love you until you do.” 

“I think you covered it last night,” Shouto said roughly, watching in fascination as Izuku placed another kiss on his palm, his wrist. 

“Not even close,” Izuku murmured against where his pulse would be and Shouto reached his limit, dragging Izuku down and stopping more words he couldn’t accept with his lips. 

Izuku hummed, pressing him down into the bed and settling over him. He let Shouto do as he willed, opening his mouth when Shouto silently requested, sliding his tongue against Shouto’s lead. Shouto didn’t bother to cull his passion, didn’t think about anything but the way Izuku was making him feel. 

Izuku was warm and heavy, sheltering him in the cage of his arms, and again Shouto was struck by how safe it made him feel, how much he liked it. It was so novel to have a partner larger than he, even if only by a little, and there was just something about Izuku himself that made Shouto feel so comfortable. It made it seem like they had all the time in the world and so Shouto explored unhurried the slick cavern of Izuku’s mouth, let himself enjoy the sparks of arousal fanning into flame, the almost scalding heat of Izuku’s arousal nestled beside his own. 

For his part, Izuku seemed no more in a hurry than Shouto, yielding and soft as he carded his hands through Shouto’s hair, over his brow, his cheek, his neck. He seemed perfectly content to stay right where he was all day, reveling in the smolder and going no further. 

But Shouto wanted more.

Izuku twitched and gasped when Shouto rolled his hips, pulling back from their kiss with a luxurious moan that only fanned Shouto’s flames higher. Shouto watched his face, enthralled as he did it again, letting out his own moan when Izuku began to roll his hips to match. Shouto clutched at his back, sliding his hands over broad shoulders and bracing his feet against the bed to give himself leverage. Izuku accommodated, settling into the cradle of his hips like he’d been made for it. 

The mingling of hot breaths, the shift of fabric and quiet moans, the push and pull of their bodies, and the drag of fabric over sensitized skin consumed Shouto totally as they moved together. He’d been the one to set the pace but soon enough found himself drowned once again in sensation. He shivered and faltered, overstimulated, and Izuku took over smoothly, rough hand dragging gently over his side and hip before settling against his lower back, pressing them closer. 

“Mnh!” Shouto writhed beneath the captain’s attentions, giving up on moving with any semblance of order. He relaxed, hooking a leg around Izuku’s hip and arching into his touch. 

Izuku exhaled sharply and ducked down to drag his teeth over Shouto’s neck as it was bared. “I love the way you bite our lip when you’re thinking,” Izuku husked. Shouto’s brows drew together in confusion at the non sequitur, but his thoughts were scattered handily when Izuku bit down lightly on the hollow beneath his ear, sending lightning up and down Shouto’s spine. 

“Ah! Cap- Izuku –”

“I love the way you tilt your head right before you’re about to make a joke,” Izuku continued with more control than he had any right to have, punctuating his statement with a sensual drag of his tongue over the bite he’d just left. Again, Shouto tried to respond but another blistering thrust of Izuku’s hips had him gasping instead. 

It was ridiculous how overwhelming the pleasure became so quickly, even when neither one of them had undressed. What should have been muted by fabric felt just as intense as if the captain had stripped him bare and gone down on him, and Shouto still didn’t know how to handle it, impossible for him to hold back. 

“I love,” Izuku mumbled as he swirled his hips maddeningly, Shouto straining beneath him, “how you write your reports. They’re so precise, so earnest and sincere. Just like you.” 

“Captain, what –” What the hell was he talking about? Shouto couldn’t think when he moved like that, much less hold a conversation. 

“I love your cute blush,” Izuku said breathily and swallowed any more that Shouto would say, tongue laving into his mouth as Shouto struggled to reciprocate, coordination devastated.

Izuku pulled back abruptly. Before Shouto could whimper in protest at the loss – just a little more, he was getting there – the captain fumbled with their pants, shoving them down past their hips roughly, and then he was back on him, skin to skin. Shouto keened as Izuku wrapped his powerful hand around them both, pumping in time with their fevered gasps.  

Sparks burst behind Shouto’s shuttered eyes, a familiar pressure building in him to excruciating levels, driving him toward the edge inch by agonizing inch. He placed a hand over Izuku’s fist but didn’t try to guide him, just let himself feel how the captain’s wrist rotated and his large palm flexed, long fingers caressing as he pleasured them both. Shouto's entire world had fallen away and narrowed down to only this:

Izuku’s hot cock against his, dribbling fluid and easing the glide of hard calluses and velvet flesh – Izuku’s warmth wrapped around them like the blanket long discarded on the floor, his shadow that sheltered Shouto from the dim lights on the ceiling – Izuku’s eyes as he watched his face with rapture, dark and green and warm with emotion, steady and maddeningly patient as he drove Shouto higher and higher. 

And his deep, soothing voice listing all the reasons why he loved Shouto while he was utterly helpless to stop him. 

“I love,” Izuku delivered the final blow mercilessly, “the look on your face when you come for me.”

Shouto spasmed in Izuku’s grasp as his orgasm crashed into him like a bullet train. Somewhere far away he could hear the sound of fabric ripping and an animalistic moan that couldn’t possibly be him filling the stiflingly humid air. The moan wrenched into a shout when Izuku cursed, moving his hand faster around them and biting his lip harshly as he struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep watching Shouto as he fell apart.

Shouto was still caught in the throes when Izuku finally broke, stilling as his seed splashed over his fist and dripped down Shouto’s twitching length, pooling on his pelvis and making the last few milking slides of Izuku’s hand squelch obscenely.

For a few moments more Izuku held them together as they came down, staring down at Shouto like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed. There was a considering light in his eyes, the hunger that had been there before sated but not doused completely. Shouto could hardly complain. Izuku’s hand was warm and he felt amazing.  

“I could keep you in bed all day,” Izuku murmured once his breath had been regained. Then he blinked, flexing his palm slightly. Shouto twitched and Izuku looked down at his own half-hard cock and Shouto’s that hadn’t come down at all. He looked back up, a spark of delight on his face. “I really could, couldn’t I?” He giggled, and despite his words pulled his hand away, collapsing to Shouto’s side with a contented sigh. “Is it always that intense for you?” 

“Yes,” Shouto said, blinking up at the ceiling. “I suppose I was designed that way.” He bit his lip, thinking darkly about what purposes that would serve to the people who’d made him, but his unpleasant train of thought was stopped by gentle fingers prying his lip from between his teeth. Shouto turned his head to look at the captain. 

Izuku smiled at him with grim understanding as if the same thought had crossed his mind. “Do you like it? The way it feels, I mean?” 

“I…” Shouto paused to think and his lip ended right back up between his teeth. Izuku’s smile softened with fondness. Did Shouto like it? It was intense, almost too intense, and it made it hard to do some of the things he wanted to do. But it also felt incredible and it helped keep him from the overthinking he’d always been prone to and just allowed him to feel. “I like it when it’s you,” Shouto admitted honestly because he really couldn’t imagine himself enjoying being so vulnerable around anyone else. He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the look on Izuku’s face. It was intense and more than he could handle right now. He said he loves me, he thought, dazed. “But I wouldn’t mind being able to actually touch you back,” he said dryly. 

Izuku hummed noncomittally. “I like it too. I like how lost you get when you’re really feeling it.” He levered himself up so he could look Shouto in the eyes seriously. “If you want to keep it the way it is, that’s fine. But if you want to change it or make adjustments in your settings, you can do that too. There’s nothing stopping you from making it yours, especially after we get your code worked out.” Then he smirked coquettishly. “There are also ways we can work around it the old-fashioned way if you’re interested.” 

Shouto stared. “I’ll…I’ll think about it, Captain.” 

Izuku sat up with a huff of laughter. He got up off the bed to head for the bathroom, moving with more coordination than was rightly fair when Shouto still felt weak as a newborn kitten. “Another thing to add to the list! I love how you fall back into formality when you’re flustered, even though I love the way you say my name more.”

Shouto scowled, picking up a pillow and throwing it at the captain’s retreating back. He gaped for a moment at the tears in the back of Izuku’s shirt but he didn’t let it distract him for long, flush hot on his ears. “You play dirty, Captain. That was unfair.” 

“Guilty,” Izuku said, at least sounding a little sheepish when he came back with a damp towel and handed it to Shouto. Shouto took it, wiping down his torso before grimacing at his clothes. Now he was covered in grease since the captain never bothered to change out of his filthy uniform. Not to mention the ruin that was his sheets.

Hmm. Worth it.

“I learned a long time ago to get my compliments in where I can. Kacchan is terrible about it too.” 

Shouto was looking right at him, so he was witness to the wince that passed over Izuku’s face as if he’d stepped on a landmine. “Ah. Kacchan. R-right.” He ran a hand through his ruined hair and winced again as it caught on a tangle. “We really need to talk about this, huh.” 

“Yes,” Shouto said simply and Izuku’s lips twitched. 

“I don’t suppose you’d join me for a shower first?” he hedged hopefully.

“I don’t think that would be wise, Captain,” Shouto said bluntly. “Your shift starts in an hour and I have been ordered to make sure you eat.” 

He groaned, and this time there was nothing sexy about it. “Of course you have. How did this morning end up with you mother-henning me?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself. Captain,” Shouto tacked on, tilting his head slightly. 

“Ha! Please, I know how bad you are, Shouchan. Don’t try to be cute with me.”

“Impossible.”

Izuku’s brows rose and then he was laughing, filling Shouto’s small room with sunlight. He didn’t stop even when the door to the bathroom swished closed behind him, his giggles only passing beyond hearing when the sonic shower switched on. 

Shouto fell back onto his bed with a thunk, an arm thrown over his eyes. That had been such a bad idea. But fuck if he hadn’t enjoyed it. 

Make it yours, huh?  

Yes. Yes, Shouto thought he just might.

A notification pinged on his peripheral and Shouto raised a brow. It was on his personal line which was the only one he hadn’t muted the day previous, so it could only be one man. With a thought, Shouto opened it and its contents raised his brow higher; a single word and a rather pointed photograph of his door. Getting to his feet, Shouto poked his head into the hallway curiously. Sure enough, a small platter of no less than six muffins stacked on top of each other like a cheery bakery display sat just beside his doorframe. Shouto looked left and right down the hall, finding it empty despite the obvious evidence that Bakugou had literally just been there, the muffins still warm from the oven. 

Eat, Bakugou’s message had said, and judging by the fact that there were six of them of no inconsiderable size, Shouto surmised that his blunt demand encompassed himself as well. How early had he gotten up to make these?

Shouto inhaled deeply. Mm. Blueberry.

When Izuku finally wandered out of the bathroom – dripping with actual water, he must have used his captain’s override to cheat the ration – it was to find Shouto halfway through a second muffin, contemplating the yellow bloom glinting softly in the growing tangle of jade leaves monopolizing his shelf. Shouto nudged his other possessions aside, wondering if he should move them before they were pushed off or find a more suitable spot for the plant.

“Where did you get those?” Izuku said suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the offending pastries. Shouto shrugged and pointed at the door. His mouth was busy. 

Izuku stalked to the door and leaned out, but of course, no one was there. He grumbled as he walked back in, scrubbing his hair dry. “Thinks he can bribe us with food…” 

“He’s right,” Shouto admitted, grabbing a third muffin without shame. “I can absolutely be bribed with food.” Though Shouto suspected that it had just as much to do with making sure the captain was taken care of as buying his way back into Izuku’s good graces.

Izuku peered at him from beneath his towel. “So…you forgave him too?” 

Shouto ripped off a small piece of muffin and examined the deflated blueberry inside, mulling that over. “He did apologize. He was terrible at it, but he was able to explain himself after a bit of, ah, encouragement.” 

“You guys didn’t fight, did you?” Izuku frowned. “Kacchan is more of a ‘punch your feelings out’ type of guy…”

Now that was an amusing way to put it. Shouto was not surprised. “Yes, the commander is rather…physical. But no, we did not fight. I forced him to stop running.”

“You cornered him? Wow,” Izuku mused, finally picking up a pastry and taking a bite. He wrinkled his nose as if he couldn’t stand the thought of the fare being good, but that didn’t stop him from taking another. 

“He told me he…cares about me, but that he needs time.” Shouto frowned seriously. “He said he wouldn’t get in your way.” 

A flash of hurt came and went on Izuku’s face as he absorbed that. “Oh,” he breathed, and he sounded almost disappointed. “I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised. Kacchan is. Well. He gets broody and thoughtful sometimes when he thinks he’s messed up.” He was silent for a moment, troubled. “It’s a good thing, probably. I think we all need to cool down a bit from everything these past few days. Are you alright?” 

Shouto rubbed his neck. “...Yes. I think I will be. It helped, talking about it. He really didn’t think of me as a person until after our encounter in the storage room… better late than never, I suppose.” Though it did still sting if he thought about it too long. 

“Storage room?” Izuku asked distractedly, frowning at nothing. 

Shouto looked up. Izuku was wiping crumbs off his face, lips twisted in puzzlement. “You really didn’t know?” 

“Know what?” 

When Shouto just continued to stare, Izuku’s eyes widened slowly, realization sweeping his features. Shouto watched it like an oncoming trainwreck, morbidly fascinated as Izuku’s face flushed crimson and the muffin fell out of his hand. “You were there?” Izuku finally shouted, voice cracking several octaves higher. “Kacchan!” he squeaked and Shouto couldn’t help it. He snorted into his palm and Izuku was gone, across the room and crouching in the corner with his face buried in his arms. “OH MY GOD, kill me now.”

Shouto was still chuckling when a chirp came from Izuku’s discarded shirt on the floor. The man didn’t seem to hear it, so when it chirped again, Shouto plucked the communicator from the floor and answered it. “This is Lieutenant Shouto. The Captain is with me and momentarily indisposed.” Izuku groaned again and Shouto suppressed another laugh. 

“Helloooo, gorgeous!” Mei’s reply drowned out the captain’s whining. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning!” 

Shouto raised a brow at the return to pet names, pleased. “Apologies. I turned off my notifications.” 

“Well, get yourself down to the lab, the captain’s device is up and running and ready for install!” 

“Thanks, Mei,” Izuku said, hand still over his eyes but smiling beneath his blush as he took the communicator from Shouto’s hand. “We’ll be down there in a minute.” He activated the comm again, striding over to Shouto’s small closet and pulling out a spare undershirt to replace his ruined one. “Captain to the bridge.” 

“Bakugou, here.”  

“Kacchan,” Izuku growled, not bothering to hide the displeasure in his tone. “I’m needed in Engineering. Hold the fort.” 

“Yes, sir.” Bakuogu, to his credit, sounded entirely professional despite the warning in Izuku’s tone. 

“Oh, and Kacchan?” 

“...Yeah?” 

Izuku opened his mouth, brow furrowed with anger, before closing it slowly. Then he sighed. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said grudgingly. 

“...Just take care of Frosty so we can go kick some terrorist ass. Bakugou out.” 

Chapter Text

“What has you so preoccupied?”

 They were on their way to Mei’s lab, the efficient flow of shift change commencing around them. Izuku nodded politely to a group of ensigns who stepped out of their way with sharp salutes.

Shouto blinked away his notifications and regarded the man walking at his side. The captain was clean and fresh faced, his uniform sharp. The mantle of impenetrable professionalism and innate air of command of Starfleet’s most promising captain was back in place as if nothing had gone awry at all. Shouto saw the respect and relief shining in every beleaguered crewman that crossed their path and was heartened to see morale improve with each step they took.

It was even more thrilling to know what lay beneath the veneer, the genuine soul and all of the flaws of the man that Shouto was thoroughly enjoying getting to know. If this was the result - Izuku rested and happy and, in effect, making the crew happy - then Shouto should confront his emotions more often.

…On second thought, he could stand a few less fraught emotional confrontations. He felt as though he was making up for nearly twenty eight years of avoiding them. But Shouto was very much in a mood to take the victories where he could, and wouldn't let his hard won contentment dim. The man steadfastly at his side was proof that they weren’t all sessions designed to torture him. 

“My apologies, sir. I am reviewing reports and issuing new orders to my engineers. They’ve been making excellent progress toward bringing the disk back online and with the installation of the new dilithium cores, we should be able to restore full warp capabilities in…Captain?”

Izuku pressed his lips together, eyes bright with laughter. “Your engineers, hm?” Shouto hesitated, excuse on the tip of his tongue, but Izuku looked away before he could voice it. “I’m happy to hear it. I’m sure under your leadership they’ll have us back up and running in no time.” 

Shouto wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing, returning to his reports as the captain strolled cheerfully at his side. There was little point in arguing, after all, and he only had these few minutes of commute to get as much work done as possible before he was once again distracted. There was no telling whether he would be capable of work once the device was installed.

“There’s nothing to worry about, you know,” Izuku said conversationally, pointedly not mentioning that their brisk walk had slowed to a near crawl as Shouto stalled for time. 

“Hm?” Shouto mumbled, only partially paying attention as he sent instructions to Ensign Tokoyami regarding the incorporation of additional redundant generators. They would not be making the same mistake twice.

“The Falcon boasts the most brilliant minds in the fleet,” Izuku clarified. “Mei might be young and a bit inexperienced, but she is the best at what she does. If anyone can crack your code, it’s her.” 

Shouto reflected that ‘inexperienced but brilliant’ could be said about most of the crew. “I am not worried, Captain,” he lied. 

Izuku smiled gently and pulled them to a stop. “Hey. It will be alright.” 

Shouto did his best to focus on the captain’s hand on his arm, the warmth seeping through his uniform sleeve. “I know.” It was made abundantly clear through a discontented hum that the captain did not believe him at his word and wanted to insist further, but it would be a useless undertaking at this point and he seemed to know it. Shouto was simply too realistic to believe that this would go without a hitch. Even if he did, there was still what lay after and all the repercussions being allowed to access his denied memories would entail. Shouto pulled away and continued their commute, Izuku falling back into step. 

When they entered the lab, Shouto had to double take because he was certain he did not recognize this room. More than a cursory examination, however, revealed that it had simply exchanged furniture. Where Mei’s lab table once stood was instead a very familiar cot from Sickbay. Monitoring equipment had been rolled in as well, and Shouto’s base states were already on display, altered to represent his unique being as if he were any other patient. The equipment had been hooked up to Mei’s computers as well, and had Shouto more time, he would be fascinated to know what information was exchanged between two such drastically different worlds to make his mechanical readings useful in any biological sense. But since he didn’t, he would just have to trust that they knew what they were doing.

“Hey, kid,” Aizawa said, slumped in a rolling chair with a cup of steaming coffee clenched in his fist. “Looking fresh as a daisy, I see.” 

“I made sure to take good care of him,” Izuku said with an air of smugness that Shouto did not think was entirely deserved, considering he’d had to practically force Izuku to sleep the night before. But he did not refute it. Certainly, he did feel better after the captain’s ‘care’ this morning, so he let the comment stand, if only to avoid the inevitable teasing that would follow. 

“Indeed,” Shouto said dryly and Izuku’s smirk shivered around repressed laughter. “It is good to see you, Doctor. What is all of this for?” 

“Gee, I don’t know,” Aizawa said, just as dry. “How about standard procedure for any medical intervention required for a member of the crew. In fact,” he continued airily, “it is so standard procedure to have basic equipment such as a comfortable place for a patient to lie while being operated upon that it isn’t even in the regulations.” 

Aizawa had a brow raised in expectation and Shouto briefly considered arguing just for the sake of it, if only as continuation of what had become their usual banter, but he was too grateful to jest. He flexed his hands by his sides, remembering acutely how uncomfortable and terrifying it had been to be strapped down to a lab table like a dangerous animal. 

“As you say, Doctor. Thank you,” Shouto said tonelessly. 

Aizawa blinked in surprise. “‘Course, kid,” the older man grumbled, sipping on his caffeine. He seemed put out to be robbed of a confrontation, Shouto noted. He wondered how many arguments he had prepared that he would now never get to use.

“This time we would like to put you under,” Izuku said, almost apologetically. “Of course, we won’t do anything without your approval, but it might be best if you were offline so we don’t run the risk of tripping your defensive mechanisms like last time.” 

Shouto pursed his lips, considering. After the station, it had been Izuku who insisted that Shouto remain online, likely to prove to him that they would only go so far as he allowed. That hadn’t worked out the way the captain planned, obviously, and led to undue distress for all of them. Being aware of every moment of their invasion was not how Shouto now knew the fear was baseless, as the captain intended, but rather the care and consideration they’d shown him afterward. It would be nice not to have to be cognizant when they were performing the equivalent to brain surgery.  

“That would be my preference, sir,” Shouto said and Izuku smiled ruefully, acknowledging the point. “Do we know that my defensive mode won’t be activated even if I’m offline?” He hadn’t had time to consider it when they’d attempted this before, but it held to logic that there’d be some defense against tampering during his charging cycle. 

Izuku considered the question, walking behind Mei’s computers and taking up a station there. He swiped his hand across a monitor, fingers hesitating over the screen.  “We didn’t find anything like that in your code, but we’ve only had a little over a day to work with it and…there’s a lot , to put it bluntly. It must have taken an army of people years to develop you.” He shrugged, gracing Shouto with a wry smile. “Even just going through your basic anatomical code could take the two of us months, which is why I decided to create the inhibitor device instead of tackling all of it at once.” 

“In other words, we don’t know,” Aizawa finished. 

“So I still need to be restrained,” Shouto said glumly. 

“Yes. But you won’t be aware of it if you do come back online.” Shouto turned, surprised, and Shinsou smiled wanly as he walked through the door, looking for all the world like he was running on caffeine and nutrition bars alone. 

Shinsou grimaced but took the cup of coffee that Aizawa pulled from somewhere before pointedly turning his back on the doctor. Aizawa sipped his own drink and didn’t comment, observing silently, the furrow between his brows more pronounced than usual. 

“Shinsou!” Shouto said, several beats too late and just a shade too loud to be appropriate. 

Shinsou winced, then said heavily, “Hey, Shouto. Sorry I walked out on you the other day. I had a lot to think about.” 

“It’s alright.” Shouto scanned him up and down. “Are you…okay?” 

“No,” Shinsou sighed. “I’m not. But don’t worry about it, for now. Let’s get you taken care of first.” 

Shouto nodded slowly, hesitating, scanning the man from his disheveled uniform – that it looked like he hadn’t changed out of since Shouto had last seen him in this very lab – to the bags beneath his eyes and his cheeks more sallow than usual. In a word, he looked like hell, and not just in the way that someone who was missing a bit of sleep looked like hell. He looked…diminished, somehow, though Shouto couldn’t put his finger on it. But he filed away his questions for now, too grateful that he was here at all, once again at Shouto’s side when he was about to face something terrifying. “...You said I wouldn’t be aware?” 

Shinsou hummed and threw back his coffee in two long gulps. The Humans in the room, including Shouto, flinched in unison at the alarming mishandling of scalding liquid. But Shinsou was not burned, his Vulcan ancestry allowing him a much higher tolerance for heat. Shinsou crushed the paper cup in his hands once it was empty, either oblivious to their discomfort or uncaring. “Right. That’s because we’re going to do what we did last time. I’m going to pull us into a shallow meld.” 

“That did not stop me from reacting violently,” Shouto pointed out, turning over the unfamiliar term in his mind. 

“Only because we didn’t do it at the start. You calmed right down when I pulled you in.” 

Shouto considered this, glancing between Izuku’s earnest face, Aizawa’s dead stare and Shinsou, who watched him steadily. He placed a fingertip on the starched sheets of the cot, swallowing roughly. “...Alright.” 

Some tension Shouto hadn't noticed deflated from the room at his consent. The captain was not looking at him, hands fidgeting behind Mei’s screens, but he was smiling faintly under the tight worry in his eyes. Had he also expected Shouto to put up a fight against his own comfort and safety? Shouto frowned. Perhaps he had been a bit too vehement in the past. It was going to be a lot harder to get away with in the future with everyone so on guard.

“So how is the device going to work, exactly?” 

Izuku began to answer when he was handily interrupted. “I’m glad you asked!” Mei said, bursting into the room with her usual decorum. Her lips pinched when she spotted the swap of equipment in her lair, but she didn’t comment other than to pointedly turn away from the unwelcome changes. She pulled out the small device Shouto had seen yesterday and presented it with a flourish. “Tada! I present to you Mr. Command Inhibitor! This little baby is going to take a little while to get used to, but essentially it will filter the commands directly associated with the trigger events we observed in the past few days. It will give you a window of time to ‘ask again’, ‘approve’ or ‘deny’ the foreign compulsions and set a default for each, which you’ll be able to adjust later if you change your mind.” 

Shinsou’s weren’t the only brows raised at the name, but Izuku hurried on before anyone could comment.

“So it isn’t going to alter anything in your code just yet, other than to give you a few more options,” he verified, sheepish. “Like I said, we just don’t have the time to rewrite everything, but I’m hoping that this will help at least a little. Sorry if it’s a bit rudimentary, but I wanted to get something finished for you as quickly as possible.” 

“This will be more than sufficient, Captain,” Shouto said faintly, staring at the little device like he’d just been offered a key to freedom. In a way, that’s exactly what it was. While it was disappointing that they wouldn’t be able to expunge the malignant commands altogether, this was going to put choice squarely back into Shouto’s hands. 

“We’ll need to monitor your progress, of course,” Mei said, bustling around her computers. The bio monitor beeped and Aizawa casually flicked a reading to silent. “There’s no telling exactly what the side effects might be. If it starts to interfere with your vital functions or if it doesn’t catch everything – which, I’m telling you right now, it probably won’t be able to catch everything at first – then we’ll need to access it and readjust.” 

Shouto took all of that in. “Manually?” 

“Nope!” Mei chirped, producing yet another device, this one looking very much like a tricorder Dr. Aizawa would use in the field. “We’ll be able to access it with this little baby, Mrs. Adjust Inhibitor! It will be our key to correct Mr. Command Inhibitor’s settings until they’re juuuuuuust right.” 

“Is it really necessary to gender them?” Aizawa drawled, but it sounded as if he already knew the answer and was resigned to it. 

“You should have heard the other names she was considering. ” Izuku giggled, but instead of resignation, he wore an open expression of delight, mouthing ‘Mr. and Mrs. Inhibitor’ to himself. He really was all too easily amused. For his part, Shouto was hardly surprised that the technophile had personified her creations. 

Shouto put aside the peanut gallery for now. “Why make the second device? Isn’t that potentially dangerous?” Shouto did not like the idea of anyone who held Mrs. Adjust Inhibitor gaining access to him so easily. He would simply be trading one leash for another, even if that leash was in decidedly more benevolent hands. That was assuming the device wasn’t stolen, of course.

“Not at all,” Mei said, wiggling in place with excitement. “You are the only one who can activate it! To everyone else, it’s just a tricorder. But in your hands, it’s what will allow us to access Mr. Compulsion Inhibitor and change the programming if necessary. As for why, that should be obvious. If the device fails or if it messes with something it shouldn’t, you won’t exactly be in the right state to fix it yourself, now will you!” 

That was an excellent point. But still.

“I’ll be keeping track of…” Aizawa sighed at Mei’s grin, “Mrs. Adjust Inhibitor. While your very existence defies some of the more standard medical protocols,” he glared at Shouto as if that was his fault, “this is very much like a prescription medication, and will be handled as such.” 

Shouto didn’t think that made much sense, but he was willing to trust the doctor in this. After all, if he wasn’t in a state to fix the device internally himself – as in, if for some reason a compulsion was missed and he was compelled to destroy the device or something to that effect – then having it in someone else’s hands would be beneficial. “As you say, Doctor.” 

“There are failsafes as well,” Aizawa continued, sterner than Shouto had ever seen him, and that was saying something. “If something should happen that endangers you because of the device’s interference, it will deactivate and alert Medical immediately. If you are able, you will report to Sickbay and we will reassess. If you are not able, then you will be transported there via my staff, and we will reassess. I’ll be setting up a wing of Sickbay for your use.” 

“Not here?” Shouto asked mildly, already sensing Mei’s twitching eye. 

“Not here,” Aizawa said firmly. “The only reason we’re doing this here today is because we’re on a time crunch. Honestly kid, I should have set you up a bed ages ago. It’s what we do with any new species that require nonstandard care than the more common Federation peoples.” 

Something about that bothered Shouto. He fell silent, reflecting on the reason Aizawa likely hadn’t set up a wing for Shouto in the first place, and what must have changed for him to do it now. After a few moments, Shouto realized why something that was meant to make him more comfortable did exactly the opposite – these considerations felt distinctly long term. Permanent . This wasn’t just temporary accommodation. They were making amendments to standard protocols for his sake, like he would serve here forever.  

Like he would be a Drifter forever. 

Shouto shut the thought down with prejudice.  

“Shall we get started, then?” Izuku said in the ensuing silence, the barest undercurrent of nerves in his voice. “It should be simple, but there might be some tweaks needed during installation and I don’t want you to be out any longer than you have to.” 

A general murmur of ascent and everyone was moving. Aizawa stood and pulled a headrest from the biobed, adjusting the base to make sure it was securely fastened to the deck before fiddling with his monitoring device. Mei had begun fussing with some of her more delicate microtools that Shouto didn’t want to look too closely at lest he lose his nerve. He didn’t acknowledge the pile of straps resting beside her feet. He sincerely hoped that they wouldn’t need to secure them until after he was offline.

Izuku made his way to Shouto’s side and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Shouto leaned into him ever so slightly. “It’ll be over before you know it,” he said cheerfully, though it was impossible to hide the tension in his jaw. Shouto couldn’t bring himself to respond, so he merely nodded shortly and pulled away, looking anywhere but at him. The captain allowed it reluctantly, stepping back and joining Mei in her preparations. 

Shouto steeled himself and moved over to the cot, preparing to lie facedown and pretending fiercely that it didn’t bother him that they would be touching him and maneuvering him and altering him while he wasn’t aware.

He looked up when Shinsou’s body blocked his vision, wincing when he realized he hadn’t moved in several seconds, knee against the biobed and no further. 

The man looked reluctant but determined, face set in a grumpy scowl that would have made Aizawa proud. It probably was. “Things are going to go a little different this time,” he said in his dry rasp. “Last time, I didn’t give you time to consent, or even really tell you what I was going to do.” Behind him, Aizawa pulled up a stool and Shinsou sat down on it, within arm’s reach of where Shouto’s head would be when he lay down. “It’s called a Vulcan mind meld. Essentially, I’ll be connecting our minds while you are unconscious and shielding you from the outside world.” 

“You’ll be in my mind?” Shouto asked.

Shinsou’s lips lifted faintly, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “More like you’ll be in mine, at least shallowly. A meld can go both ways, but this time I’m only going to make us a haven for a little while. It will be like sharing a dream.” 

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa said, giving Shinsou a look that Shouto couldn’t decipher beyond his consistently red rimmed eyes. 

Shinsou didn’t acknowledge him, scowling instead at a point somewhere in the vicinity of Shouto’s chin. “Quit worrying, old man. I said it’s fine.” 

Aizawa pursed his lips around what he clearly wanted to say before deflating with a sigh. He gestured tiredly to the bed. “Lie facedown with your forehead against the headrest and get as comfortable as you can,” he instructed Shouto. “When you’re ready, go ahead and start shutdown procedures. Hitoshi will walk you through the meld.” Then he deliberately turned his back on them both and fiddled with his instruments, giving them a semblance of privacy. 

Comfortable, Shouto thought acidly. Right. He swallowed thickly, acutely aware that Mei and Izuku were doing him the same courtesy as Aizawa. It helped, feeling like they were ignoring him for this part – the part where he willingly put himself into a vulnerable position when that so rarely worked out in his favor.

“You’ll be fine,” Shinsou said, and if his smile looked a little strained, if it didn’t reach his black eyes, Shouto was too nervous to notice. 

Shouto nodded without knowing what he was doing, swallowing his trepidation and laying down. His hands clenched tightly at the fabric by his shoulders and body tensed with the knowledge they would strap him down by his sides the moment he was out. He only just didn’t flinch when he felt cool fingers rest against the sides of his head, the tops of Shinsou’s shoes visible beneath the headrest that cradled Shouto’s face. His scalp and neck itched in anticipation for what was to come and it took every fiber of his being to not flee from the room, especially when he heard the rough sound of titanium-grade fabric rubbing over fabric. 

“You’re going to feel a slight tug and your vision is going to blur a bit. Close your eyes if you want to avoid it, and don’t fight me,” Shinsou warned. He waited for Shouto to consent with a barely legible grunt. The last thing he was aware of was the words, “My mind to your mind…”

When Shouto became aware again, he found himself not in the ocean’s depths as he’d expected, but on the side of a hill. Emerald green and cerulean blue stretched endlessly around him in a rush of warm summer wind. The hill he stood upon was terraced in precise steps a hundred feet deep, but the vegetation growing atop them grew wild and natural, each idyllic stair holding a biome all its own. Many of the plant species Shouto recognized from Earth,  but there were many, many others he didn’t; from the dry deserts of Vulcan to the thick, writhing rainforests of Evanos and more that Shouto couldn’t begin to identify. Water flowed in showering waterfalls that pooled upon each flat plain, sparkling in the dappling shade of taller specimens. 

At the very top of the hill stood a massive tree. It was no ordinary tree, however, for though its boughs encompassed the entire hill, it had openings in its thick foliage that allowed streams of sunlight to the plants that required it and cool shade to those that didn’t. But no, Shouto realized. It was not one tree, but two entwined together, wrapping around until they were one. Massive roots curled from the entwined tree's mighty base, providing caverns of perpetual night where fungi and phosphorescent plants glimmered like star clusters. The roots snaked into the hill and out again, wrapping around the landmass like a mother holding her child.

It was beautiful and surreal and very much alive. A ‘garden guy’, indeed. 

Sensing an inexplicable pull, Shouto began walking up the terrace toward the trees, stepping around cacti, vines, and fruits. He found Shinsou resting atop one root, dappled in shade and hair caught in the gentle wind. He looked as fey and wild as anything else in the dream, at home in a pair of mud caked blue jeans and a soft cotton sweater rolled up at the sleeves. He looked so comfortable in the wild climes that Shouto wondered how he’d ever coped in the sterile environment of a Starfleet ship. The only thing the image was missing was a straw hat. 

“Hey, Shouto,” Shinsou said as Shouto wandered up the winding root that helpfully leveled out as he traversed it. He sat down to join Shinsou resting against the rough bark of the trunk. “Feeling conflicted?” 

“What do you mean?” Shouto answered absently, looking out into the indistinct distance beyond the edges of the illusion. Only sky and empty emerald hills lay outside of Shinsou’s surreal Eden.

Shinsou closed his eyes, sighing into the warmth of the early summer breeze. Shouto looked up, but he couldn’t find the source of the light that streamed through the boughs. He wondered if he’d ever get acclimated to all of the strange circumstances he found himself in, but he hadn’t joined Starfleet with his eyes closed. Jaded yes, but not naive to what it actually meant to explore strange new worlds…or in this case, strange projections in his alien friend’s mindscape.

“Your self-perception is in flux. Makes it a bit hard to look at you.” Without opening his eyes, Shinsou handed Shouto a mirror, summoned from nothing. 

Shouto took the mirror with some trepidation; he’d never liked the damned things. But the image that he’d expected to see when he’d usually look at himself was absent. “Oh,” Shouto said faintly. 

One moment a man stared back at him, gruesome with burn scars over half of his face and neck, his military short hair littered with ash. He looked miserable with dark shadows beneath his one remaining eye and a darker frown, dull iris reflecting the roiling anger inside, the crimson fire that had taken everything from him. 

Another moment and it was an entirely different man with hair of pure white that tumbled down his shoulders and pale skin that reflected the sun, ephemeral and flawless. His expression was kind and his eyes were the warm gray of his mother. He was Toya and he was his mother and he was Shouto, but open and happy in a way that none of them had ever been able to achieve.

Then warm gray turned cold, eyes of a glacial stream and a smile that could freeze a heart. His face was neither marred with fire nor kindness, but a brutal ambition and a complete disregard for the person beneath the tilt of his nose. His hair was a crimson mane shorn short about his ears and he bore the command gold of a Starfleet captain. He looked like the man his Father had always wanted him to become – Shouto’s greatest fear before he’d taken the assignment on the Endeavor and learned what true fear looked like. 

But it was the last that made Shouto truly uncomfortable, because it wasn’t a man at all, but a featureless machine. Oh, there was a nose and mouth and ears and eyes like any Human, but it was simply…empty. Flat irises without depth, a mouth and brows with no wrinkles from either joy or despair, and an expression as empty as its perfect features.

Shouto could feel horror rise within him but the face in the mirror remained immobile in apathy. The longer Shouto looked at it, the more the ice crept over his core. Is this what he looked like to others? So…impassive? A perfect doll?

“Hey.” Shinsou’s voice broke Shouto abruptly out of his spiral. Shouto jerked back from the mirror, dropping it on the ground and burying his face in his hands. “Whoa, what gives?” 

Shouto took a breath, then shook his head with a heaving sigh. “I’m alright.” 

“Are you?” A hand landed on Shouto’s shoulder but he stood abruptly, shaking it off. He took the mirror Shinsou had given him and threw it with all of his strength, watching vindictively as it glimmered far into the distance, landing somewhere amongst the flesh eating plants of Charlatan Five. 

“I am now,” he responded, and found that he was. To his relief, Shinsou snorted and didn’t pursue the subject. Closing his eyes, Shouto focused on the face that he wore in the waking world; the one Izuku saw this morning. The one he loved, and the one that all of his friends aboard the ship knew.  Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was who he was. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Shinsou said, settling back against his tree. 

Shouto resumed his seat at Shinsou’s side and the two languished in silence for a long while, observing the magnificent landscape around them. It was a return of their comfortable silence and recalled the days before the captain and commander had taken notice of him and the disaster that followed; of quiet night shifts in Shinsou’s lab, the simple comfort of companionship when it felt like there was no one else in the world outside of them. Shouto found that he missed those days devoid of so much pain and frustration. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the events that had passed since, not when it brought him so much closer to obtaining all the things he’d never thought he’d have. 

Shouto had missed Shinsou, though. It felt like they never really got time to just hang out these days. 

“That’s because we don’t,” Shinsou responded to Shouto’s thoughts. Shouto gave him a look and Shinsou shrugged with a tense smile. “Sorry, your thoughts are very loud, especially here.”

“I thought you said you liked me because my thoughts were quiet.” 

“Yeah, well, the longer we spend together, the more recognizable your Katra becomes. It’s a hazard of association, I’m afraid.” 

“Ah.” Shouto thought about it for a moment but found that he didn’t particularly mind. “Do you know what’s happening outside of this – meld, was it?” 

Shinsou hummed. “I am a little more aware than you are, though not by much. I wouldn’t worry about it. The whole point of this exercise is to make sure that you don’t have to go through what you did last time. You trust the captain, don’t you?” 

Shouto regarded the ground between his crossed legs, trying and failing to suppress a smile and Shinsou’s brow rose. 

“Oh? So you two worked it out then?” There was a teasing note to his voice that had Shouto tossing a handful of leaves at the unrepentant man. Then Shinsou grimaced. “Oh, ugh, I don’t need to see that. I’m glad you made up but please, no.”  

“I’ll think about whatever I please. Not my problem if you see something you don’t want to see.” Shouto’s smile fell slowly, something that Shinsou said giving him pause. “You said my….Katra is becoming more recognizable?”

“Yeah?” Shinsou gave him a look. “What about it?” 

“How is it that I even have one? If I’m interpreting that right, of course. It’s just,” Shouto looked out over the hill, parsing his thoughts, “something that Mei said. She thought I was an AI. They all did. And in a way, I am – an AI shaped by the memory of being something more. Either way, I’m not Human, not really. I’m not…him.” 

“Who says you need to be Human to have a Katra?” Shinsou said, putting his hands behind his head and staring up into the sky. Even in the bright of day, his eyes absorbed the light like black holes set deep into his face. “Technically, only Vulcans have Katra as they understand it, with most species holding something very similar. At least, similar enough that Vulcan’s can connect with it. Humans, for example, call it a ‘soul’ while Betazoids and Denobulans call it something else entirely, but it’s all basically the same once you get down to it.” He tapped his nose. “ Sentience. As far as AIs go, there haven’t been all that many studies about them developing something like Katra, but they do exist. You’re proof of that.” He rolled his chin back. “As for not being him…does that really make that much of a difference?” 

That was. Comforting, he supposed. But the question of whether it mattered that he wasn’t who he thought he was…it hurt and Shouto didn’t even try to pretend that it didn’t. He stayed silent, unsure if he even wanted an answer. It was something he was going to have to think about on his own. But more than that. “I never regretted becoming a Drifter. It hasn’t always been easy – never been easy – but I thought I was fulfilling a purpose by doing so. I thought I was doing what my brother wanted; live.” Shouto blinked rapidly, momentarily distracted by the presence of tears in his eyes, but only for a moment. Voice wavering ever so slightly, he whispered, “It was only supposed to be temporary.” Shouto had gone into the program with the assumption that one day it would be over, that he would be able to return to what he’d been before. He would be able to grow old, have a career, maybe even a family if he was very, very lucky. He would be able to do all the things he wanted to do and spite his Father’s chosen path. Now, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to do, because if what Mei was saying was the truth, then he either lived in this hellish limbo of AI and Human forever, or he became a conduit of memory and simply disappeared once his purpose was complete. 

Shouto’s face slackened in realization. What would happen to the relationships he’d built here, in this life? The man that was poised to receive his memories wouldn’t be the same. Scarred. Crippled, most likely, for no amount of healing technology could regrow limbs. Somehow he doubted Izuku or anyone else Shouto cared about would see him as the same man…would want him the same way. Would Shouto’s memories simply be a curse for all the things that Todoroki couldn’t have? And what of those he would leave behind? Would he be…missed?

That was a foolish question. One only had to remember his friends’ reactions when he threw himself at the Warp Core. The better question was if he could stomach the grief he was starting to understand his absence would cause. 

And all of that was assuming that the Drifter program wasn’t a massive scam in the first place.

“I don’t think those thoughts are very productive, do you?” Shinsou said lowly and Shouto shook his head. 

“No,” he said roughly. “They are not. And yet, I can’t help but think that this was a long time in coming. I’ve been in denial. About a lot of things.” 

“Hm. Rough week all around, then.” 

Shouto barked a laugh. “You can say that again. A lot of horrible things have happened in the past few years and this wretched week has been icing on the cake. But you know.” He plucked the bark beneath his hand, some of his tension uncurling. “This is the happiest I can say I’ve ever been, too.” 

“I think your brother would have liked that.” 

“Would he?” Shouto rested his chin on his drawn knee, thoughtful. “I’m not his brother, though, am I.”

Shinsou scoffed, cuffing Shouto on the back of the head. Shouto grunted and glared, but Shinsou was not in a joking mood. “Cut it out. You keep going in circles and it’s not helping. You are Shouto Todoroki because you were born Shouto Todoroki, even if you didn’t pop out of your mother like a fleshbag.” 

“Thank you for that imagery,” Shouto said dryly.

“Let me finish,” Shinsou snapped and Shouto shut up. “Just because you split off from each other well into your twenties instead of from the womb doesn’t mean your existence and experiences are worth any less than his!” 

Shouto bit his lip. “Wouldn’t that make us identical twins, then? I think clones are probably more accurate.” 

Shinsou groaned, thunking his head on the tree. “Sure, whatever! I’m trying to help, you ungrateful bastard. This isn’t the time to be splitting hairs.”

“I thought I was splitting gametes,” Shouto drawled. 

“It’s zygotes, you uneducated heathen,” Shinsou snarled. “A fertilized gamete splits to make identical twins.” 

“Whatever, I’m not the biologist in this relationship.” 

“Dammit, man, I’m a botanist, not –” Shinsou cut himself off and gave him an incredulous look. Shouto looked back with eyes round as if he’d never known a moment of guile. “You…you’re fucking with me.” Shinsou’s laugh was rusty and breathless and Shouto grinned. “When the hell did you develop a sense of humor?” 

“You know, I’ve been getting that a lot, lately.” He wasn’t really sure either. Usually people didn’t think his jokes were funny. Or rather, he’d never put effort into making people other than Toya laugh, and he was always indulgent more than genuinely amused. It was…nice, being able to make the people he cared about smile. “I guess you’re just a bad influence.” 

“Ha. You didn’t get that lame sense of humor from me, you little shit. You’ve been spending too much time with Midoriya.” 

Shouto tilted his head in acknowledgment, but he didn’t think that was necessarily true. He just…had never really had anyone to practice on before now.

They fell into a comfortable silence and Shouto found that his smile did not waver as he looked over the idyllic landscape. Shinsou always did find a way to make him feel like his problems were a little less insurmountable. He felt a gentle nudge, though Shinsou hadn’t moved. Still, Shouto nudged back before returning to contemplating the sky. He was trying really hard to hold onto this feeling to contentment and not return to dreading what was going on outside of Shinsou’s sanctuary.

A small shiver of discomfort crawled up Shouto’s spine after several more minutes. He frowned, trying to figure out what caused the sudden unease, but quickly realized that it hadn’t come from him at all. 

Shinsou grunted and rubbed his forehead and the discomfort intensified for a moment before fading to nothing once again. Shouto regarded him questioningly, but Shinsou doggedly avoided his eyes. Sure enough, the discomfort was creeping back up in the form of tension growing in Shinsou’s languishing form. “You seem strained,” Shouto said carefully. Was the installation not going well? Was Shouto unintentionally fighting him? 

“Nothing like that. It’s going fine and you’re still asleep.” Shinsou smiled with effort. “It’s just that I’ve never exactly had formal training in Vulcan mind melds and it’s very difficult to lie here. I can hold this projection for a while, but it’s going to start breaking down pretty soon if they don’t hurry it up.” 

Shouto’s brows lowered, looking around at Shinsou’s beautiful garden. How long had they been in here? It was impossible to tell without the sun to guide him, but it felt simultaneously like they’d been here for days and mere minutes. “You said before that this was the surface of your mindscape. It’s a lie?” 

“I like to think of it more as a shield. What’s beneath is less pleasant,” Shinsou admitted. 

“But…what’s beneath it is you,” Shouto said, not understanding what Shinsou was getting at. Shinsou’s pretense of a smile fell. 

“Yes.”

Shouto looked at the garden with new eyes. Had Shinsou built all of this for him? While Shouto appreciated the setting, he didn’t need it if it was putting a burden on Shinsou. “If you are only holding this facade for my sake, then don’t. I don’t need to be shielded from you, of all people.” 

“You don’t understand,” the science officer said gravely, “It isn’t only for your comfort, but for mine. Pulling you into a full meld like that – it’s an extremely intimate experience, and potentially dangerous. I’ve only ever done so with family and a Vulcan mind healer some time ago.” He rubbed the back of his neck, face darkening. “It wasn’t my favorite memory, let’s just put it that way. His disgust when he looked into me and saw what I was…it was horrible. Racist bastard didn’t even try to help me. Vulcans are supposed to be above illogical things like prejudice, but he took one look into my mind and considered me unworthy simply because I wasn’t born pure . ”  

Shouto hesitated at the influx of information, distracted. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to be so vulnerable with someone who despised the idea of his very existence. He’d at least had the sanctity of his own mind when the world was at its harshest, a retreat from the worst of it. “May I ask what the circumstances were that drove you to seek a healer?” 

Shinsou looked away, emotion only given away only by the white knuckled grip he held over his arms. “It was when my birth father rejected me and severed our bond. I was five.” His fingers relaxed slightly. “Shota took me in as soon as he was old enough, but after the first healer harmed me…we haven’t attempted it since.”  

“Your mother’s people couldn’t help?” 

Shinsou shook his head. “My mother fucked right off right after I was born, so we never were able to track her down. Wouldn’t want to anyway.” He sighed. “Besides, the injury was a Vulcan ailment. Betazoids don’t form bonds like Vulcans do.” 

Shouto tilted his head. “Bonds?” 

At that, Shinsou laughed weakly. “Man, I’m really regretting the Vulcan stick up their ass about sharing their anatomy with other species. Yes, Vulcans form a sort of mental bond with those that are close to them. The most common are family bonds and marriage bonds, and rarely, bonds of necessity.” 

Shouto nodded slowly, fascinated. But he was letting the conversation get away from him. Shinsou’s face was becoming more and more pinched, and he observed that the illusion was starting to shiver around the edges. There was a haze encroaching in the periphery of Shouto’s vision and the rough surface beneath his hands felt less corporeal as if they were sitting in a half-remembered daydream. It was far from the almost physical construct they’d started in and Shouto sensed they were running out of time. “You don’t want whatever is beneath the surface to change my opinion of you,” Shouto surmised, and he could feel that he was correct even without examining Shinsou’s guarded frown. “It won’t. Whatever it looks like won’t make me think any less of you. I’m aware that you aren’t some absurd –” he gestured around at the improbable garden and Shinsou’s recline “–fairy prince and I’m not asking you to be.”

“Well, shit. Always wanted to be a fairy prince,” Shinsou drawled. 

Shouto simply stared him down, watching idly as Shinsou’s expression transitioned from mullish to fearful to a strained grimace. But he held on stubbornly, even as patches of the world started to fade away into indistinct gray. “Damnit! If they would just hurry it up.” 

“Shinsou. It’s alright.” When Shinsou only scoffed, Shouto tried a new tactic. “ You’ve already seen me at my very lowest and still consider me your friend. I would extend the same courtesy.”

“People always say that I should just be myself. That they won’t mind. But they always regret that in the end when they see what I really am.” 

“Those people aren’t me,” Shouto said plainly, frustration growing. “You think I’m normal? I’m a fucking robot, Shin! And I understand. I’ve had half the command team rifle through my worst memories and see what a wreck I am, you’ve seen the shit I’ve done. I’m not about to judge you!” 

“No, you don’t understand, so will you lay off! It’s none of your goddamn business!” Shinsou shouted suddenly, taking Shouto aback. But Shouto set his jaw stubbornly. 

“Not my business? How is it not my business when my friend is hurting himself for my sake!” 

Shinsou’s laugh, when it came, was anything but amused. “You are so full of yourself, you ass. What makes you think this has anything to do with you!” 

Shouto reeled, wondering how this all fell apart so quickly. Shinsou was right; it wasn’t his place to push like this, not for something so personal. But he couldn’t ignore the flicker of wrongness that settled over his prickly friend like an ominous cloud, nor the way his acute discomfort echoed in Shouto like an oncoming migraine. Shouto got the distinct feeling that it was a lot worse for Shinsou than the remnants he could feel.

“If not for me, then what are you doing this for? I didn’t ask for it!” Shouto demanded. Then he bit his tongue, regretting the words as soon as he said them. Shinsou’s expression darkened, a coil of foreign anger curling tangibly between them. “I didn't mean–”

“No, you know what?” Shinsou snarled, getting to his feet in a flurry of angry movements. “Fuck this! Has it ever occurred to you that the world doesn’t revolve around you? That just maybe you aren’t the only one suffering?”

“Shin–” Shouto tried to backpedal but there was no taking the ill-thought-out words back and Shinsou was furious.  

“Fine. You want the real me? You’ve got it.” 

The land beneath them rumbled and the roots of the trees shifted restlessly. Shouto faltered, alarmed, and stumbled when a scalding wave of anger reared up and crushed him with unholy pressure, stealing his breath. Wide-eyed, he watched as all of the plants came alive and grew too vivid to be natural, sickly clashing colors that burned his retinas and made him dizzy as they reached for him like the skeletal fingers of a beggar. He staggered, throwing out an arm to stabilize himself but flinched away when he caught sight of Shinsou.

Shinsou stood with one of the blackest glares Shouto had ever seen. Shadows lengthened and pooled as the man grew tall, until he was looming a good two feet over Shouto and growing taller still, stretching grotesquely. Tendrils of oily black writhed in the whites of his eyes, in sync with the reaching vegetation, blackness pouring out from their confines like clouds of acrid smoke. His face lengthened, cheeks caving in, gaunt, his mouth fusing and disappearing entirely and hair tumbling about his sharpened shoulders like a wild bramble. He stretched even more and his limbs grew long and spindly until his clawed hands brushed the ground, disproportionate and undeniably dangerous. 

He looked unlike anything Shouto had ever seen. He could do nothing about the spark of fear the image provoked in him, for what stood over him was not his friend, but a predator, an alien so far removed from his usual unassuming form that Shouto couldn’t recognize him at all.  

The anger roiled bitterly with the upstirring of the wind and scathing laughter came from nowhere and everywhere, vibrating through Shouto’s chest. “See? You fear me just like all the rest,” Shinsou’s voice reverberated in the land around them, cloying and bitter. “And you’re right to fear me. I am a monster and I can destroy you, Shouto. Just reach into your mind and break it and there would be nothing you could do. It would be so easy.” 

Shouto shook his head, struggling to shake off the invasive emotions smothering his will. Was that what Shinsou had been told his entire life? Aizawa wouldn’t have let him believe that, if he knew. Shouto cursed all of those that had come before him and made this man believe that he was something he absolutely wasn’t. “I’m afraid of you because you are trying to scare me, you idiot!” He glared at the creature looming over him and stepped defiantly forward. “Cut it out! You are already tired. The only thing this illusion is accomplishing is to make you look like a child throwing a tantrum!” 

Shinsou reared back and the anger spiked, but Shouto didn’t let him go far. He grabbed onto Shinsou’s arm, ignoring the way it felt like the dried bone of a long dead branch. The dark cavern beneath the roots of the giant trees surged, dimming the vivid colors around them until they were entrenched in gloom, nightmarish. But Shouto was not intimidated by the display, even when the shadows saturated him with foreign despair. 

“Enough! You can’t push me away, Shinsou!” Shouto curled forward, shielding himself from the vicious wind as best he could, but it was difficult when the despair sharpened, made him want to wither into a ball and give up. Darkness was creeping over him like the incoming tide, brackish and depth unknowable, and Shouto felt the slightest edge of fear that he would be drowned by it. But he would hold on. He’d never intended to push Shinsou this far, but he knew instinctively that if he let go now, he would lose something precious that he didn’t even realize he’d stood to lose. “Cut the crap and tell me what this is really about!”

Shouto cursed himself for a fool. He’d been too self-absorbed to realize that Shinsou had been on a steady decline since the very first attack – no. Longer than that. There had been something off about him since the moment they’d met. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he’d noticed a long time ago that Shinsou was not okay and had done nothing about it. The late nights, eating less than any person should, the unexplained absences – how could he have been so blind?

Well, he was here now, and he was not going to ignore it any longer.

His fingers tightened around Shinsou’s arm until he was afraid it would snap, but it did not, and with a final wail of grief, the wind died down and the darkness receded, deep-seated fatigue taking its place as if Shinsou no longer had the strength to hold onto his anger.

Shouto slowly opened his eyes once the gale had subsided and stared down in dismay at the hill he’d traversed not so long ago, exactly the same and yet changed irrefutably. It was stark, empty of all life, the desiccated corpse of what had once been a vibrant garden. Dead leaves crunched under Shouto’s boots as he turned in the gloom, sky obscured by an ochre smog that stifled the sickly sun. His breath caught, something like grief sinking in his chest. The trees still stood, but they were no longer the healthy pillars that held this world in their embrace. What had once been two vibrant growths strong and evergreen was now one twisted tree struggling to hold onto life with the husk of its counterpart cradled against its side like it couldn’t bear to let it go. 

The despair had coalesced into a snarling ball of a starless night, hissing like a cornered animal in the diminished cage of withered roots, dry and cracked. The tree could not hold it all back, slick malice slipping between and poisoning the land, leaving a swath of devastation where life once flourished. 

A lone figure stood where Shouto had last seen Shinsou, and Shouto realized with a jolt that his hands were empty. As he traversed the dead terrain to reach his friend, It was difficult not to succumb to the palpable misery that seemed to pull at him like chains dragging across the dry earth. The garden that had once been a beautiful bastion of light and life was now nothing but dried up husks that he stepped over carefully. 

Finally, Shouto reached the figure who stared at the boughs of the gnarled trees, dead leaves falling steadily around them. It was the same creature as before, but as withered as the tree he stood upon instead of the font of anger he’d embodied before. Just…sad. Shinsou looked at him when he approached, and while his eyes were still shrouded in black, they no longer poured smoke. Shouto stepped right up to his side without hesitation, placing two fingers lightly on his emaciated arm. The sweater he still wore hung off of him limply, and it was hard not to notice the curve of his ribs sharp and visible beneath the loose fabric

“So, this is it? The truth this time,” he prodded, unable to hide how shaken he was but trying his damndest anyway.

When Shinsou looked at him, it was with a measure of resignation. It was hard to see him as the monster from before when, even when his form was the same, he looked haunted , still afraid of what Shouto would say. And Shouto knew he was because this time he was an open book, emotions radiating between them like there was no more barrier to hold them at bay. It was extremely uncomfortable, but Shouto hoped that Shinsou could read him just as easily because he was the furthest from judging the devastation of Shinsou’s mind when his own was still shrouded in ash. 

Shinsou turned back to the tree slowly, looking up into the bare branches and projecting grief in every line of his unnaturally lanky body. “...Yes,” came his voice, reverberating through Shouto’s mind while Shinsou had no mouth to voice them.

“And.” Shouto looked him up and down. “This is the real you?” 

A bitter laugh. Shinsou didn’t look at him. Countered, “Were all those versions of yourself earlier the real you?”

Shouto thought about it. When he spoke, it was careful. Slow. “In a way. Some of it was what I wanted to be. A lot of it was what I feared I already was.”

For a long time, there was only the rustle of falling leaves and the hissing of the dark mass below their feet. Shinsou didn’t elaborate on his appearance and Shouto didn’t push. He could guess all too well. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Shinsou didn’t move other than to tilt his head slightly. Taking that as encouragement, Shouto drew up his nerve and continued. 

“You were right. I have been self-absorbed. I…sort of always was.” It was the truth. Shouto had rarely in his life considered the feelings of others. It was always the most recent thing that had been done to him , how to get away from his responsibilities, what he wanted. And for a long time that was all there was because he didn’t have anyone else to worry about. Even with Toya…his brother had never asked anything from him. Toya didn’t need him, not like he needed Toya. 

Even his guilt felt selfish because it wasn’t really about Shinsou at all, but what he was afraid to lose if Shinsou condemned him for it. Shinsou had been there for him unreservedly for a while now, and all Shouto had been thinking about was himself.

Shinsou sighed abruptly, rubbing a clawed fist over his gaunt face. “Maybe a little. But it’s not like you don’t have a reason to be. Shit’s really hit the fan.” 

Shouto hummed. “Even so. I’m here if you – want to talk.” 

Shinsou was finally looking at him and Shouto met his queer eyes without flinching, quickly becoming accustomed to Shinsou’s disturbing self-image. Gratitude flowed between them in a warm breeze that brushed away the chill and Shouto wasn’t sure who it came from. He liked to think it was both of them. 

“That projection before…” Shinsou started slowly, gesturing at their surroundings with a long limb. “It wasn’t so far from the truth a few years ago.” 

Shouto looked out over the devastation of Shinsou’s garden. “What happened?” Then he thought about it, scanning the entwined trees with new eyes. “This…these trees are…?”

Shinsou gently touched the base of the single tree that still clung to life, a dry scrape beneath clawed fingertips. “They’re my family bonds. What’s left of them, anyway.”

It was impossible to swallow past the lump in his throat.  “Aizawa and…”

“Hizashi Yamada,” Shinsou said, voice dripping with a painful sort of fondness. “That was his name, even after he and Shota got married. He used to host a radio show, so he didn’t want his listeners to get confused…Which didn’t make any sense since he went by Present Mic anyway.” 

“...Where did the name Shinsou come from?” 

“Heh. I chose it myself. When Shota signed the adoption papers he handed me a pen and said go ham.” Shinsou sank to his knees before awkwardly sitting with his back against Aizawa’s tree, long arms wrapping around drawn legs. “I named myself after a character from my favorite TV show at the time. He was an antihero who used the powers that others perceived as inherently evil to save people.” He chuckled ruefully as Shouto sank down beside him. “A childish dream, I guess.”

Shouto didn’t think that was childish at all. His chest pinched when he realized that this was the most he’d ever learned about Shinsou in the months that he’d known him. He’d never even thought to ask. “It’s a good dream.” He looked down, hand clenching in a mass of dead leaves. There weren’t many left on the tree, and they just kept falling. “Shinsou…”

Shinsou leaned his head back with a dull thunk . “A month before we were meant to board the Endeavor, I came across plans for an attack. It wasn’t anything specific, just some thoughts from a passing technician. But I couldn’t ignore it…her thoughts…they were violent. All I could see in her head was blood and a burning desire to kill as many people as she could and – I did something stupid.”

“You followed her,” Shouto guessed, recalling Aizawa’s account.

“Yeah. I followed her. People are sometimes like that, you know? The guy who makes you sandwiches who wants to stab his manager, the mom picking up her kid who daydreams about running over the noisy dog next door; It’s not uncommon for me to come across people with less than virtuous intentions.” Shinsou glanced at Shouto’s skeptical face. “Yeah, it sucks about as much as you imagine. And sometimes it’s just that; thoughts. But I had to be sure.”

And you just had to be a hero, Shouto thought. Aizawa hinted that Shinsou had done this before, and Shouto had thought he meant getting into fights, delinquency. He wondered just how many crimes Shinsou stopped before someone could act upon their violent intentions. He wondered how lonely it must be to know what you’re doing is right but to not have anyone on your side because of what you were.

He wondered how many enemies he’d made.

“Thing is, I heard something in her thoughts that made me fear that this was more than a sick fantasy. I saw in her mind fire and blood and devastation, and in her emotions I felt absolute certainty that people were going to die, and she was going to enjoy it. 

That day, I followed her to a lab beneath the archives at Command to get proof and try to warn someone before anything terrible could happen. But I fucked up.” He sank down further. “I got caught, and their security beat the ever living shit out of me. If I were Human, I would be dead.” 

Shouto worked his tongue around his dry mouth, searching for his voice. So…so. Section 31. If Shinsou hadn’t already identified it by name, the fact that he knew it was beneath the public archives would have cemented it. But there would be time to contemplate the implications later. Right now, he needed the full story. He needed to help his friend. “How did you escape?” 

“I didn’t. When I woke up, I was in the hospital and slapped with a potentially career ending court-martial for breaking into a restricted facility. It was a miracle they didn’t just leave me in jail to rot. They didn’t believe a word I said when I finally made it to trial, for obvious reasons.” He gestured to himself and Shouto wanted to pretend he didn’t know what he meant by that, but he could guess. “I didn’t have proof, and thinking violent thoughts isn’t exactly a crime. I couldn’t tell them how, when, or even where it would happen. The fact that I didn’t get far enough to find out anything concrete was probably what saved me in the end. The charges were eventually dropped and I got to live another day. Guess they didn’t want the scandal.” 

“They?”

Shinsou shrugged. “Whoever the fuck is responsible for this mess has to be high up on the food chain if they have the brass in their pockets.”

“But…that doesn’t make sense. Starfleet is the target, as far as we can tell.” Shouto’s frown deepened.

Shinsou sagged as if his strings had been cut. “I don’t know, Shouto. All I know is that days after I’d finally been released from the bureaucracy, the Endeavor was destroyed. When Hizashi died. I…I felt it. I didn’t have any more fight left in me to pursue anything.”  He curled into himself. “I don’t remember much after that. Apparently there was a funeral. A memorial service. But for about a year, I might as well have been dead for all that I gave a damn.” 

Shouto nodded slowly, contemplating his hands. He knew what that was like. “And now?” 

A sharp brow arched high over a jaundiced eye. “What do you think? Look around you, Shouto. Make an educated guess.” 

Shouto reached down and touched the tree beneath his seat, sensing a light pulse beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t explain. It felt solid, but flickering like a flame reaching for fuel it could not find. “Your bond with Aizawa...” 

Shinsou hummed. “Yeah. It’s dying. Just like everything else.”  

A pale wind blew over the hill and around them, carrying with it the dust of decay. “What happens when it dies?” Somehow he thought he already knew the answer, and it wasn’t an answer he enjoyed. Shouto thought about the sickly cast of Shinsou’s skin, how he sometimes disappeared for days without explanation. Shouto had always thought it was because Shinsou was sensitive to the emotions on board the ship; by his own admission he was negatively affected when the crew was feeling grief and fear. It must have been part of it, but how much of it was because of this? Just how long had he been suffering alone?  “Hizashi’s death wasn’t just a psychological blow, was it. It harmed you,” he whispered. 

Shinsou laughed bitterly. “A broken bond can be healed if a Vulcan’s mind is strong enough. But I’m only half Vulcan and never had the benefit of kin or mind healers that were willing to help me. I was lucky when I was a kid because Shota and then Hizashi were able to form family bonds with me to protect me from the damage. Now? The remainder of Hizashi’s broken bond is like a poison…and with no other stable bonds, eventually I will die.” 

Shouto frowned. “Does Aizawa know?” 

“Yes. At least, he was there when the violence of Hizashi’s death took me down. I haven’t told him how bad it really is, but I think he knows. He’s been fussing over me ever since.” He shrugged with an unnatural twitch of his sharpened shoulders. “I never really recovered. And Aizawa is psy-null. Melding with him now will only hurt him, and there’s nothing he can really do. I’m shielding him from the worst of it.”

Shouto stared reprovingly. “So you won’t tell the only other person you have a bond with. And you won’t seek a healer.” 

Shinsou might not have had a mouth, but he managed to scowl anyway. “You know why.”

“Right. Racist Vulcans and you don’t want to hurt Aizawa’s feelings. So, what, it’s better to just roll over and die?” The anger was rising again, but this time Shouto was unphased, counteracting it with his own.  “You think I can’t see what you’re doing? You’re cutting off your options one by one until there’s nothing left but to kill yourself, and it’s bullshit, Shinsou.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled.

“Don’t I?” Shouto snapped, jerking Shinsou by the collar until they were eye to eye. “You’ve been hurt by someone who was supposed to help you so you’ve resolved to never seek help again. You couldn't prevent someone you love from dying, so you think you deserve punishment because you can’t deal with the guilt. You won’t tell the people that care about you what’s really going on because you’re afraid they’ll reject you like your shitty birth parents.” He yanked Shinsou’s collar, practically shaking him. “Look me in the face and tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

Anger shivered around them, built and crested and enraged the hissing wound beneath their feet. Shinsou shook, clawed hands clenched into fists as if he’d like nothing more than to rip Shouto to shreds. But when Shouto did not waver, Shinsou deflated, slumping in his hold. He looked away and the storm receded. 

“You know, I kind of miss the days when you were so shy you barely spoke. Now I can’t get you to shut up. You cuss like a sailor when you’re mad.” 

“Yes, well.” Shouto’s grip relaxed and Shinsou slumped back against the tree. He couldn't deny that a lot had changed since those first tentative few weeks of friendship. “You have never said something so stupid it made me angry before.” 

“Heh. I should have kicked you out when I had the chance.”

“It’s too late for that now. That’s what you get for being a martyr and protecting me from myself,” he said, a little smug and relieved that he’d finally seemed to get through to Shinsou. The pink sweater was crumpled when he released it, but Shouto couldn’t bring himself to regret his momentary lapse of composure, not when he knew it was necessary. He stood, surveying the land around them. He flexed his hand, thinking of what he needed and was pleasantly surprised when the tool he sought appeared in his hand. “How can I help?” 

Shinsou raised an unreasonably slanted brow. “Help?”

Shouto raised a brow right back. “Did you really imagine I would learn that my best friend is suffering and do nothing? You won’t seek a mind healer and you won’t meld with Aizawa, so…I’m here and I’m going to help.” With another thought, Shouto summoned a straw hat that he passed to Shinsou. 

Shinsou delicately took the hat and after a moment’s hesitation, put it on his head. It perched atop his wild hair and despite the alien nature of Shinsou’s appearance, it looked right at home. Perhaps he would never be a fairy prince, but an eldritch nature guardian seemed to suit him just fine. Shouto felt a trickle of warmth in his mind. Shinsou liked the comparison. “What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?” 

He looked around, shrugged. “Well. I don’t know if I can do anything about your broken bond, but…this is a garden, right? I’m going to weed it so that new things can grow.” 

“That’s really not how –” Shinsou blinked black eyes, then looked at his dead terraces in consideration. Then he shrugged, as if to say, what the hell. “I think you’re going to need more than a trowel to clear this mess out.” 

“Hmm. Well. You are the botanist.” 

That finally got Shinsou to laugh, a rustling of dead leaves. “Yeah. I am, aren’t I.” Shinsou regarded Shouto with a certain air of mischief that Shouto hated immediately. “You can create fire.” 

Shouto’s smile dropped, insides flipping uncomfortably. “...Yes.” 

“In nature, when a forest becomes overgrown a brush fire can reinvigorate the land by clearing out the dead foliage.” A skeletal hand rose and a clawed finger touched Shouto’s chest gently, halting his instinctual protest, mind stalling around all the reasons why that was a terrible idea. “I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me, so trust me alright? I’ll tell you where to lay the sparks and we’ll do this together.” 

Shouto heard what he did not say. If I’m going to have to face my demons, then so are you.

Shouto looked down at the trowel clenched tightly in his right fist. Gently, he put it down and held his hand up, summoning a small flame. He flinched, but no memories reared up to consume him. It was only him, Shinsou, and a tiny purple flame in his palm, fluttering like a little heartbeat. He looked up into his friend’s face, the pinpoint of light reflecting off of the black sclera, the first light that Shouto had seen in them since he’d come here. 

“Alright.” 

Even without a mouth, Shinsou managed to smile. Together, they faced the gray, dead world…and let it burn.

Shouto was focused, his concentration narrowed down to the smell of smoke not tainted by flesh but earth , the purple flames he coaxed into gently dancing orange and yellow and the soothing sound of Shinsou’s voice walking him through a brush fire, the reassurance that he would douse it if things got out of hand.

So when he was blinded by fluorescent white and found himself staring into the crosshairs of a rifle much, much too close to his person he was rightly startled. 

“Ack!” Mei grunted as a hand abruptly slapped over her face and shoved. She pinwheeled and stumbled, only to be caught by the back of her uniform by an unamused captain. “Rude!”

“You kind of deserved it, Mei,” Izuku said lightly, tugging her by the collar until she was a respectable distance away.

Shouto blinked rapidly, readjusting to the weight of gravity and the searing reintroduction of unnatural light, hand still outstretched where Mei’s intrusion was ousted. There was a pained groan behind him and Shouto winced as fingers were removed from his temple, each one pulling away like a rubber band snapping against his skin until he was acutely aware that he was once again alone in his own mind. 

“Fuck,” Shinsou rasped, the scuff of shoes against the floor indicative of legs giving out. Shouto scrambled to sit up and catch him, but Aizawa beat him to it, wrapping an arm around Shinsou’s shoulders and easing him onto a chair. 

“Easy, Hitoshi. Take a deep breath and sit still for me, alright? You did good,” Aizawa said, face drawn with concern as he pulled out a tricorder and began scanning. 

Shinsou sat slumped over the stool, slender hands hanging limply between his knees and shoulders bowed as if gravity was too much to bear. Shouto winced, realizing that while Shinsou may have allowed him to help with his overgrowth problem, he’d still been in his mindscape, draining him. For a moment Shouto was crushed by the weight of asthenia pulling at his limbs and the throbbing in his head, but then it subsided as swiftly as it came, leaving him disoriented and all the more concerned. 

But when Shinsou looked up, his eyes were clear, lips parted around careful breaths but brows relaxed for probably the first time in Shouto’s memory. 

“Shouchan,” Izuku said, drawing his attention like the gravity of the sun itself, and yet he still struggled to focus on him and not run his own thorough scan on Shinsou. He blinked up at Izuku, who stood just as close as Mei had, but his presence was most welcome. Izuku smiled gently, padd in hand, fingers poised to take notes. “How are you feeling? Anything strange? Are your systems operating normally?” 

Shouto considered the question, moving to sit up fully. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and looked at his hands, flexing them as if he could tell by motor functions alone if anything was untoward. But nothing happened. “It doesn’t seem like –” Shouto stopped, his vision obscured by an opaque screen. Blocky text rolled rapidly over black, visually crude as any developer-designed user interface. 

First, a jumble of blazing red code, most of which he couldn’t translate at a glance save for the first line:

Unauthorized inquiry [systems operating]

Inquirer – starfleet.captain ~ TL6 |

And the last:

Lie |

Before Shouto could process that, a deluge of clashing pink text pushed the inquiry up and out of view, incomprehensible until the very last commands. 

Allow  Deny  Ask Again

It all happened within half a second before stopping abruptly, input field ready and waiting for Shouto’s command. 

“Shouchan?” 

Shouto shook his head before firmly entering Deny, and wishing that he could slam the command like he would a big red button. “I believe I just encountered my first compulsion,” he said, scrolling back up and examining first the compulsion’s code and the suggested misinformation it wanted him to relay, feeling sick. Then he scrutinized the captain’s program counteracting it. Shouto quickly converted the obnoxious pink text to a soothing green so he wouldn’t have to let that burn his retinas every time he had to field one of these compulsions, which he got the sinking suspicion would be a lot.

“What was it?” Izuku asked, Mei peering over his shoulder with avid interest. 

“What was that delay? What precisely was the trigger that activated the compulsion? What were the resulting physical sensations? Discomfort? Anger?” Mei shot off rapid fire, shoving the captain enough that even his considerable bulk was shuffled. 

Shouto held up a hand against the tide of questions, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the invasive code. “It is difficult for me to determine what systems were impacted. The structure of the compulsion itself is a reference node to a multitude of core and ancillary functions.”

“Yes, yes, we saw that, but what did you feel?” 

Shouto frowned. He hadn’t been paying attention to the sensory input from his body, distracted by the problem the interface represented. It was possible that the device they’d installed blocked the intended emotional manipulation. So instead, he thought about how he usually felt when he went to Aizawa and the questions turned specifically to the utility of his body. 

Anxiety. Irritation. Fear. The need to flee, to lie.

Shouto looked up at the captain abruptly. “Ask me again.” 

“Ask you what?” Izuku said, frowning at Mei but not doing anything to remove her from where she’d clamped onto his shoulder like an overzealous cargo arm. 

“Ask me about my systems again.” 

Izuku nodded and said succinctly. “Are your systems operating normally?” Shouto waited, staring into Izuku’s eyes and the captain stared back. But after several seconds of nothing, Shouto tentatively let himself believe that nothing would happen. 

Shouto wanted to collapse in relief. He felt nothing. Or more specifically, he wasn’t afraid. No paranoia of dire consequences filled his head and made his throat ache, no unspoken threat shook his fingers and leadened his feet. It was as if a film had been lifted from his eyes, his every interaction before half blinded by a body he couldn’t control, reactions that smothered and contradicted his nature. 

He wasn’t afraid.

When he spoke, his voice was saturated with more emotion than he usually would have allowed, but he couldn’t hold it back if he tried. “I c-can’t determine at this time the full impact of the device on my core functions,” Shouto choked through the rising in his chest. He breathed, smiled. “But the first compulsion was successfully denied and archived.” 

Mei let out an unholy screech of glee and jumped into the air and Izuku cheered, pumping his fist. They high-fived each other like school children and not the adults that they were, matching grins on their cherubic faces. Shouto, for his part, had the insane urge to stand up and hug everyone in the room, an impulse that was entirely his own. So he didn’t try to resist it. 

“Oomph!” Izuku huffed as he was pulled abruptly into Shouto’s chest and squeezed. But he was laughing, his voice rumbling through Shouto as he hugged him back just as tightly, warm and solid and sure. Shouto buried his face in the captain’s shoulder and just let himself breathe. 

“Thank you,” Shouto said, a fervent benediction . He didn’t realize just what this would mean to him, not until he had it. Because it wasn’t just the lies he’d been forced to tell, the people he’d been compelled to avoid or what he’d been forced to feel, or even the device itself. What they’d given him was more freedom than he’d ever had in his entire life. 

Izuku held him tighter, hand chafing through the short hairs on his bowed neck soothingly. “You’re welcome. Someday we’ll have your code purged of all of it. But for now, I’m so glad it works!” 

Mei bounced around her computer screens. “Fantastic first trial! Now we need to –” 

Whatever she said after that, whatever the captain’s responses, Shouto was no longer listening. He merely stood, leaned against the captain and let himself be comforted. Let himself have this – a physical plea for touch that he’d answered himself. With a final sigh, he pulled back from Izuku, who chattered on just as rapidly as Mei, the two talking over each other and finishing each other’s sentences as if they’d done projects together a thousand times. Izuku was so focused that he didn’t even seem to notice he’d been released, so Shouto left him to it, stepping back and collapsing back onto the cot and leaving the captain to trip his way to Mei’s side and mutter alongside her wild gesticulating. 

Shouto fingered his access panel on the back of his neck gingerly and was not remotely surprised when another compulsion tried to stop him. Then another. Then a third. He shot them all down and finally rested his palm against what he’d barely been able to touch since he’d been initialized. Smooth skin greeted his fingers and after several seconds he found the hidden seam that would open his inner workings to the dry, circulated air. He left it alone, gratified that he’d been able to touch it at all. 

His body was his now. It was his. He wanted to laugh, but held it in, afraid it would turn into tears if he wasn’t careful, and the last thing he needed was more emotions running rampant. 

“What the hell did you do?” Aizawa demanded in a low voice, too low to interrupt the two engineering geniuses completely engrossed in their work. Shouto pulled himself out of his euphoria with some effort, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one who’d been going through it today.

Aizawa dodged Shinsou’s halfhearted swipe, the younger man not even scowling at the doctor’s fussing. He looked too relaxed for that. “Get that stupid thing out of my face, old man, I’m fine!” 

“Fine? Fine? Your readings are all over the place! I thought you said you could hold the meld without hurting yourself!” 

“I can. I did!” Shinsou insisted, rolling his eyes in resignation when the tricorder ended up right back on his temple. He shot an exasperated look at Shouto, who frowned at him with equal concern. “I’m fine,” Shinsou reiterated to his unspoken question. 

Indeed, Shinsou looked fine. He looked better, in fact, than Shouto had ever seen him. It wasn’t a physical difference, necessarily. He was still too thin. Too sallow. And maybe part of it was the gruesome image Shinsou had of himself still emblazoned over Shouto’s perception. But he was sitting up straight, back unfolded from its customary bow. His brow was relaxed and unfurrowed, as if a headache he’d always suffered had been appeased. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Aizawa snapped. “You –” he paused, frowning at his tricorder. He pushed a button. Frowned deeper. “Your chemical imbalances are stabilizing…It’s not a lot, but I haven’t seen these readings for years. Hitoshi,” he stared at his son. “What did you do?”

Shinsou lips twitched, glancing at Shouto. “A little gardening, that’s all.” 

Aizawa’s eyes widened, glancing rapidly between Shouto, who was watching Shinsou with interest, and Shinsou who was smirking like a mouse who made off with an entire wheel of cheese. 

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa started, aghast for reasons Shouto couldn’t discern, but Shinsou shook his head sharply, stopping him in his tracks. 

“We can talk about it later,” Shinsou said firmly, pushing the tricorder down. Aizawa looked mutinous, but he didn’t protest as Shinsou focused on Shouto. “Alright?” 

Shouto nodded, smiling slightly. “You?” 

“Yeah.” 

Several seconds passed while neither of them spoke, but Shouto didn’t really feel the need to say anything, content. Shinsou’s gaze flickered down to Shouto’s hand, then returned, brow raised. Shouto’s fingers twitched. He lifted his hand to chest level and concentrated, searching for what he hadn’t been able to find before. 

Redirect |

Deny

Redirect |

Deny

Avoid |

Deny 

And there. The access to his defensive mechanisms. 

Shouto’s core hummed, heated in his chest and trickled down his arm. A tiny purple flame burst into being in his palm, dancing merrily. He raised his other hand, frost gathering from his fingertips all the way down to his wrist. He pressed his hands together and the fire went out with a whoof of steam that curled over his face and dissipated into the air. He looked up at Shinsou, eyes wide but unafraid. “Ask me.” 

“What –” Aizawa muttered, watching the byplay, nonplussed. But he hadn’t been talking to the doctor. He’d asked Shinsou. 

And Shinsou knew exactly what he was after. Shinsou leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, looked Shouto dead in the eye. And asked. 

“What happened on the Endeavor?” 

The room fell abruptly silent. Shouto ground his palms together, fury and grief curling his lips as he looked them each in the eye. “There was a device attached to the main power grid that I did not recognize, that I now realize was a similar EMP device to the ones we’ve encountered on the Falcon and DS7. It was causing power fluctuations. In an attempt to correct them, I triggered the device prematurely and the Endeavor was destroyed.” 

Chapter Text

Shouto’s voice was flat when he spoke, no inflection reaching past the phantom tightness in his chest. Instead of looking anyone in the eye, he stared at the spaces between his fingers as if the memories were a physical thing he could hold and inspect.

“The Endeavor was Toya’s ship,” he said dully. “He’d just been promoted to captain. Admiral Todoroki was intent on grooming me to be Toya’s first officer, and eventually, head engineer. He thought if I worked under my brother it would motivate me to work harder.” He snorted humorlessly, painfully aware of the silence in the room. “I did no such thing. Instead, I convinced Toya to assign me to maintenance and spent all my time on my research. He…he indulged me, just like he always did.” 

Not for the first time, Shouto wished that he could cry. He could probably emulate it if he truly wanted to – produce tears, let them roll down his face and onto his splayed palms – but it wouldn’t be the same release. His eyes wouldn't sting, his lungs wouldn't shudder, and his shoulders wouldn't bow beneath the weight of his emotions. He felt as numb as he ever did, the pressure only in his mind with nowhere to go. 

A soothing wave of comfort washed over Shouto and he let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Finally, he looked up into Shinsou’s eyes, the man sitting exactly as still as Shouto in his vigil. There was no reading him and Shouto didn’t dare look over at the others in the room, who hadn’t made a sound. Exhaling slowly, Shouto’s lips twitched in gratitude for Shinsou’s help, slowly getting accustomed to what it felt like outside of their shared mindscape. Shouto hadn’t realized the extent of Shinsou's empathic abilities, but it seemed as though the man was done holding them back. It was strange, but Shouto couldn't bring himself to begrudge it. He nodded once before dropping his gaze back to his hands, fingers relaxing ever so slightly. 

“I should have followed protocol,” Shouto said to his palms. “I was arrogant. Even on Toya’s ship, I didn’t…” He shook his head. He couldn’t believe that these memories had been blocked from him. He’d been wandering around in the dark, stumbling over the truth laid out at his feet without seeing it. “Without telling anyone what I was doing I tried to redirect power from the affected area, but it ended up triggering the bomb instead. I didn’t know what was happening, just that it was somehow my fault and I had to reverse what I’d done. But it was too late. The fires pushed me back.” Inhale, exhale. “When that failed I ran for the bridge. Comms were down and I had no way of knowing where my brother was, but I had to get to the bridge and get us off the ship." 

It played before him like holovid, the nightmare that he'd been forced to relive in fragments over and over again every time the Endeavor was so much as referenced, only this time he had Shinsou to shield him from the worst of it so that he could watch it with some detachment from start to finish. "It was a nightmare. Everything was burning – I couldn’t – I found him on the bridge, helping coordinate the evacuation. I tried to convince him to leave, to get to the escape pods with me, but he wouldn’t abandon his ship. The ceiling collapsed…and he pushed me out of the way.”

He could still remember how he’d screamed, first from the terror of losing his brother, then from the agony of his flesh peeling away when he tried to save him. It’s funny that that’s what stood out to him over the rest – the way his grief had torn at his throat more effectively than the smoke and heat ever could, the sound he’d made as his whole world went up in a blaze. 

“I woke up in the hospital sometime later. They told me that we were close enough to the nearby station that they were able to beam me out through the electromagnetic interference moments before the ship broke apart. It was a long time before I was cognizant enough to realize what I’d done.” 

“No,” Izuku said, the first one to voice anything during his awful confession. 

“If you’re going to tell me it wasn’t my fault, save it,” Shouto snarled, more vicious than he’d intended. He glared at Izuku, who leaned back ever so slightly at his sudden fury, Mei jumping beside him. It was a tone he’d never used with them, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. “I may not have planted the bomb myself, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t know the risks of messing with something I didn’t understand. I ignored my training and tampered with something I knew shouldn’t have been there. I didn’t notify my superiors, I didn’t make a log, I didn’t –” He stood, suddenly unable to sit still, and walked to the door, stopping just before the threshold. It only made him feel slightly better to have the option to leave the room, even though he wouldn’t take it. He ran a hand through his hair and pulled, wishing he could feel the sting. “I was an arrogant son of a bitch who thought the rules didn’t apply to me because I didn't want to be there.” And worse, now he remembered the rest of the crew he’d passed by on his mad dash to the only person who’d mattered to him at the time, their screams now layered with Toya’s in a symphony of death. He hadn’t even looked at them. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “ I could have prevented it all if I hadn’t been me. Instead, I made the worst mistake of my life and watched them all burn.” 

“Like hell!” Shouto jumped when a hand landed roughly on his shoulder, spinning him around and forcing him to face the room. It was only a frantic dash of ‘Deny’ commands that saved whoever was on the other end of that touch from his defenses. Shouto blinked past the notifications to find a furious set of bloodshot eyes daring him to open his mouth and speak. Wisely, Shouto did not, jaw clenched in surprise as Aizawa held him at arm’s length. “I won’t let you sit there and take responsibility for their deaths like some kind of fucking martyr!” 

Shouto resisted the urge to throw him off with his superior strength. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? I could have saved him,” and even Shouto didn’t know which ‘him’ he was talking about anymore, afraid to look over at Shinsou, “If I had just warned someone –”

“No, you listen to me!” Aizawa snarled in his face, hand tightening on Shouto’s shirt. “The bomb was already there! If you seriously think for one second that they wouldn’t have found a way to make it go off anyway, then you’re as arrogant as you proclaim!” Shouto’s mouth clicked shut, eyes wide. “For all you know, notifying anyone about what you found would have triggered it. For all you know, that was the precise moment they’d planned for it to detonate in the first place! So don’t,” he hissed, voice lowering, urgent, “take all of it onto yourself. Whoever is doing all of this has probably been planning since before you were a wet-eared cadet, so stop letting them manipulate you for one goddamn second and think. They design a bomb that makes the resulting disaster look like an accident, a disaster no one is supposed to survive. Then against all odds, a kid is rescued who saw it but didn't recognize it for what it was, so they shake their heads and lie to a kid on his deathbed, let him take the fall. Look at me.” Shouto’s eyes snapped up from where they were fixed between his boots. “I need you to remember. Who first told you that the Endeavor was your fault?”

“I,” Shouto said. He shook his head slowly. “You don’t understand. I barely remember the first few weeks after I was rescued.” He’d been in too much pain and then on too many drugs to understand anything that was happening around him in those first furious few weeks to save his life. He didn’t remember anything he said, or confessed, if he made any sense at all. “My first clear memory…” he tried, “was the offer. Shigaraki approached me and offered to take over my medical care in exchange for service in the Drifter program as a volunteer. He promised that my body could heal while I served and that someday things could go back to normal. I – I just wanted the pain to stop. At that point, I was already convinced that it was my fault. I thought they were going to put me on trial.”

“But they didn’t.” 

“...No. Admiral Todoroki released a statement that an electrical failure destroyed the Endeavor. I thought he’d covered up my mistake to save face.” 

“Is that what Shigaraki told you?”

Shouto stared at him. “Not in so many words…but he didn’t disabuse me of the notion either. I was furious. I refused to see my Father after that.” 

“And then you joined the Drifter program. After that, you were placed under compulsions that forced you to relive the moment your brother died to reaffirm your guilt every time you started to question.” 

“...Yes,” he whispered, barely audible.

Aizawa relaxed his grip on Shouto’s shoulders and Shouto went rigid as he was pulled into his arms. “It wasn’t your fault, Shouto. You were manipulated and it wasn’t your fault. Don’t let them use Mic’s death as a weapon to hurt you, because I can tell you right now that he would have hated that. Your brother, too; what would he say to you now if he knew you still carried his last act of love around like a crown of thorns? Don’t let them win.” 

Shouto shivered and buried his face in Aizawa’s shoulder, going limp. He knew what Toya would have said, he was just having a hard time accepting it. 

Shouto couldn’t speak, just allowed Aizawa to hold him while he felt like his legs were too weak to do it. He didn’t dare look at Shinsou, thinking wryly that he was so much like Aizawa that it was hard to believe he’d ever doubted they were father and son. Did Aizawa have a point? Was he still allowing Shigaraki to manipulate him? Would the bomb…have gone off anyway? He bit his lip. If that was the case…if that was the case, then. 

Would Toya have died anyway? Was there really nothing he could have done to prevent it? Shouto couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse. 

Aizawa pulled away slowly and guided Shouto back to his seat before resuming his own. Shouto still couldn’t look up. In a carefully neutral voice, Aizawa asked, “Could it have been her mission that made the Endeavor a target? What was your assignment before things went to shit?” 

It was Izuku who finally answered Aizawa’s question. “The Endeavor was scheduled to rendezvous with a contingency of ambassadors from an annual Federation science conference. It was an escort mission to the edge of the Neutral Zone.” Shouto dragged his eyes to stare at Izuku, who avoided his gaze. “I had Kirishima look into it before DS7, and then after…well, after. I needed to know more about you.” He trailed off and Shouto had to swallow back his discomfort. 

Aizawa folded his arms. “So can we assume that someone from the contingency was the target?” 

“If not the conference itself,” Izuku said slowly, dragging his gaze from Shouto to regard Aizawa. “It’s possible. I don’t think we should assume anything just yet, though. Not until we have more information.” 

“Bridge to Captain Midoriya,” Bakugou’s voice punctured the thin pane of tension between them all, abruptly reminding them about the rest of the universe outside of this room. 

Izuku took a steadying breath, touching his communicator. “Midoriya here.” 

“Long range communications have been restored. I've got the old man on the line.” 

Izuku frowned, eyes flicking back and forth between Shouto and the rest of the room. “Shouto,” he said gently and Shouto tilted his head, still unable to look up. “I know it’s not fair to ask you this, but this is important. Will you come with me?”

Shouto took a long breath, running his hands through his hair before forcing himself to his feet. “Yes, Captain.” 

Izuku nodded grimly before touching his comm again. “Kacchan. Grab Kiri and wait in my ready room. I’ll be there in two minutes.” 

“Acknowledged.”

“The four of you, come with me,” Izuku said. “I think it’s about time we all get up to speed on current events.”

“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’ll stay here and continue work on our cannons,” Mei said, unreadable. “I get the feeling we’re going to need as much firepower as we can get pretty soon.”

Izuku shifted. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Shouto followed the captain through the halls, taking a moment to breathe. He tried not to feel stifled by the way Aizawa and Shinsou flanked him, tried not to feel like it was the armed escort that he still felt like he deserved despite the fact that recent evidence was pointing to the fact that he maybe…didn’t. It was hard to consider, though, when the last nearly three years of his life he was convinced that he was the worst sort of murderer, that nothing would ever make up for what he did. He wished he could stop to process for just a moment. He felt raw, scraped out and fragile, but as usual, he could only set it aside and focus on the events moving all too swiftly around them. 

They arrived on the bridge, Izuku barely acknowledging Sero’s ‘Captain on the bridge!’ before ushering them into the ready room, and Shouto was not at all prepared when he came face to face with Commander Bakugou. Bakugou stopped him in his tracks with the intensity of his gaze, first over a silent Izuku who had stopped when Shouto did, then Shouto himself; a careful sweep from his face to the tenseness of his shoulders to the tips of his polished boots, as if a scuff in their shiny surface would expose the state within.

“Did it work?” Bakugou said softly, not so quietly the others wouldn't hear but meant only for them regardless. 

“Yes,” Shouto said, just as softly though out of self-preservation alone. It felt like if he raised his voice he would simply start shouting again and he really needed to get a grip before the next blow inevitably fell.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” Bakugou said, and Shouto pursed his lips, looking away. Izuku placed a hand on Shouto’s shoulders and squeezed bracingly. 

“We’ll fill you in later, Kacchan,” he said, too much meaning in his eyes and Bakugou hummed in reluctant acknowledgment. 

“You look better,” he said instead of pursuing the subject. Izuku held his shoulders rigid for a long moment, clearly debating whether he was ready to speak to Bakugou again. But then he visibly let it go in one long breath, allowing his expression to soften into a warm smile.

“Shouto took good care of me.” 

That brought an actual upturn to Bakugou’s lips, the stress lines between his brows smoothing away. He stared at the scarred hand on Shouto’s shoulder for a quiet moment before pulling professionalism back around him like a shield.

“Good,” Bakugou said curtly before touching his comm, voice resuming a normal volume. “Patch him through, Sero.” 

“Patching through.”

Shouto took a seat between Aizawa and Shinsou, curling his hands carefully in his lap, only to look up in surprise when a very familiar voice boomed through the speakers. 

“Bakugou, my boy! It is so relieving to see you well,” Admiral Toshinori Yagi said with all the exuberance that was his custom. His thin face was pulled in his famous wide smile and his eyes sparkled with relief. It was a far cry from the image that had starred in every Starfleet promotion vid for the past near three decades before his injuries from the Romulan war caught up with him, but no less comforting than the first time Shouto had seen it as a lonely child – on the recruitment poster he’d smuggled beneath his Father’s nose. 

“Old man,” Bakugou answered and Shouto nearly choked at the disrespectful address of the most decorated Admiral in Starfleet history. But no one else so much as batted an eye at Bakugou's usual rudeness, nor when Izuku smiled just as wide as his mentor and called, “Toshi!” 

Shouto didn’t know if he was jealous of how close they seemed, or horrified at the irreverence.

“Midoriya! You have a lot of explaining to do, young man, you nearly made this old heart give out!” 

“Eheh,” Izuku laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head like a chagrined schoolboy. “Well, I would say it won’t happen again, but…”

Admiral Yagi sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, yes, I know. I never should have allowed you two to work together, I swear you’re trying to put me into an early grave on purpose.” 

“Whatever, old man. You put us together because we’re the best, and you know it,” Bakugou said smugly. 

The admiral chuckled good-naturedly, not bothering to deny the point. “In any case, it’s good to hear from you. With everything that’s been going on, it’s relieving to finally receive some good news.” 

“How are the crew we sent ahead?” Izuku asked, hands wringing. “Did they make it to safety?”

Yagi’s smile softened. “Yes, they made it. We received news that they arrived at the embassy on Sandos a few days ago. Most will make a full recovery.” 

Izuku closed his eyes for a couple of seconds before forcing them back open. “Most?” 

“I will connect you with the hospital where they are receiving the best treatment our allies can offer. I’m sorry, my boy.” 

Izuku could only nod in acceptance. He squared his shoulders. “What’s the situation on Earth? Has there been any more attacks on Starfleet since the Ingenium?” 

Yagi shook his head. “No, there has been no activity that we are aware of on the home front. It’s been suspiciously silent. The admiralty has been in conference since the attack in San Francisco and all Starfleet vessels are being inspected for similar devices as the one you found on your ship.” 

“And?” Bakugou asked.

“We have found none,” Yagi said gravely, bangs shifting as he shook his head. “It seems your suspicion was true and they were not planted ahead of time. Whoever is behind this is getting them aboard another way.” 

“The cloaked ship,” Kirishima said softly, and then ducked slightly when all eyes turned to him. 

“Yes, I read your report,” Yagi said and Shouto blinked. That had made it all the way to the admiralty? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. “Have you found any evidence since?” 

Izuku swept his gaze over those assembled, drawn faces reflecting back at him. He gave Yagi a serious look, edged with grief. “I’m afraid so. The same ship that must have planted the bomb on the Falcon didn’t take off immediately. We encountered it again when we attempted to dock on DS7.”

“You don’t mean…” the admiral said slowly, face falling.

“They were massacred,” Izuku whispered. 

A heavy silence fell over them all as Yagi absorbed this, a thin hand running over his shadowed brow. “Then it is as we feared…we lost all contact with them earlier in the week. Were there any survivors?” 

“Not that we know of,” Bakugou said when it seemed that Izuku couldn’t answer. “There were missing escape pods but we couldn’t find anyone. What we did find was traces of a cloaked ship coming and going well before we arrived.” 

“How did it happen?” Yagi said, voice hardening.

“We arrived at DS7 three days ago and found it in shambles,” Izuku finally said. “When we went in to investigate we found most of the crew in the cargo bay, where they were killed by electrical fires. We believe they were herded there.” 

Yagi’s gaze sharpened. “Herded?” 

Izuku looked at Shouto and Shouto stared back. Shouto’s throat worked, uncertain he could find his voice, but Izuku didn’t waver. He wanted Shouto to speak. 

Shouto looked slowly at the screen, Yagi’s dark gaze flickering between him and Izuku, brows drawn. “Son?” 

“The station’s protocols had been tampered with,” Shouto said and found himself pinned by the intensity of the admiral’s attention. With a force of will, he continued. This was not how he imagined speaking with his hero for the first time. He never thought he’d have to deliver such terrible news. “Someone with access to the codes systematically closed blast doors on the crew, forcing them to the cargo hold where they were trapped.”

“Someone with access to the codes?” Yagi said sharply, and Shouto wasn’t the only one who straightened at the power in his tone. “Who?”

“We aren’t sure who precisely,” Bakugou said. “But we know how. When we entered the cargo hold we were attacked.” 

“I thought you said there were no survivors.” 

“Not…exactly,” Izuku hedged, sending Shouto a worried glance. He was trying to protect him even now. But they couldn’t keep this a secret, not if they wanted to stop this.

“They were Drifters,” Shouto said bluntly. “Someone has taken control of them and is using them to sabotage Starfleet.” 

“Drifters? Are you certain?” Yagi looked up, beyond the screen, distracted, but Shinsou spoke up, drawing his attention. 

“Yes, sir. I was able to sense them. That, and before one of them died, it was able to pass on a message. It said ‘help me’.” 

Yagi frowned. “Lieutenant Hitoshi Shinsou.” 

Shinsou winced. “Yes, sir.” 

Yagi looked at him for a long moment. “It appears we owe you an apology.” 

Shinsou’s eyes widened. “Sir?” 

“And you?” Yagi directed at Shouto. “You appear to be a Drifter as well, but you do not seem to be attacking anyone.” 

Izuku spoke before Shouto could figure out what to say to that. “No, sir. In fact, Lieutenant Shouto is the reason we are alive in the first place.” Something on Yagi’s end crashed to the floor and the man’s gaze flickered in concern, but Izuku wasn't done. “He restored local communications and located the bomb, and it’s largely thanks to him that repairs have progressed as swiftly as they have.”

“Oh? Then you have my thanks, Lieutenant Shouto…?” Yagi said, looking elsewhere.

“Shouto Todoroki,” Shouto finished, only barely resisting the urge to loudly deny the captain’s words because he had attacked them. But he could hardly find the words to say before Yagi’s eyes snapped back to the screen, shocked, only for the view of his face to be violently upended when the camera was jerked by someone unseen. 

Shouto reeled back as a very familiar face filled the viewscreen, throwing him more thoroughly than if the deck had been ripped from beneath his feet. His Father stared at him with equal shock, bringing with it a multitude of complicated emotions with its abrupt introduction, and yet it was not quite the face he knew. Enji’s cheeks were gaunt and stubbled with red and grey, and his hair was in disarray as if he had not taken a moment to rest or groom for weeks. But even more stark than that was the massive scar that bisected the left side of his face, and an expression that Shouto could say with surety that he had never witnessed directed at him, much less anyone else in Shouto’s memory. 

“Shouto,” Admiral Enji Todoroki breathed, and Shouto couldn’t control his expression at all. “You’re alive!” 

Shouto half stood from his seat before freezing again, off balance. “Father?” What was going on? Why was Enji looking at him like that?

But just as soon as the foreign vulnerability was displayed, Enji’s face crumpled into much more familiar anger and Shouto straightened. “What the hell are you doing on the Falcon? I thought you were dead!” 

“What? Why?” Shouto’s eyes flickered around the room, skittering over the Izuku and Bakugou before flicking to the door on old instinct. “I was transferred to the Falcon months ago and my body should still be on Earth.” 

“Transferred?” Enji hissed, a low growl in his voice, and Shouto felt dread rise in him like an illness. “I would never have approved that had I known, but for once I’m grateful for your childish defiance.” Enji pinched the bridge of his nose, the furrows around his mouth deepening. “The Sandrunner was found destroyed right after Section 31 went up in flames.”

Somewhere in the room, someone inhaled sharply. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything. “What are you saying?” he whispered.

“I was on my way to check your progress when it happened,” Enji said, voice scraping in a way that Shouto could barely recognize. “If I hadn’t been running late, I would have been killed along with everyone else. As it was, I was lucky to escape with my life.” A fine-boned hand landed on Enji’s shoulder and the camera was once again shifted as Enji was guided into a seat where he buried his face and did not look up. Yagi reappeared, sitting beside him and settling the camera back on his desk. Enji did not brush off the admiral’s hand, so there it remained. Shouto found that he could not take his eyes off it. “After that, I tried to reach you on the Sandrunner, but it too had been destroyed. I thought you were gone.”

“Toshi?” Izuku said faintly. 

“I’m afraid it’s true. It was part of the reason we recalled everyone to Earth. The entire public archives, including the Starfleet facilities below, were bombed and we have not been able to recover anything. Everyone who was working there is presumed dead.”  

Dead.

Shouto stumbled back into his seat, sitting down heavily. He stared at the table without seeing it. There was a roaring in his ears that made the rest of the voices in the room sound muffled as conversation resumed around him. He flinched when he felt a dry finger brush over the back of his hand, the waves of his shock receding enough for him to take a breath. Shouto snatched the hand before it could retreat and Shinsou winced. Shouto lightened his grip as sound returned to him, clutching his friend like a lifeline.  

“– absolutely sure that nothing remains?” Izuku was saying, freckles standing out starkly on his pale face. 

“Nothing. I’m sorry, my boy,” Yagi said softly. 

“But that doesn’t mean much, if we know that at least some of the Drifters are being used by someone,” Bakgou said, and Shouto was intensely grateful that the commander wasn’t looking at him because he had no idea what expression he had on his face. “And we know for a fact now that this has been going on for at least a decade, if not longer. There may be other bases of operation out there. I’d bet that Section 31 was only destroyed to cover their asses.”

Shouto started breathing again. Bakugou was probably right. It didn't mean anything. It didn’t mean anything.

“Over a decade?” Yagi said, frowning.

“I’ve been compiling all incidents of reported piracy or accidents on Starfleet holdings,” Kirishima said, breaking into the tension tentatively. He referenced his padd nervously. “The dilithium mining colony on Amorik’s moon was closed due to a gas leak eleven years ago. The adamantium shipments going to Vulcan were lost in a space anomaly that our scientists couldn’t explain. The Endeavor three years ago–”

“Electrical failure,” Shouto said, and Enji’s head jerked up. Shouto refused to acknowledge him. 

"And multiple other instances besides," Kirishima summarized. "The accidents may be different, but they all had one thing in common; no one could definitively pinpoint the cause and the investigations were closed."

Izuku rallied after a moment of tense silence. "Someone has been stealing resources from Starfleet for a long time. Precious metals, dilithium, and plasma, to name a few, but the Endeavor was the first attempt to blatantly sabotage Starfleet as far as we can tell. Lieutenant Shouto was able to confirm that on its last mission, the Endeavor carried a bomb much like the one that we found on the Falcon.”

Enji stuttered. “You found a bomb on my ship and you said nothing?”  

Something in Shouto’s chest hardened and it was with cold eyes that he regarded his Father. Somehow it was so much worse to hear the accusation from him than to hear it from himself, and he found that he couldn't abide it, not from him.  “It was Toya’s ship,” he said acidly. “And I did not know at the time that it was a bomb. I believed–” he glanced at Aizawa, whose expression said nothing and everything at once. “I was led to believe that it was my error that led to the Endeavor’s destruction.”

“Led to believe?” Enji was frowning now and Shouto could not decipher his expression. 

“Likely by the very man who told you the same,” Shouto said flatly. 

“No one told me anything of the sort. I had the remains of the ship scoured from top to bottom and all we could tell was that a power surge had caused the warp core to detonate. Who told you that it was your fault?”

“...What?” Shouto stared at Aizawa.

“Is this the reason you refused to speak to me for all this time?” Enji said sharply. “Do you really think I would have believed that you could make an error so egregious that it could take down an entire ship? Don’t be ridiculous. Despite how you insist on pretending to be incompetent, I know you’re not.”  

“But…” Shouto said before abruptly dropping his gaze. “Shigaraki.”

“Shigaraki?” The admiral’s right eye widened, his left held immobile by his scar. “You think Doctor Shigaraki has something to do with this?” 

Shouto’s chin jerked in acknowledgment, reeling. He was starting to believe he had no idea what was real anymore, that he never really had. All of the months he’d spent in the facility, and Shigaraki personally overseeing his rehabilitation while he was isolated from everyone else, lying to him over and over again and he never thought to question why he never saw the other Drfiters, why he was chosen in the first place. He couldn’t, because he’d been programmed – conditioned – not to, and before that, he’d been in too much pain to care. 

Was everything a lie?

He cleared his throat, willing his voice to remain steady. “He’s involved, at the very least. Recent evidence has come to light that my memories were deliberately altered to perpetuate the idea that I was responsible for the Endeavor. It was only in the last hour that I was able to recall the specifics of the incident.” Shouto bit his lip. “That’s not all. I have been weaponized and I am of a more sophisticated build than the other Drifters we’ve encountered, though I am not sure why. My records were falsified.” 

Enji stood abruptly, turning his back on the screen. He took several deep breaths before growling, “I don’t know why the Endeavor was targeted initially, but I believe I know why the attacks have been escalating in the past few years.”

Yagi frowned at his back. “Todoroki–”

“Those bastards might have been stealing the materials they needed, but they didn’t have the facilities or the talent required to bring the Drifter program to fruition. I’ve been personally funding Doctor Shigaraki’s efforts in Section 31 since Toya’s death.” 

“What?” Shouto gasped. “Why?”

“I had to save your life!” Enji yelled, swiping a hand through the air violently. Shouto flinched and immediately hated himself for it, fixing Enji with a glare. “There was no guarantee that you would have survived half cooked as you were! The only way to save you was to make sure the Drifter program succeeded. I’d already lost your mother and Toya and I refused to lose you too!” Enji looked away again, narrowing his eyes at nothing Shouto could see. “What I don’t understand is why the fuck Shigaraki would do this.”

If Shouto didn’t intellectually know that it was impossible, he would absolutely believe he was dreaming. He hadn’t known any of this. Enji had been checking his progress at Section 31, had personally funded the program to, what, save him? After a lifetime of proving to Shouto that he didn’t give a damn, he comes to him with this? Was he really so concerned about losing his damned legacy that he would resort to throwing all of his backing behind a program he barely understood on the off chance Shouto would survive?

More importantly, had Shigaraki only approached Shouto because of a deal he’d made with Enji for the resources he could provide? Had they both been played? It seemed that once again, Shouto was being used because of who he was related to and now he had to wonder just how much of this had been premeditated. Yet, at least some of it must have been coincidental, because there was no possible way they could have predicted that Shouto would survive. It was only luck that the station was able to beam him from the ship before it was too late. So was it providence then, a lucky break for the bastards that would tear Starfleet to the ground?

“I think the admiral is onto something,” Kirishima said, grinding that train of thought to a halt. “The incidents that appeared to be accidents stopped after Endeavor’s demise and the reported piracy raids began escalating with the Stella.”

 “That was when people began disappearing,” Izuku said with quiet anger. Bakugou was stonily silent beside him, glaring unerringly at Enji. “Do you think that they’re taking them to turn into more Drifters?” 

“If Shigaraki perfected the transfer of memories from Starfleet officers into Drifters then that would mean he has who knows how many with intimate knowledge of Starfleet workings entirely under his control.” Enji fondled his chin. “But Shigaraki isn’t the type of man who could lead others in a plan such as this. He simply doesn’t have the charisma for it.” 

Shouto privately agreed. Brilliant he may be, but a leader of men he was not. The Shigaraki he remembered was unbalanced, prone to unpleasant mood swings and a childish way of speaking that grated. Shouto had been terribly grateful when he’d finally been released from the facility to resume active duty, if only to leave that man’s unsettling presence. He couldn’t imagine that Shigaraki had the foresight to plan and execute something like this.

“Whether it is the machinations of one man or not, ” Yagi said. “If we are going to assume that all bad luck since the Endeavor was because of this, then we can’t discount the failed missions in the recent past either.” 

“You think the mission on Delta Vega was part of this too,” Bakugou said flatly, finally speaking up. 

“I wouldn’t discount it,” Yagi postulated. “The Falcon was only redirected to Delta Vega because the Ragdoll was reassigned.” 

“Yeah, funny how you were the one to assign us to that mission,” Bakugou said darkly, glaring at Enji, who curled his lip. 

“Watch your tone, Commander. I had nothing to do with your abysmal failure on Delta Vega.” 

Bakugou pushed himself off the wall, facing them squarely. “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t set up. Don’t you think that it’s an interesting coincidence that the man who was apparently funding a terrorist organization sent us on what turned out to be a suicide mission? Or did the outbreak of a civil war between the Cillians and the Vit’na just get lost in the paperwork?”

Enji’s face flushed with rage. “Careful, boy. That almost sounds like insubordination.” 

Bakugou bared his teeth.

“Bakugou, I went through the mission brief personally,” Yagi said gravely. “We were just as in the dark about the situation there as you were. Before you arrived, we had no word that things had gotten that bad.”

Bakugou’s scowl eased when his eyes shifted to Yagi. “Why were you in the dark, Admiral? Why exactly was our information so incomplete when we’d purportedly had the planet monitored for months beforehand? Why do these fuckers seem to know where every ship in the fleet is going to be before they get there? I highly doubt one crazy asshole running a privately funded project could get ahold of that kind of intel without some serious security clearance.” He looked pointedly back to Enji. “You said you had the Endeavor’s remains investigated, but the source of the warp core failure was never found. Why did you stop pursuing it? Why do investigations that should have been pursued for years keep getting dropped?” 

“What are you saying, son? That someone from Starfleet itself is behind this?” Yagi said.

“I’m saying that you should watch your back, old man,” Bakugou stated plainly. “We don’t have the whole story, and I ain’t about to assume anything at this point. Someone tried to take out the fleet’s flagship early in the game and when that failed, they came for us personally. Lucky for us, they fucked off like a goddamned Bond villain before the job was done.” 

“What about DS7 then?” Kirishima said, frowning. “Did they go after it just because it was close by?” 

“Wouldn’t be surprised if it was a test run of some sort,” Shinsou mused darkly. “I felt what those Drifters experienced before they died. They were scared, and at least one of them was trying to fight off their programming. Shouto actually succeeded. What if they don’t have as tight control over the Drifters as they need to and they were using the station as a trial?” 

“A trial for what, exactly?” Enji snapped. “Do they seriously believe that they can take down Starfleet itself?”

“You forget that the Drifters are Starfleet, Admiral. It will be like fighting ourselves,” Izuku mumbled into his palm, eyes distant. 

“And in the meantime, this fucking cloaked ship is out there killing as many of us as they can,” Bakugou snarled. “And the timing is suspect, too. The Ingenium, the Sandrunner, and the attack on the Archives all went down within days of us so either they’ve somehow figured out how to break warp 8…”

“Or there’s more than one ship,” Izuku realized.

“I think it’s about time we started calling in some backup.”

“You may be right,” Yagi said. “The problem is, if it’s one of us that’s behind all of this, then everything you’ve just revealed can’t leave this room. It would be unwise to tip them off that we’ve cottoned on.”

Bakugou cursed, scrubbing a hand through his hair roughly. 

“For now, we’re shored up around Earth and Earth’s defenses are at full diligence.”

“What about the other stations? And the colonies,” Izuku fretted. 

“If what we suspect is true then that ship was out there specifically to take out the Falcon, and DS7 was collateral damage. Everyone has already been alerted to the danger since we recalled the ships to Earth and I’m afraid that is all we can do for them right now. I’m more concerned about you. That ship is still out there and there’s no guarantee that it won’t come back for you to finish the job. From here there’s nothing I can do to help.” The admiral looked devastated by the fact too, as though he wished he could commandeer a ship and rescue them personally. 

“We may not be able to make a move, but your long-range communications are back online,” Enji pointed out, folding his arms. “Contact Sandos and ask for aid. They are the closest Federation planet to you with the firepower you'll need.”

“And if it’s intercepted?” Bakugou shot back. “Probably the only reason we haven’t been attacked again was that they had no way of knowing we were alive without checking themselves.” 

“This call right now may have already compromised you,” Enji said shortly. “That’s just a risk you’ll have to take. Our allies will be able to get to you faster than we can and that’s better than nothing. In the meantime, you’re on your own.” 

“I’m afraid we need to go,” Yagi said, the wrinkles around his mouth deepening with a frown. “It is better you do not send us anything concrete, just in case it falls into the wrong hands. In the meantime, Admiral Todoroki and I will be conducting our own investigation. Discreetly.” 

“Shouto,” Enji said and Shouto regarded him cautiously. “I don’t know what they were planning to do with you, but if I didn’t know where you were then it’s possible they don’t either.” Shouto nodded slowly. It wasn’t lost on him that the Sandrunner had been attacked, what that meant. “Shigaraki is erratic and there’s no predicting what he’s going to do next, but you can bet he’s pissed you got away from him if you’re as specialized as you say. Just be careful, son.” 

Don’t, Shouto wanted to say. Don’t pretend like you care, because Enji only ever called Shouto ‘son’ like Shouto called him Father, both titles designed to make Shouto feel like a possession. Shouto was so tired of being used. “...Yes, Admiral.”

Enji nodded once and abruptly left. Yagi watched him walk away before giving them all a long look. “I know you can’t promise to stay safe, so all I’ll say for now is good luck. You are the best and the brightest Starfleet has to offer and I know you’ll make it through this.”

Bakugou and Izuku saluted, standing side by side. “Good luck to you as well, Admiral,” Izuku said. Yagi offered them one last smile before the screen went dark. 

Silence fell, too heavy for Shouto to bear, their eyes abrasive against his skin. Kirishima looked between them all in confusion before standing and excusing himself hastily. No one reacted when the door closed behind him.

“Kid,” Aizawa started. 

“I,” Shouto said. “I need a moment.” He covered his eyes, the darkness behind his lids granting him momentary relief from the building overstimulation of this terribly long, fraught day. And it wasn’t even lunchtime. “Please.” 

“Come on,” Shinsou said, taking his hand from Shouto's slackened grip before pulling away. “I think I need that checkup, anyway.” 

Aizawa said nothing. Shouto didn’t look up. Eventually, the two of them followed Kirishima out.

When the silence resumed, it was slightly less abrasive and Shouto let out a shuddering sigh. Over his head, Bakugou and Izuku held a silent conference and Shouto’s chest hitched when a warm hand rubbed gently over his bowed neck. 

“Come on,” Izuku said gently. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Coaxed to his feet, Shouto could only follow numbly as the captain led him out of the ready room and onto the bridge, not even pausing when Bakugou broke away momentarily to have a brief discussion with Ochaco before catching up. Shouto’s hand twitched when a strong, calloused palm wrapped around his, feeling like an invalid as Izuku led him through the halls but too wrung out to care. Bakugou walked in front and snarled at anyone who stood in their path, but luckily there were few and they made it to their destination without incident. 

They stepped into a part of the ship Shouto had never had cause to visit before. The officer’s mess was a small kitchen and bar reserved for diplomatic hospitality and private meals for the captain and bridge crew, and thus no one was in attendance during the middle of the alpha shift. Shouto winced at the bright light over the bar area as he was led inside, too raw for the visual contrast when all he wanted was to curl up beneath the covers of his bunk.

“Computer,” Izuku started, only to pause as the lights yellowed and dimmed, leaving them in a comfortable dusk. Izuku opened his mouth again, but soft jazz music began to play. He blinked at Bakugou. 

“You setting the mood for us, snowflake?” Bakugou said, raising a brow. 

“Hm?” Shouto mumbled, relaxing in instant relief of the dim lighting, vaguely recognizing the song that was playing. It reminded him of a small coffee shop he’d frequented around campus in San Francisco…back when things were simpler.

Bakugou offered Izuku a shrug, but Shouto didn’t notice, eyes closed as he chased the thread of nostalgia. 

The next thing Shouto knew, he was sitting on a bar stool nursing the glass of whiskey that Bakugou put in front of him without fanfare, Izuku receiving the same at his side. It didn’t seem to matter that they all should have been on duty and Shouto couldn’t bring himself to give a damn, certain that he would be useless regardless. Bakugou moved around the kitchen behind the bar and updated the captain on mundane ship reports that accumulated while Izuku was working in Engineering, and it would seem as though they were ignoring him if not for the captain’s shoulder pressed solidly against his. Their voices washed over Shouto, soothing as he let himself drift. 

For a while, he didn't allow himself to think about anything. Couldn't, after all of that, not when it felt like his entire perception had been turned on its head violently enough to unhinge him. Everything he thought he knew was a lie. 

One day. Shouto just wished he had one day to decompress from all of this, one day for things to be normal. But it had been a long time since his life had resembled anything like normalcy, and now it was likely that it never would again. So in lieu of that impossibility, he allowed himself this moment to pretend that everything was okay, that it was commonplace for him to sit at a bar with his captain and commander and share an afternoon in casual companionship. If he could concentrate just enough on the soft music in the air and the enticing smell of whatever it was Bakugou was making, if he could relax just enough into Izuku's warmth and the soothing cadence of their low voices, he could almost delude himself into thinking things were okay. Just for a moment. 

Shouto wasn’t certain how much time had passed before Bakugou placed a plate of ravioli in front of him, but it must have been at least an hour because Bakugou’s wrists were covered in flour and Izuku’s whiskey was long gone. He’d made it from scratch. 

“...Pasta again?” Shouto said, monotone. He blinked slowly, feeling as though he was pulling himself out of a deep pool of water to take in his surroundings again. 

“You like it,” Bakugou said simply and so Shouto nodded mechanically and picked up a fork. 

He sighed around the first bite, eyes closed in defeat. It was delicious. His fork tines clicked softly as he set it down against the glass counter. 

“My body is most likely destroyed.” 

Behind the bar, Bakugou fell still. Izuku shifted, the fabric of his shirt rubbing over Shouto’s. “We don’t know that.” 

“You don’t understand,” Shouto said, the words trembling as they left him. He felt syrupy and slow, and it had nothing to do with the whiskey. He tried to speak, but all he could see was the tubes and wires poking out of his destroyed skin, keeping his heart pumping, the amputations and surgeries he’d endured before his Drifter body was ready just to stay alive, the last moments before he closed his remaining eye and the stasis pod’s cool atmosphere wrapped around him, putting him to sleep for the long months of healing his body would require. 

Instead of words, Shouto exhaled sharply, fist clenched over his chest as if he could force the rising dread back down. He hadn’t wanted to think about this, but now he had no choice but to face it. Now that he was beginning to understand the extent of Shigaraki’s lies, who was to say that he didn't lie about this too? He’d told him it would take years to heal the damage, but what if the lie wasn’t just how long it would take, but that he was doing anything about it at all? It was entirely possible they disposed of his body the second he was transferred. It wasn’t as if Shouto had been able to bring himself to visit when he’d been going through rehabilitation, too afraid that it would be like looking at his own corpse.

That can’t be true, he reasoned with himself. Enji had been funding Section 31, and he wasn’t the kind of man that would simply take Shigaraki’s word on the progress they were making. No, he’d said he was checking in personally, so he must have been overseeing their progress for himself. But that didn't mean they didn’t leave him behind when they abandoned Section 31. Why take along the dead weight, after all? 

“Whatever you're thinking, cut it out,” Bakugou said calmly, and heat flared in Shouto’s throat. “They could have cleared everything out months before the terrorist attack. If someone in the brass is pulling the strings–”

“Why would they drag around a cripple?” Shouto interrupted sharply, despair curdling into anger. His voice raised until he was nearly shouting, and dammit he was doing it again but he couldn’t seem to stop. His fugue lifted like a mist in a strong gust of wind, revealing the treacherous footing beneath and suddenly things were too loud again, too bright, too overwhelming. “What would be the point? They already had everything they could take from my Father and they had me under their control! No,” Shouto slammed his hand on the bar and Izuku jerked at the sharp noise of their glasses jumping over the polished countertop. “He’s dead. He’s dead and all of this was for nothing.”

Everything he’d been through, everything he’d endured since Toya’s death was so that one day he could return to some semblance of normalcy, to live the life Toya would have wanted for him. Now that dream was irrevocably gone and Shouto had nothing. What small spark of hope remained before he’d learned of Section 31’s destruction – that even if Shigaraki lied there was some minute chance that they could recover his body and finish what he started – was snuffed out, just like Shouto Todoroki’s beating heart. Perhaps it had been foolish to hold on to that hope even after he’d faced his gruesome mirror in the Drifter he’d been forced to destroy. Like a desperate man clinging to a cliff’s edge only for the bedrock to crumble beneath his fingers – the ground was never stable to begin with.

“Do you really believe that?” Izuku said fiercely, spinning on his stool to face him fully, peering up into Shouto’s face. “Are you seriously going to sit there and say that nothing that you’ve done since you’ve become a Drifter matters? What about the people you’ve saved? What about the friends you’ve made? What about–” his voice dropped and he met Bakugou’s eyes before pinning Shouto with a fierce frown. “What about us?” 

Shouto pressed his lips together, but there was no way to avoid the captain’s gaze. He didn’t have an answer to give that wouldn’t hurt them both so he didn’t say anything, watching Izuku’s face fall.

“So you’re just going to give up?” Bakugou demanded, throwing the cloth he’d been using into the sink with a splat, all semblance of calm abandoned to his temper. “You’re going to just roll over for these assholes after what they did? Are you that much of a fucking coward that a little setback like this is going to stop you?” 

“A little setback?” Shouto said with disbelief, fury rising to match. “A little setback? I’m dead!” 

“No, you’re fucking not!” Bakugou leaned threateningly over the counter, jabbing Shouto in his chest hard enough to bruise. “You’re right here in front of me whining like a bitch instead of putting your energy into getting some payback! We ain’t going to just let you give up like this, not on my watch!” 

Shouto hissed, slapping his hand away. “What the fuck! Maybe I just need a goddamn moment to mourn the fact that the only thing I was living for is gone!” 

“Then it’s time to start living for something else!” Bakugou shouted back, unknowingly echoing Aizawa's words from weeks ago.  “For fuck’s sake, frosty, you got people who love you right here! Stop living in the past like the ghosts are the only ones who matter and open your eyes!” He picked up the wet cloth again like he would love nothing more than to smack Shouto with it before wringing it with more violence than necessary, pointedly turning his back with a low growl. “Now would you just eat your fucking pasta? It took forever to make!” He devolved into incoherent grumbling and scrubbed the counters as if they’d insulted his mother. 

Shouto sputtered, stared, looked at Izuku whose eyes were just as wide, then glanced down at his plate. It was still steaming, the squares of pasta pressed into divots precisely the size of Bakugou’s fingertips, careful and patient in a way his words never were. Shouto choked, then collapsed forward, nearly face-planting into his food as he dissolved into laughter, the amusement so unexpected that he startled himself. Bakugou’s shoulders were right up to his ears like he was waiting for a blow to strike just between his shoulder blades and Shouto couldn’t help but compare him to a bristling cat. 

“You’re so,” he gasped, nearly incoherent. “You’re so bad at this!” because Bakugou still sucked at confessions and it was growing on Shouto against all odds. Maybe he had come unhinged after all, to find that endearing.

“Shaddup, I don’t want to hear that from you, ice queen!” Bakugou hissed, but he couldn’t hide the smile barely visible around the sharp profile of his jaw. His shoulders eased as Shouto tried and failed to regain his composure. 

Izuku looked between them before shaking his head in mock despair. “Oh my god, I think I have a type,” he mumbled, and Shouto just laughed harder, some of the pressure dissipating in a wave of mirth. 

They managed to finish lunch without further incident and Shouto found that he savored every bite. As terrible as Bakugou was at comforting people, he knew what the hell he was doing around comfort food. While Bakugou cleared out their plates rather than leaving them to a yeoman, Izuku pulled Shouto into a half embrace. 

“Don’t give up hope just yet, Shouchan. It might not be as bad as you fear. And even if your body is gone,” he pulled Shouto closer, pressing their foreheads together, “we’ll be right here every step of the way and we’ll get through this together. It’s going to be alright. Do you believe me?”

 Shouto swallowed roughly, cheese still a pleasant aftertaste in his mouth and shoulders warm where Izuku touched him. “Yes” he whispered, and despite everything he’d just learned, his certainty that whatever terrible luck he seemed to be cursed with wasn’t done with him yet…he found that he meant it. 

Izuku smiled, “Good,” before gently pressing their lips together. Shouto sighed and leaned into it, catching the hand extended and letting it pull him to more stable ground. As he curled a palm around Izuku’s jaw he resolved to hold on with both hands this time, making a silent vow to himself then and there to not allow one more thing he cared about to be taken from him. The code controlling him was countered, and with it, the guilt that had burdened him for so long proven false. And now, with all hope of returning to his body gone, so was the final chain that Shigaraki had to shackle him. Nothing was stopping him from – as Bakugou said – putting all of his energy into getting some payback.

The next time Shigaraki dared to cross his path, Shouto would be ready.

Chapter Text

The Falcon was behaving oddly.

Shouto couldn’t put his finger on exactly what the problem was, but there was something…off. She felt sluggish, almost distracted, normal processes taking longer than they should, a negligible but not imperceptible delay. And Shouto just couldn’t find the source.

The Falcon’s power had been restored to nearly full capacity – as full capacity as it could be until they could replace the damaged power relays. Even with those limitations, they were hours away from reaching full warp capability. His engineers were in the process of bringing the Warp Core online, testing it for any remaining issues, things Shouto’s scanners might not necessarily pick up before it became a problem. More and more of the ship was going green in his sensors, and while it wouldn’t be anywhere close to the Falcon fresh out of space dock, what they had accomplished with what little they had was staggering. It was cathartic, blood washing away from a slowly healing wound, scarred but whole once more. 

Shouto was… proud . He could feel some fierce and protective thing rise in him for those working night and day to bring the ship back from the brink. He was one of the youngest in the department, yet he couldn’t help but feel the grinning parent at his child’s graduation, the crew of the Falcon passing all the tests the unforgiving universe could throw at them with flying colors. Reminding himself they were the best in the fleet for a reason did nothing to lessen the sensation. If anything, he felt privileged to be among them, a sensation so foreign he could barely process it. How far he had come from the man accustomed to being a ghost, content in the background doing the bare minimum of his capability. It felt like such a waste in the wake of the world-changing knowledge that he could have this – a crew that respected him, work that challenged him, a group of people he felt genuinely comfortable with and sought for company. 

It was an irony of ironies that Shouto knew love more intimately as an android than he ever had as a Human.

That being said, to his great consternation Shouto now found himself at loose ends. So thorough had his guidance been that they hardly needed him haunting Engineering anymore. “Quit hovering over us like we don’t know how to run flight simulations,” Murata had growled when he’d been doing just that. “We’ll tell you if there’s a problem, now get out of my face!”  The department was running smoothly as they prepared the ship to begin her journey home. So smoothly, in fact, that Shouto almost begrudged them their efficiency. 

For all the progress they were making, for every step forward, Shouto felt wobbly, a spacewalker stepping onto Earth after months without gravity. He needed to keep busy, needed something to distract from the instability inside, stagnant as pools left by the tide or rushing over him when the moon pulled the oceans landward, dragging him into the unforgiving currents. If not hovering over his charges or flying through the backlog of paperwork so neglected – that too, was resolved too quickly, damn his superior processors– then Shouto was doing everything in his power to not think. If that meant stalking the halls and cataloging every paint chip or scorch mark, if that meant overindulging in his sleep cycles and sinking into blissful dreamlessness where his mind could finally stop , if that meant seeking the presence of his few but steadfast friends and distracting them from their own duties – well, Shouto could at least say that he was keeping himself busy. 

Anything but the quiet. Anything but the unfettered memories that now snagged and caught in his too-crowded head and the emotions that he’d forgotten could be so potent, disentombed now from the shroud of apathy that had been his existence since the Endeavor’s demise – since his birth, he supposed, since the very beginning. He’d never really been Shouto had he? No, can’t think like that, he’d shatter –  Shouto could not suffer the stillness, was not in a state of mind to exist in silence. 

Stillness meant sinking into the tension, the anticipation of some great beast stalking through the foliage and stifling the birdsong with fear. What had he been made for? What did Shigaraki want from him, that he would turn Shouto into a weapon so far beyond the other Drifters? Shouto still didn’t know the extent of those distinctions and he was almost too afraid to look now that he could. He feared to delve too deeply, frightened of the careless monster he’d become on the station, so unconcerned with the sanctity of life and untethered by sentiment. He knew in part that that was the compulsions, but what if that wasn’t all? What if it was some manifestation of the him (the it?) before Todoroki’s memories wiped it all away?

What had the being before Todoroki endured? 

Because Shouto remembered now, and it sat heavy in a way that it hadn’t before. It wasn’t just the memories he’d regained from the events of the Endeavor, not quite, because those he’d at least had time to come to terms with. They felt distant to him now in a way that they hadn’t been when his programming had forced him to relive the very worst parts, so conveniently aided by the Human mind’s propensity to more easily recall events enmired in the strongest emotions – fear, joy, pain, those memories that helped you learn to avoid the hurt or seek the pleasure, fragments of the whole, altered by perception and smoothed away by time. No, it was the memories of after that haunted him now. It was waking on that cold slab, his Human counterpart suspended behind him, unable to look for the fear of what he’d find. It was the adjustment to existence as an AI, the long hours he’d spent in Shigaraki’s isolated laboratory adapting to stimuli, learning his new body beneath the avarice of scientists who cared nothing for him. They hadn’t seen him as a person, hadn’t talked to him directly unless he was undergoing some test, spoke of him as if he wasn’t there. 

At the time, Shouto hadn’t been bothered. It was not unlike the way he’d known growing up under Enji’s iron rule, part of why he hadn’t recognized it as the abuse it was in his lack of experience with a better way. But it wasn’t just that. He hadn’t cared about much of anything through the acclimatization from an existence of rage and pain to his new reality – the numbness, the chill, the simulated fear. It was so very stark to him now, just how far from the original man he’d drifted. Not even his anger at Enji that had so defined Shouto was any more than a weary breath to the bellows that once fanned his resentment.

But wasn’t it Human nature to change and adapt and heal? Would it be so very different if he’d remained an organic being and experienced the same things, learned the same love? Would he have set aside his anger with Enji on his own? Shouto would never know.

So Shouto had allowed their disregard, their prodding, the careless touches against his skin, no matter that they never asked or were concerned with his consent in the first place. Or perhaps ‘allowed’ was not quite right. Obedience was in his forging, after all. The one blessing he could find solace in was that, for all that Doctor Shigaraki seemed to regard him as his magnum opus, his greatest work of art, he had never touched or hinted toward Shouto’s sexual functionality or anything so intimate in nature, never violated him that way. At least, not that Shouto could remember. It could have been before he was Shouto, that nebulous time before Todoroki’s memories, where they must have developed his defensive capabilities and whatever other horrors he otherwise couldn’t recall. All of those things kept secret from him, of which his foreknowledge would have compromised his mission. Whatever that may be.

The glare of a single red light, a grimace of steel and ruined skin, she wanted his help but he’d destroyed her instead, just another lost life in the tomb of a desiccated station. That could have been him. It might still be him.

Shouto took a slow breath. Released it, and with it, the memory. Would that his other musings were so easily repressed. 

He may never know what happened to him before he became this. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was not a burden he felt fit to carry on top of everything else. Let it stay buried, if it existed at all. Let the universe grant him this one mercy.

As for what would come, he could only hope that it was something he could overcome. At least now he wasn’t alone, pillars holding him up instead of just the one that crumbled to ruin. That, too, worried Shouto, because this time he had so much further to fall.  

Only chains and ruin lay in wait for him in the depths, and then he’d be right back where he started. Should that come to pass again, Shouto wasn’t certain he would be able to climb back up.

“Are you alright, Mr. Shouto?” 

Shouto inhaled slowly, flexing his fingers over the terminal that he realized he’d been standing over for – he checked the time – ten minutes without moving. “Hm?” He looked up, blinking into Kouda’s concerned gaze. He’d forgotten that he’d had company. He’d scarcely been alone these past few days, not necessarily solicited on his part but he could not begrudge it when it beat back the intrusive thoughts. He found himself in company today more than usual, though Shouto was too distracted to question why he hadn’t spent a moment without Kouda or Mei by his side. Frankly, he was too comforted to care.

“Are you alright,” Kouda repeated, wringing his hands. His fingertips were scabbed over again. 

Shouto huffed, offered his friend a wry smile. “Can we just assume that the answer is no and that it will be no for a very long time,” he joked, but it rang with too much truth to strike amusement. Humor. He was still mystified by it, but he was trying.

Despite his poor attempt, Kouda’s lips twitched, the thread of his fingers easing just a bit. “Very funny, Mr. Shouto. Are you stuck on something? Do you need help?” 

Shouto’s head rolled on his neck, chin hanging over the terminal again as he stared down yet another dead end. He felt foggy, like waking after an unsatisfying nap. “I am not certain you can help. I can’t seem to find a problem.” 

Kouda’s brows rose. “If there’s no problem, then what are you doing?” 

“It’s not that there isn’t a problem, exactly. It is that I can’t find it.” He resumed the screen to its idle state and pulled back with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead. It didn’t help. There was no pain to ease, just a persistent fog. “In the past couple of days, I’ve noticed that the ship’s processors are running slower than usual.”  

It was only Mei’s mild complaint that the ship's computer wasn’t running at full efficiency that Shouto had found something productive to do, a task that actually occupied his intellect rather than busywork he could do by rote.

They stood in the chamber that housed the ship's central processing unit, a large cylindrical computer several stories tall that could be accessed via catwalks. It was a much smaller version of the one that ran DS7, but no less powerful for it. Strictly speaking, Shouto didn’t need to physically be there to access the unit. He could connect with it from any point in the ship, but that didn’t mean that his sensors were infallible. He could easily miss something since several power relays were still dark and the ship could not update him on their condition. So here he was, doing a direct interface with the CPU. 

Everything seemed in order. The CPU was designed to disconnect from the main power in the event of a power surge, which protected it from most of the damage of the initial attack. Delving deeper into the computer yielded little results as well. It was functioning more or less normally, save for the time it was taking to process usual requests. 

Shouto rubbed reflexively at his temple. It wasn’t necessarily a problem, per se; Mie’s complaints notwithstanding. The ship could run normally. But it was bothering him, mostly because he just couldn’t figure out what was causing it. Maybe he’d become spoiled with the instant gratification that came with the most advanced ship in the fleet, but he was so connected to the ship now that it was making him feel sluggish too. A symptom of his recent upheaval, perhaps, or in his more fanciful moments he could imagine that the ship was empathizing with him. A ridiculous notion, but he’d been prone to more flights of fancy since the inhibitor had been installed than he could recall ever being. He sighed and relaxed slightly as the ambient music surrounding him occupied his straying thoughts just enough that he could focus on running another simulation to pinpoint the delay.

“The music is playing again,” Kouda observed, staring in bemusement at the speakers overhead.

Shouto blinked and frowned, looking up at the speaker on the wall beside them. “Again?” he mumbled, reaching out with his sensors. A quick query showed that it was only that speaker that was playing it. It was the fourth time it had happened to him in this shift alone, the first being lunch in the officer’s mess. At the time, he’d been so distracted that he hadn't realized it for the anomaly that it was. It was an oddity that seemed to be following him, and it still took him a few moments to realize that music was playing at all because he was accustomed to it on some level. He’d used to listen to music constantly when he worked, back before the incident. It would soothe him when the thoughts became too loud, help him concentrate, something he hadn’t strictly needed since becoming a Drifter where compartmentalizing was as simple as switching thought streams. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the music until the ship started manifesting the habit all on its own. Shouto could only surmise that he was so in tune with the ship now that he was turning the music on unconsciously because no one else was reporting the anomalies.

“Just another thing,” he muttered, shaking his head. Where was his discipline, his focus? Where were the innumerable silent hours he’d been able to spend without distraction? It was as if he was a child again, hormones and emotions and daydreams distracting him from the machine efficiency to which he’d become accustomed. He couldn’t honestly say that he welcomed the return of this more hedonistic side of himself, the Human side of himself, that balked at endless hours of work and tantalized him with the escapism of waking dreams. He thought about food a lot. Did he always think this much about food? Dr. Aizawa would be pleased, at the very least.

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Kouda said, smiling at the pleasant jazz. “It’s kind of nice.” 

It was nice. Shouto adored jazz. But that wasn’t the issue. “I would feel more comfortable if I knew the cause.” 

“You mean you aren’t doing it on purpose?” 

“No,” Shouto said, frowning at the speakers. He turned it off with a thought and regretted only for a moment the silence that returned. Kouda hummed, a little disappointed but not particularly bothered, and returned to his padd. 

Shouto shook it off and resumed his search, tapping the monitor in front of him, but after a moment it was apparent that he was on the wrong path. Frustration furrowed his brow slightly. Another try then. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes sharpened with concentration as he ran the next simulation, distractions flitting away to leave him in peace. 

It was several minutes before he realized the music was playing again. Shouto sighed. Kouda giggled. 

Shouto’s capricious concentration scattered as he felt something, a ghost of sensation along his neural pathways, like a shove to his sternum. A second later, he received very strange readings from the ship’s sensors. A disturbance in one of the cargo bays. Shouto’s brows rose at the readings. 

“Shouto to the bridge,” Shouto said, tapping his emblem. Kouda looked up, question in his eyes.

“This is the Captain speaking. What can I do for you Mr. Shouto?” 

Shouto could hear the smile on Izuku’s voice, and his lips twitched to match automatically, the captain’s cheer infectious and Shouto’s control nonexistent. Kouda was smiling knowingly into his padd. Shouto ignored him.  “Captain, I’m picking up strange readings from Cargo Bay Three.”

“Ah,” Izuku chuckled, “Right, don’t worry about those. Kacchan is just blowing off some steam.”

Shouto nodded even though the captain couldn’t possibly see, relaxing. He was already fiddling with the monitor again, ready to test something else. “I see. I am sorry for disturbing you, Captain.” 

“No apologies necessary, I was just finishing up my shift. You should be finishing yours as well, right?” On the other side of the transmission, Shouto could just faintly hear Sero’s voice and, bemusingly enough, a catcall. Izuku hissed a reprimand and Shouto’s brows rose.

“Yes, Captain,” he answered, even as he scowled at the monitor that remained stubbornly absent of answers. He was tempted to keep working on it–

“Wonderful! You should join him in the cargo bay, he could probably use some company. Then we can get dinner!”  

Shouto promptly forgot what he was doing. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Captain.” 

“Great! I’ll meet you guys there in an hour. Don’t have too much fun without me!” A very distinct whistle and a ‘shut up!’ was the last thing Shouto heard before the comm went silent. 

Shouto stared blankly at the monitor for a few more seconds before huffing as he realized that the music had changed to something with a faster beat, smooth to swing, as if simulating the heart that existed only in memory. Great, now the ship was broadcasting his emotions. Kouda cackled, no longer even pretending to work and Shouto kicked his boot lightly. 

“Go on then, Mr. Shouto. I’m done for the day as well,” Kouda said, eyes dancing as he got to his feet. “I’ll see you later?” 

“...Yeah,” Shouto said, already looking toward the door, distracted. Kouda patted his shoulder with sympathy, though for what Shouto couldn’t fathom, and left him at the control panel with a wave over his shoulder and a mischievous wink.

Shouto shut off his workstation with a thought before leaving his investigation behind. He checked over his uniform for stains as he walked from the CPU, wondering if he should head to his quarters to change into something more casual. Then he felt ridiculous because he didn’t have anything casual to change into, and then even more ridiculous when he realized that he was worried about what he was wearing like some teenager on his first date. As if he needed leave to compare himself to a child more than he already had. 

Date, Shouto thought, dazed. I’m going on a date. There really was no other way to interpret it, though Shouto had never actually been on a date before. One-night stands, certainly. But no one had ever asked him to stay, his company just for the sake of it. It would be a first for him, like so many other things since boarding the Falcon .

Another pulse in his chest had Shouto quickening his steps. Whatever Bakugou was doing to ‘blow off steam’ must have been violent to set off his sensors like this. Shouto couldn’t say he was particularly surprised. Somehow he doubted that Bakugou was any more suited to stillness than Shouto. 

He heard his cantankerous shout before the door even opened. 

“Fuck, this isn’t working! Again!” 

The door swished open and Shouto had just enough time to allow it to close behind him before a concussive blast sent him reeling backward. Shouto stumbled, regaining his balance, phantom ringing in his ears. 

“Ha!” Lieutenant Kaminari crowed, his voice filtered through the speakers above. He was standing in the control room, leaning eagerly against the observation window far above the deck that had been cleared for whatever it was they were doing. “You’ll have to try better than that, loser!” 

Bakugou hissed, shaking out his fists before flipping the irreverent officer off. He was wearing regulation black under armor fitted snugly to his body, his command colors discarded for now. Over his back was some sort of brace and power nacelle, rigid conduits weaving over his arms into the gauntlets he’d worn on DS7, shimmering with the energy that Shouto had not had time to examine before. The energy was dissipated swiftly, but to Shouto’s sensors, it resembled the ship’s shields but compressed, not unlike the early experiments mankind had done to perfect the technology in the first place. Bakugou had weaponized it. 

“Again.”

“Coming in hot!” Kaminari said gleefully, adjusting something on the monitor in front of him. The air seemed to condense in the empty hanger and visible energy coalesced between several blocky devices embedded into the floor. Shouto watched in fascination as a shield independent of the ship sprung into being, large enough for someone to crouch behind and nearly invisible save for the occasional bolt of pure plasma snaking through the charged air. It was similar to the compact shields used in the brig, but freestanding without a loop or frame. How…?  

Bakugou braced one of his arms with the other, one foot planting behind him in a rifleman’s posture. “Fire in the hole!” he shouted gleefully before letting loose. His gauntlets whined, energy racing from the pack on his back and into his arm. For a split second, the gauntlet glowed brilliant blue before bursting with power and slamming into the small shield with enough force to shatter bone. This time Shouto knew to brace for it, so he was unmoved as his hair whipped about his face, impressed as the pack on Bakugou’s back sent out small bursts of energy behind him to keep him stabilized. 

The shield did not fare as well this time, it seemed, as one of the large devices spluttered and shot out sparks. The energy field flickered before winking out and Bakugou’s crow of victory barely outweighed Kaminari’s groan of despair. “Who’s the loser now, jackass! Pay up!” 

Kaminari sniffed, crossing his arms petulantly. “Quit acting like you actually did any of the hard work, Kat. Midoriya and Mei were the ones who built those gauntlets in the first place!” 

“My design,” Bakugou retorted. “As if those nerds could use this tech better than I can. Ain’t got nothing to do with the fact that your shield couldn’t take the heat.” 

“It did a couple of times! That’s got to count for something!” 

“Not good enough. Physical shields are still better. At least they aren’t going to quit on you in the middle of a damn firefight.” 

“Yeah, but you can’t take a physical shield with you! If I could just get the device compact enough…” 

Bakugou rolled his eyes. He paused as he realized that they had an audience, a teasing smirk wiping away his customary scowl. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, still addressing Kaminari. “Now get out of here, pikachu, I’ve got better things to do.” 

“What! That’s so mean, you volunteered –” Kaminari paused, noticing Shouto now. Shouto was suddenly deeply uncomfortable beneath his interest, uneasy with Kaminari’s knowing look.  “Oh-ho-ho! I got you, bro! See you at dinner?” 

“You fucking know the answer to that question, smartass.” 

Kaminari’s laughter was silent through the window as he cut off communication. He gave a cursory wave over his shoulder as he exited the observation room, leaving the two of them in peace.

Shouto shifted in place, still vaguely off-center in Bakgou’s presence but electrified in a way he couldn’t define. Bakugou was watching him, expression unreadable but shoulders at ease as he adjusted his gauntlets. 

“You going to just stand there, or are you going to gear up?” 

“Huh?” Shouto said eloquently, caught off guard. He’d been distracted by Bakugou’s bare feet, pants rolled up and surprisingly delicate ankles on display against the dark mat. Wait, mat? Sure enough, the floor had been covered with hard matting a good hundred feet square. 

When Shouto finally pulled his eyes back up, it was to find that Bakugou’s smirk had grown into something smug. “Like what you see, princess?” 

“Yes,” Shouto said without filter and was gratified when Bakugou’s smile fell right off, disarmed. Then he laughed, canines flashing sinisterly in the fluorescents. Shouto was distracted by that too, how sharp they were. A quirk of biology, perhaps? Or had Bakugou gotten them enhanced because he desired the aesthetic?

Either way, it worked for him. 

“Fuck, I always forget how straightforward you are.” He rolled his shoulders. “Come on, then, shoes off, and get rid of that damned uniform. We’re off duty, for chrissake.”

Shouto quirked a brow but didn’t hesitate to remove his red shirt, leaving the black undershirt that was an exact replica of the one Bakugou wore. His shoes swiftly followed and Shouto flexed his pale toes against the mat as he wandered closer to where Bakugou stood. Some sort of rubber. Fire retardant? Shouto wasn’t sure without doing a scan and he couldn't be bothered at the moment, not when Bakugou was watching his approach like a decadent meal being placed in front of him. 

Shouto studied him in turn, wondering if he too considered this a date. It had only been a week since Bakugou had told him he’d needed time to consider their relationship, but Shouto wasn’t feeling inclined to ask. Not right now. “What are we doing?” he said instead, tilting his head as he considered Bakguou’s gauntleted fists and the way his stance widened ever so slightly beneath Shouto’s gaze. 

Bakugou’s grin sharpened. “What does it look like? I had this bay set up for you. Figured we’d test your metal while shit isn’t hitting the fan for once.” 

Shouto felt a chill work through his system, chin dipping to the floor as he considered. “I … don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said slowly, fingers flexing at his sides. For one, he was several times stronger than a person would ever be. For another, he wasn’t entirely certain he could control his abilities. 

Bakugou scoffed. “You think I can’t handle you? I did just fine on DS7, if you recall.” 

Shouto glanced through his fringe, taking in the arrogant lines of Bakguou’s shoulders, the imperious tilt of his chin. Utter confidence. Shouto did have to concede that Bakugou and Izuku had been able to subdue him on the station, though he really didn’t want to repeat that particular experience. This time, though…Shouto didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t know how to hold back. 

“There’s only one way to find out, you know,” the commander said, and Shouto frowned at him. 

“Are you reading my mind?” Did he somehow miss another telepath? Shouto was so certain he was only Human…

A laugh. “No, dumbass, your thoughts are just written all over your face.” His red eyes narrowed, examining Shouto closely. “It’s easier to read you now, for some reason. You’re more expressive.” 

Shouto tilted his head. Was he? “Since we installed the inhibitor?” 

“Since we met,” Bakugou clarified, and Shouto blinked. “But that’s beside the point. Are we doing this or not?” 

He let the question linger as he considered. He supposed now that he wasn’t under compulsion to kill, he could give this a try. He could admit to himself that he was a little curious, like a baby bird discovering its wings. Without the context of death and espionage, he could even see the appeal of a test drive. Was this how Shinsou sometimes felt when he’d fancied himself the vigilante, utilizing his reviled abilities to accomplish something good? Could Shouto shift his perspective the same way, even for just a moment in a place where he felt safe? He wanted to find out.

Eventually, Shouto nodded, widening his stance slightly on the mat. “Rules of engagement?” 

Bakugou’s grin was predatory. “Let’s start without the fire and ice, I want to see you move. Can you regulate your output? If you can, start with ten percent. I’m not wearing a suit so try not to break anything. That is, if you actually manage to land a hit.” With that he took an aggressive stance, hands held out at his side and shoulders hunched, an athlete awaiting the gunner’s mark. Shouto barely had time to brace before he was on him. 

Shouto rolled back as a blast of energy slammed into his front, Bakugou quick on its heels. It was enough force to wind and would have taken anyone else out of the fight. But Shouto was made of sterner stuff. He regained his feet deftly, familiar commands dancing across his HUD. He accepted them, prepared this time as his vision reddened. As it had every time previous, his depth of field widened, the battlefield sharpening into a mesh of transient data. In an instant, he knew everything about the area around him, beneath, above. He knew things about his opponent, too – his species, equipment, level of threat, and the speed with which he moved as he came at Shouto relentlessly, all power and fierce red eyes. 

Shouto dodged the next three blows, then with a few quick calculations, decided to endure the final just to see how it affected him. 

The energy dispersed around him like a storm breaking against a mountain and he held his ground with barely a grunt of effort, lunging through the moment it passed. Bakugou’s eyes widened. He’d surprised him. But Shouto could not revel in this small victory because Bakugou was quick , even without the aid of his propulsion system. He rolled aside, taking Shouto’s back and blasting him clear off the mat a dozen feet away. 

“Damn,” Bakugou said appreciatively as Shouto got back to his feet. “You can take a hell of a beating. That’s only ten percent?” 

Shouto rolled his shoulders. He was relaxing incrementally as he experimented and no strings came to entrap him into movements he didn’t desire. He was in control, defensive systems remaining activated while he idled, coherency maintained with no indication he might lose himself. “Nothing so precise as that.” 

“Hm. Well, come on then, let’s see those ice powers of yours. You can make shit with it, right?” 

“Somewhat,” Shouto verified, flexing his hand and observing the ice coating his skin at his behest. He concentrated and it coalesced in his palm, forming a small fractal. A bit more pushing and it lengthened into a spear roughly his height. He walked back onto the mat, holding it aloft for Bakugou’s inspection. Bakugou took it, ice clinking against metal, and attempted to break it, first by stress and then, when that failed, by sending a small pulse of force through it. It rang, a pure note singing through the recirculated air. 

“Huh. Cool. Think you could make anything bigger?” 

“Probably,” Shouto mused, examining the moisture content in the room. “However, it requires more moisture than we currently have available, unless you would like me to start freezing the liquid in your body.” 

Bakugou’s eyes glinted with interest, almost inappropriate with how gruesome the image Shouto conjured for himself when he imagined doing just that.  “Wild,” was all he said, handing the spear back. “Going to have to test that out another time, maybe get some water in here or go planetside once shit calms down. What about the fire? Plasma, right? Doesn’t need oxygen?”

Shouto took the spear slowly, taking a moment before he answered. “Yes. However, I’d rather not experiment with it.” 

Bakugou grumbled. “You know you’re going to have to master it at some point.” 

“Do I?” Shouto wondered, looking at Bakugou sideways as he melted down the weapon. It turned into a puddle at his feet. Curious, he knelt down and touched the edge of the liquid. It crystallized at his touch, ice spikes roughly the size of his forearm protruding from the floor. He melted those down as well until only liquid remained. Neat. “ I’d much rather never have to use that ability again. I’m an engineer, not a security officer.” Not a weapon. Fire could only hurt. At least with his ice he could create something instead.

“A waste,” Bakugou muttered, but Shouto heard him easily. In a louder voice, he elaborated. “You might not be security, but an ability like that could be damn useful. Space exploration ain’t exactly safe.” A painful understatement considering recent events, but it was true that their occupation had never been without risks. 

“Even so,” Shouto said, frowning now. “I do not wish to burn you.” 

A spark of temper flared and disappeared just as quickly in the man’s eyes as he looked away, clearly holding his tongue. Shouto noted it, concerned, but Bakugou sighed, waving a hand. “None of that, frosty, I get it. I’m just saying you’re going to need every advantage you can get with that big target on your back.” 

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Shouto countered and Bakugou grunted a mirthless laugh.

“Yeah, that’s right. Now make that spear of yours again. Need to burn some energy before the nerd gets here.”  Bakugou pressed his fists together. This time, the energy persisted, coating his hands and arms to his elbow joint. 

Shouto eyed him, considered pursuing the tension he could sense in the other man’s bearing, but it appeared Bakugou was done talking. With a short nod, Shouto reformed his ice spear and readied himself. 

They sparred. It was fast, almost brutal this time, but Shouto held his own with ease. He hadn’t ever been terribly proficient in hand-to-hand combat, or that with a staff for that matter, but he realized it was time to stop judging his capability based on the memory of his past life. It was clear that he’d been designed to fight in all manner of forms, honed to a deadly precision without an ounce of effort on his part. Shouto had no doubt that it would translate to long-distance weapons should he choose to pick one up. 

Outside of his musings, Bakugou seemed to be working out some of his frustrations, coming at Shouto hard and ruthless. Incrementally, he increased his output, layering Shouto with blows that would have broken bone and liquified organs, a snarl on his hard features. But Shouto was no longer intimidated by such a look, from this man. Hard to be intimidated when he’d seen the wolf’s soft underside.

Shouto’s movements became automatic as he allowed his defense systems to take over. He found his mind wandering, distracted by the unpredictability with which his opponent moved, the glisten of his sweat against a tanned brow, the heave of his breaths. Bakugou was pushing himself and Shouto wasn’t certain why. Surely it wasn’t only curiosity that drove him to see what Shouto could do, not when it seemed not to matter whether Shouto was using his elemental abilities or simply his strength. 

He would pay for his inattention. 

“Fight back, dammit!” Bakugou abruptly shouted. A hand shot past Shouto’s defenses and planted itself on his chest. Shouto only had a split second for his eyes to widen before he was blown from the makeshift ring, skidding across the floor and slamming into a pile of steel crates well across the room. 

Shouto reeled, his concentration a smear across his skidded path. His chest ached but not in the traditional sense, his adamantium skeleton protecting his core easily.

“You aren’t taking this seriously,” Bakugou accused, and Shouto could only begrudgingly agree. He hadn’t been, because he hadn’t imagined that Bakugou could be faster than him. That temper returned in the man’s eyes and Shouto realized that he must have been projecting his thoughts again. Bakugou was not a man to tolerate being underestimated and he didn’t have to say anything to make Shouto realize how foolish a notion it was. 

Still, Shouto couldn’t help the small flare of annoyance at his insistence that they pursue this when he’d rather not. He’d much rather be doing anything else. Not exactly the pleasant date he’d had in mind (not that he’d had…anything particular in mind, he supposed). “Why are we even doing this?” he said aloud. 

Bakugou’s ire ratcheted up at the question and Shouto wondered again if this had anything to do with Shouto at all. “We have no idea what we’re up against,” he snapped, and sure enough, he seemed to look right through Shouto. “The security of the station and the other ships that these fuckers attacked meant jack shit when they could just blow them up. The Sandosians will be here tomorrow and laser eyes has that monstrosity of hers hooked up way too close to the engine. We've got our power back. We're as close to being ready for an attack as we possibly can be." His teeth slid audibly. "But even we were at peak performance with the entire Sandosian fleet at our backs and a dozen Frankenstein cannons, what the fuck are we supposed to do about a ship we can’t see coming?”

Bakuogu had a point. The Romulan war was only so devastating not because of their weaponry or cunning, but because of their cloaking technology. It was only through sabotage within their own ranks and a desperate final gambit led by Admiral Yagi that had landed a devastating enough blow to instigate a ceasefire. Even then, it was a pyrrhic victory, the loss of most of the fleet and nearly the entirety of Yagi’s crew devastating. The saboteur, his second in command, had been aboard the commanding Romulan ship when it went down. His remains were never recovered, along with so many others. 

The point being, there still wasn’t a good way to detect cloaked ships, not without knowing that they were already there. 

Shouto bit his lip. It was something that had been plaguing him as well. “You’re worried.”

Bakugou looked at him incredulously. “Of course I’m fucking worried, dumbass. I’m worried about you.”  

“Me?” Shouto tilted his head, stopping a few feet away. 

The commander eased his stance, frowning at Shouto now. “The fuck do you sound so surprised?”

Shouto didn’t know how to answer that. “The crew is in danger because of me.” 

“This again?” Bakugou rolled his eyes as if beseeching the heavens for patience. “The crew is alive because of you.” 

“Yet that does not negate the fact that they are still in danger for harboring me. Shigaraki will come, and I don’t think he’ll be so careless this time.” It was an inescapable dread, building on him in the quieter moments and only growing heavier the longer they passed unmolested. Which was worse, losing the limb or watching the blade come slowly down?

“Which is why we need every edge we can get,” Bakugou declared, swiping his hand through the air. “That means you being able to fucking defend yourself! You’re free of his control, but if he gets ahold of you it’s game over!”

Shouto’s core swooped at the idea of being in Shigaraki’s clutches again. To be ripped from this life he’d found, to go back to being a tool, a mere thing to be controlled. A slave but less, because even his capacity for autonomy had never been acknowledged in the first place. Bakugou was scowling fiercely now at whatever expression Shouto had lost the ability to hide. 

“Ain’t gonna happen, frosty. But to do that, you can’t let fear stand in the way of any advantage that will keep you from falling into that bastard’s hands.” He stepped forward, the cool metal of his powered-down glove seeping through Shouto’s thin shirt. Shouto looked up into eyes softened with a serious sort of tenderness.  “It’s my job to make sure that you have that advantage. So you gotta promise me that when that bastard comes for you, you fight back with everything you have. No excuses. Understand?” 

Shouto took a shuddering breath. “Yes. I understand.” The hand squeezed Shouto’s shoulder, but Bakugou didn’t move away. They were standing so close, Shouto realized suddenly, closer than they’d been since before Shouto’s nature had been revealed. He looked carefully into Bakugou’s eyes but it seemed like he was working through something. 

Shouto waited, loathe to break the moment, the flutter of soft butterfly wings against his skin in his childhood garden. As far as declarations went, this was the most thoughtful Bakugou had been and Shouto wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but he was willing to be patient if it meant they could finally tear down the shields between them. 

He wondered when Bakugou’s regard had come to mean so much. Perhaps when he’d first seen the glimpse of what it could be, even beneath all of the misunderstandings that had defined them since the moment they first crossed vectors. 

He wasn’t sure who it was who moved, a charge of anticipation pulling taut, drawing them closer as if magnetized. Bakugou tilted his head, eyes lidding and Shouto inhaled, breathing in the chrome scent of him –

Bakugou stopped, pulling away a hair’s breadth from Shouto’s lips, smirking as Shouto rocked, chasing him, but the hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving. “Is that jazz music?” 

Shouto stared, disbelief flaring with annoyance at the gall of this man. “Are you serious?” 

“I’m always serious,” Bakugou drawled, looking for the source of the irritating music with feigned interest. His teasing grin gave him away. “How cute. You trying to flirt with me, princess?”

“I swear –”

“Swearing now? Careful, you’ll make me swoon.” 

“Bakugou,” Shouto growled, and the name fell easily from his lips, any customary deference wiped away with irritation at this insufferable man’s impish smile. When had the wolf become a fox? 

“You want me?” Bakugou crouched, all wild hair and feral grin. “You’re going to have to catch me. If you can.”  

“I will make you swallow those words,” Shouto promised, slipping into his defensive mode without a single thought. 

“Manage to touch me, and I’ll swallow whatever you want, princess.” 

Heat flared in Shouto’s abdomen and he returned the grin. Oh, it was on.

But as was customary for his particular brand of bad luck, neither of them got the chance to make good on their promise. His perception warped and shifted and Shouto staggered, dizziness making his vision double momentarily, punching the air from his lungs. At the same time, the lights flickered throughout the cargo bay, a small hitch in the constant buzz beneath their feet grating in its momentary absence. It passed as quickly as it occurred, though the music had stopped playing, leaving them in eerie silence.

When Shouto regained focus, Bakugou was frowning around the room as if he could pinpoint the origin of the disturbance through a visual scan alone. “What the hell was that?” 

Shouto tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again. “I do not know. The ship's performance has been lagging these past couple of days. I haven’t been able to find the source.” 

Bakugou focused on him. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

The only ghost around here was him. “I am fine, Commander. It seems that my connection to the ship is making me experience similar fluctuations.” 

“Like what happened when we were attacked?” 

“To a lesser degree,” Shouto said, rubbing his forehead again. It still wasn’t helping. “I don’t believe it’s dangerous. It could simply be the result of the engines coming back online. The Falcon has been through a lot.”

Bakugou hummed. “Well, if it’s not dangerous, then the staff on shift can handle it. We’ve got plans.” 

Shouto’s hand fell slowly. “Plans?” 

Before Bakugou could answer, the door opened and Izuku strode through, a bright grin on his face. 

“Bout fucking time,” Bakugou muttered, squinting at the time display beneath the observation deck. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Izuku called, jogging to pass the last few feet between them. Shouto hummed, pleasantly surprised as the captain cradled his face and greeted him with a kiss. Before he could reciprocate, Bakugou was receiving the same treatment, a cursory, familiar affection. Shouto didn’t feel the usual flare of jealousy this time. There was no space for it between them.

“Hey nerd. What was the holdup?” 

Izuku rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Last minute stuff.” 

“Stuff,” Bakugou said, unimpressed, and Izuku just shrugged. “Right, whatever. Let’s just go.” 

“Go where?” Shouto asked, glancing between the two curiously. What had these two been scheming? 

Bakguou scrubbed his head playfully and Shouto grunted. “You’ll see, candy cane. C’mon.”   

It was a party. 

Shouto’s eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe as he took in the officer’s mess packed full of people, the smell of food hanging spiced and titillating in the air and soft music playing over the speakers. 

“What is all this for?” Shouto asked dumbly, and Bakugou scoffed. 

“For fun, obviously. What, you’ve never been to a party before?” 

Shouto hadn’t. Well, a party that wasn’t for some formal event that he’d been forced to attend, at least. He’d been to clubs, sure, but that wasn’t quite the same and no one here was dancing. 

“We put it together for the senior staff,” Izuku said, a soft look on his face. “We’ve all been under so much pressure lately, and we’ve lost so much and everything’s so uncertain–” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “Everybody just needed a little bit of relaxation, you know? I can’t give this to everyone, not in the straits we’re in, but I can do this for a few. Captain’s privileges.” He smiled, a little sad, but he shook it off and nudged Shouto. “Go on, enjoy yourself. It’s mostly just the bridge crew and senior staff, but I commandeered some of your and Kacchan’s teams too!” 

“Captain, I–” Shouto tried, and Izuku lifted a brow. Shouto smiled. It wasn’t exactly the date he’d thought it was. No. It was better. “Thank you.” 

Bakugou snagged a few cookies from a passing crewman and ignored their protest as he handed one to Shouto. “Eat. Relax. Tomorrow will still be there to kick us in the teeth, I promise.” 

“Thanks for the reassurance,” Shouto deadpanned, but it was all he was allowed before Bakugou grunted, a zealous Mina dragging him to his usual squad, the man complaining vociferously the whole way. Shouto nibbled on his cookie, amused as the commander was dogpiled by his colorful cast of friends. Even the sullen Monomo was sulking in the periphery, leering balefully at the rest. 

Izuku laughed at Bakugou’s predicament but he too found himself spirited away by Lieutenant Uraraka, who already seemed to be enjoying the food spread out like a feast over the bar. He winced apologetically at Shouto while his arm was being nigh pulled from its socket from Uraraka’s enthusiasm. Shouto waved him off, unbothered. 

He didn’t mind. He didn’t flounder in discomfort or wallow in boredom as he might have before, even as he stayed on the fringes, a cup of something strong in his hand and the flavor of sugar on his lips. This was exactly what Shouto had wished for after the revelations the inhibitor heralded. Well, maybe not this exactly, but he couldn’t deny that the captain’s thoughtfulness facilitated a moment of peace where nothing else mattered but the simple joys of life; good food, good company, and the easing of burdens from backs long sore from carrying them.

So this was why no one had left him alone today. They must have wanted it to be a surprise. Warmth curled contentedly in Shouto's chest and he relaxed, letting the atmosphere wash over him and the time pass untracked.

Everyone seemed so calm, so carefree, and Shouto basked in it. It was a celebration of their survival up until now, a defiance of the universe that seemed set to erase them. In this room was everyone he cared about, all of the people who’d touched his life in some way, great, small, or just by association of being a member of his crew. Kouda, who spoke shyly with Mei, the head engineer clearly disgruntled about being forced to socialize but enthused about whatever device she had cradled in her arms. Kaminari, who chugged a large drink to the cheers of Kirishima and Mina, heedless of the mess he was making to his uniform. Shinsou, who watched the proceedings with a simultaneously disgusted and fond look, hunched like a gargoyle over his chosen perch in the shadows. Even Aizawa had chosen to attend, chatting amicably with a few of Shouto’s acquaintances from the bridge crew, Sero passing him a device that looked an awful lot like an aerosol inhaler, the contents of which Shouto was uninterested in divining. 

His family. Messy and complicated and frankly ridiculous at times, but his.

Could he have had this with the crew of the Sandrunner? The Crew of the Endeavor? Could it have been like this had he not wasted so much time perpetuating his own miserable isolation?

He would never know, now. A small stab of grief simmered through him at the thought of the missed opportunities, because they were all gone, weren’t they? Their lives were taken by the maniac whose aims still remained a mystery, other than, it seemed, to rob Shouto of everything he loved.

Suddenly Shouto was watching from outside of himself, floating somewhere above his body yet tethered in the roil of panic that seemed to build from nothing and consume him. He stood frozen, sentinel over the revelers and statue against the deck he couldn’t feel through the soles of his boots. He didn’t want it, never wanted it, but especially not here, now, in the haven they’d made for themselves in spite of the forces determined to wipe them away. 

It seemed that Shigaraki’s threat was a specter even when he’d wiped his influence from his code, not so easily defenestrated from his conscious mind. The conditioning Shouto had undergone was a still weeping scar that he had no doubt would take years to close, threatening to open again and again at the lightest duress despite the numerous sutures from the efforts of his friends. Things were good, he had hope, and so he must remind himself that it couldn’t last.

Shouto growled in frustration, the sound distant from where he still floated above himself. Why couldn’t he just set it aside for one night? All of Izuku and Bakugou’s efforts to give him this moment of peace wasted by his own treacherous pessimism. 

Shouto sighed, felt his tension drain out of him, swirling from his tight shoulders and into his chest, and pulled away, like tuning a harp until it rang true. He deflated, squinted as his surroundings were abruptly real to him again and not just a dream on the edges of his panic, blinking at the figure that appeared against the viewport as if he’d always been there.

“You should really give it a rest, you know,” Shinsou said idly, sipping from the cup held in lax fingers.  “There’s nothing lamer than a gloomy wallflower.”

“Says the man who’s been lurking like a gargoyle this whole time,” Shouto said, slightly hoarse as if he’d been screaming aloud instead of just in his head for the past several minutes. 

Shinsou snorted, conceding the point.  

“You’ve been doing that a lot, lately. Do you usually interfere with others’ emotions like this?” Not that Shouto wasn’t grateful. Seems like the only time he could take a full breath lately was when he was in Shinsou’s calming presence. “A man could get addicted to not having to deal with his own bullshit.”

Shinsou swirled his drink, and fascinatingly enough, his face tinted with an ever so slight shade of emerald green. It struck Shouto that his reaction was probably singular when it came to Shinsou’s abilities. He doubted that many would take as kindly to their emotions being manipulated, no matter how well intended. Their loss. “It’s complicated.” Well. That wasn’t enigmatic at all. Before Shouto could ask for an explanation, Shinsou continued, suddenly finding the stars outside of the viewport fascinating. “Haven't I taught you anything? Gardens are like that. If you clear away the bramble, it leaves room for something else to grow.” 

“Uh…huh.” Shouto looked out at the stars as well, granting Shinsou a reprieve from his searching stare. “I suppose that’s true. But we weren’t speaking about gardens.” Was that some sort of metaphor? He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised, after spending time in the other man’s head – where they had burned away the bramble. Hm. Did that mean he was doing better now? 

“Weren’t we?” Shinsou said levelly and Shouto was officially lost. He opened his mouth, but Shinsou spoke over him, the change of subject so abrupt it couldn’t be anything but contrived. “Have you noticed something…off, lately? With the Falcon , I mean.” 

Shouto’s mouth closed slowly. “You know, you’re the only person that ever interrupts me this much.” 

Shinsou’s thin lips twitched, still not looking at him. “Someone has to do it. Saves you from embarrassing yourself.” 

Ouch. That was rich, coming from someone who was literally asking for his opinions. Shouto hummed, considering the cup in his hands and Shinsou’s question. Somewhere behind them, a glass crashed to the floor, followed by uproarious laughter and a profuse round of apologies. Neither one of them spared the rambunctious crew a glance. “Yes, I have noticed. I’ve been looking into it, but it does not seem to be dangerous.” Just elusive and somewhat vexing. “Have you noticed something?”

Shinsou’s angled brows drew together. “I’m not sure. Just feels…different somehow. Something growing.” 

“You and your plant metaphors. What does that even mean?” 

Shinsou sighed, rubbed his forehead in much the same way Shouto had taken to of late. “Nevermind. It’s probably nothing.” 

“Great,” Shouto groused. “Can we perhaps keep the ominous predictions to a minimum tonight? I was finally starting to relax.” 

That drew a laugh from the other man. “You, relaxed? That would be the day. If I hadn’t intervened you’d probably combust on the spot with stress.” Shinsou nudged him in the side. “Say, why do you still talk like you’ve got a stick up your ass? I’d’ve thought you’d have loosened up by now.” 

Shouto scowled, offended. “I do not –”

“Shouto! Hitoshi!” They turned, and Shouto oomphed as he suddenly found himself with an armful of amorous captain. Izuku giggled, nearly spilling Shouto’s drink and was the captain tipsy? “What are you two talking about so secretly over here?” 

“Gardening,” Shinsou said flatly, and Shouto sent him a quirked brow. 

“He can’t turn it off, it seems,” Shouto affirmed, and Izuku glanced between them, eyes bright. 

“Well, maybe stop talking about work, gentlemen. We’ve put all this together so everyone could relax for a bit!” 

“Seems like someone is a little too relaxed,” Shinsou muttered, but he went ignored.

Shouto frowned down at the captain, who was leaning on him rather heavily. “Captain, have you been drinking?” He glanced down at his own cup, conceding that even if he’d realized it was alcohol it couldn’t affect him. He hadn't even noticed. He didn’t exactly think it was a good idea to have so many of them inebriated when things were so precarious.

His disapproval must have been clear on his face because Izuku pouted and Shouto fought the irrational urge to pinch his full lower lip. “Maybe,” he hedged, “But don’t worry. I had Shota distribute sobering hypos so we can send people to bed without hangovers.” 

Shinsou nearly spat out his drink at the flippant use of his dad’s first name and looked at the captain like he’d taken leave of his senses. Shouto had to agree, lips shivering at the imagined look on Aizawa’s face if he heard the captain addressing him so casually behind his back. But that was something Shouto had come to admire about his captain. The irreverence that had once been so discomfiting to Shouto who’d only ever lived in a strictly regimented environment was now a point of endearment. A little rebellion.

“Ugh, I can’t stand you sometimes. I’m leaving.” 

Izuku nodded, then said impishly, “You know, I left Ochako all alone by the sweets. She looked awfully lonely.” 

To Shouto’s surprise, the green tint on Shinsou’s face made a reappearance threefold as he immediately looked in the direction of the refreshments table. Izuku was shaking silently against Shouto’s side and Shinsou showed him his fiercest scowl for his efforts. “Ass. I’ll see you jerks later.” With that, he turned his back, weaving through the boisterous gathering toward the ship’s pilot, who seemed far too enamored with the cake on her fork to be lonely. 

“What? Really?” How had Shouto not known this? 

“You couldn’t tell?” Izuku asked, peering up into his face and for the second time today, Shouto found himself much closer to someone than he expected, the broad man warm against the length of his side. Shouto’s hand tightened on the captain’s hip, unaware of when he’d placed it there in the first place. When had he started letting them past his guard so readily? 

Pretty much the moment they looked at you, he mused to himself with resignation.

“...I couldn’t,” Shouto said belatedly, glancing away from the knowing glint in Izuku’s eyes. He hadn’t even seen Shinsou speak to Lieutenant Uraraka directly in all the time he’d known him. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the thought, but he really should start paying more attention to the people around him. 

Izuku giggled and Shouto shuddered at the sudden rush of warmth over the skin of his neck. It seemed that Izuku was tipsier than he’d realized to be showing such affection in a forum so public. But what did Shouto know, really? Maybe Izuku was always like this with Bakugou off duty. It wasn’t as if Shouto had spent any time at ship functions to be able to judge, after all. And well, there was ample enough evidence that Izuku really didn’t give a fuck outside of their working hours. The time he'd caught them in the hallway was a strong example. Or the storage room, though Izuku had turned a charming shade of red when he found out Shouto had been there.

Now that he thought of it, both of those instances had been Bakugou's doing.

Shouto felt a flush crawling up his face. “Um. Captain.” 

He inhaled sharply as Izuku nipped the skin above the collar of his shirt in reprimand for using his title. Across the room, someone catcalled and Izuku lifted a middle finger, not pulling away even as mortification flooded through Shouto. He looked around the room, wide-eyed, but found that most people weren’t paying them any attention at all. Either they were simply accustomed to their captain’s absurd behavior or they were unsurprised by their relationship status. He didn’t know which was more disconcerting. Shouto’s eyes snagged on an electric gaze on the other side of the room and he flooded with an all-new heat as he realized that Bakugou had been watching them the entire time. 

Bakugou stood against the bar, not even pretending to listen to whatever Kirishima was saying to him, Mina a limpet on the red-haired man’s arm. They both looked to be as inebriated as the rest of the crew present and didn’t seem bothered by Bakugou’s inattention. Which left the man free to smirk at Shouto, a certain promise in the tilt of his chin that had the flustered man flushing further. 

“We should get out of here,” Izuku murmured into Shouto’s ear and Shouto shivered at the wash of warmth over the delicate shell. 

“You’re drunk, Cap – hss – Izuku,” he corrected after Izuku’s teeth found that same spot again. He didn’t know whether he should inform the captain that he couldn’t leave a mark that way, or just fall into a hole in the ground to escape the onslaught of embarrassment fluttering in his abdomen.  

The captain huffed good-naturedly and Shouto was devastated, tingling running up and down his spine originating at the unintentional brush of Izuku’s disheveled hair against his cheek. “”M not. Even if I was, I have a handy hypo that will make me sober in an instant, remember? Won’t change my mind.” 

“What about Bakugou?” Shouto asked before he could consciously think about the words coming out of his mouth, because the man was still staring at them, gaze burning into Shouto like a plasma blade dragging over his body, cutting through fabric and synthetic skin alike to reach the core of him, pulsing and warm.

Izuku glanced casually over his shoulder, hands tightening around Shouto’s middle, holding him captive but not really, not when Shouto couldn’t imagine anywhere he would rather be. Izuku’s eyes fell half-mast and he smiled, slow and lazy. “Looks like he wants to join us.” 

Shouto choked on nothing. “Is that wise?” he said, even as he couldn’t help but imagine it. “He said he. Needed time.” 

Izuku laughed. “Does that look like a man who needs time? Kacchan is always quick to take action when he’s made a decision. Looks to me like he’s done sulking.” 

Shouto peeked at Bakugou again. He gulped, thinking of their missed moment in the hangar. No. Bakugou did not seem like he needed any more time if the unfettered heat in his expression was anything to go by, unapologetic and without the weight of the guilt he’d embodied before.

“What about you? Do you need more time? It’s alright if you do.”

Shouto tore his gaze away and looked into Izuku’s suddenly earnest eyes. His reservations shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Who was he kidding? He could die tomorrow. All of this still felt so surreal and untenable, like it would be ripped away at a moment’s notice. It very well could, the dread eased for the moment but still there, lying in wait for his guard to lower and leave room for doubt. How much more time would he waste on all the what-ifs? If he’d learned anything in the past few years, it was that in waiting too long, the chance for something good could very well pass him by. Wasn’t it better to have this moment than to let it slip from his fingers, to lose yet another thing to this hateful fear? 

But more than that. He was ready to accept the mistakes that they’d all made in this messy interlude; acknowledge, accept, and put to rest. Things were different now. They were different now. 

“No.” 

Izuku’s lips were warm as they pressed into Shouto’s with fervor. From somewhere far away came another cheer but it went completely ignored as Shouto lost himself in the unexpected kiss. It was only the fact that Shouto could control his body functions to the minute degree that he didn’t sport his interest for all to see. Judging by the hot weight pressed against his hip, the captain had no such compunctions.

“Alright, show’s over, you damned extras.” There was a smattering of laughter as Izuku yelped, his first in command dragging him away from Shouto by the scruff of his neck. Shouto stood there frozen, lips slack from shock and moist with the remains of the captain’s ardor.

“Kacchan!” Izuku complained, but Bakugou wasn’t having it. 

“Don’t you ‘Kacchan’ me, you minx. I know you get off from an audience but this is a little much.” Bakugou shook Izuku’s collar slightly, but he couldn’t seem to contain the smirk on his face at Izuku’s whine. 

“The only audience I want is you, Kacchan,” Izuku said, lips skating over the edge of Bakuguo’s jaw. Bakugou growled, yanking a giggling Izuku away. 

“Alright, that’s it. Bedtime.” 

“Oooh, bossy,” Izuku teased and Shouto couldn’t feel his legs for completely different reasons this time. Especially when Bakugou didn’t hesitate to grab him by the front of the shirt, dragging the both of them to the door and pushing them through. He shouted something over his shoulder at the laughing crowd but Shouto was no longer listening, Izuku’s hand slipping into his, warm and dry and insistent as he pulled him down the hall. 

Shouto allowed himself to be pulled, excitement and anticipation and warmth tumbling all around inside of him. He didn’t know what to do with it all, so he simply let it sweep him away. Over his shoulder he caught Bakugou’s eye, the man walking at a more leisurely but still expedient pace, indulgence etched in every line of his bearing. He winked at Shouto, and Shouto laughed, muffled against Izuku’s lips as the captain pulled him into their cabin and pressed him against the wall. They fell into dimness as Bakugou closed the door behind them, secluding them from prying eyes and Shouto melted, gasped as gentle fingers, trailing lips, and fevered breaths showed him what it was like to be shattered with pleasure and not pain – shattered and put back together again with careful, caring hands.

A brief haven. Brief, but Shouto would take it for everything it was worth, and in between them he could almost believe that it would last forever. 

Izuku groaned as chirping split the silence, digging his face petulantly into the sheets where they’d crumpled beneath him. His bare back was pale in the starlight from the viewport, smooth beneath Shouto’s hand where it rested against the dip of his spine. The chirping came again and Bakugou grunted, kicking Izuku in the side from where he lay draped over Shouto’s chest, skin sticking slightly from their earlier exertions that none of them had bothered to clean themselves from. Shouto didn’t mind it. 

They hadn’t gotten further than hands and lips in their rush, too impatient to last and too eager to finally consummate the tension between them without the hurt and misunderstandings and trepidations. Not perfect, not yet, not without really talking about it. But it was a good beginning. Something that could grow. The room still smelled of sex even hours later, the three of them falling asleep in a pile on the queen-sized bed not quite big enough to accommodate them. Or rather, Izuku and Bakugou had fallen asleep on top of him like two languid cats seeking warmth while Shouto had allowed himself to slip into a meditative state, light enough to remain aware of the pleasant sensations of his body but deep enough not to think.

Bakugou lifted himself up first with as much drama as his incoherent mind could muster, switching the alarm off. He yawned, wrinkling his nose at the musk lingering in the air. “Ugh. Need a shower.” He slapped Izuku's shoulder without looking, the other hand rubbing at his eyes. “Wake up, nerd, time for shift.” 

“Nooo,” Izuku whined, dragging the rumpled sheets over his head. “Don’t want to. Someone else can be captain today.” 

Shouto watched them, fondness a tight thing in his chest so restrictive he could hardly breathe. Bakugou blinked grumpily at him, poking the side of his face. “What are you smiling about?” 

“I suppose I’m happy,” Shouto said slowly, and was struck by its truth. An awww came from beneath the sheets before Izuku excavated himself, giving Shouto a lazy smile. 

“We’re happy too, Shouchan!” 

“Be happier if it weren’t so goddamned early in the morning,” Bakugou grumbled, but his bad mood was hardly believable when he ruffled Shouto’s hair and planted a rough kiss against his forehead. “I’m taking a shower. You nerds better be up by the time I get out.” 

He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and Shouto didn’t bother to stop himself from watching him walk away, all lean lines and miles of bare skin. Izuku chuckled and Shouto was caught. He didn’t say anything, just gave Shouto a fond look before scooting over and taking Shouto’s face gently in his hand, leaning over him. His breath tasted of stale alcohol against Shouto’s tongue but he didn’t mind it, too lost in the warmth and contentment of the moment. He felt sleepy, languid. 

Lagging. 

Izuku pulled away and Shouto followed helplessly, stealing another kiss from smiling lips. But eventually, they did get up, just in time for Bakugou to exit the bathroom, pants already on and a towel around his neck. Izuku sighed and took his turn in the bathroom and Shouto blinked muggily after him.

“You feeling alright?” Bakugou asked, eyeing Shouto. 

“Yes,” Shouto said slowly, but frowned. He felt…odd. Like yesterday, but worse. He would have to look into the CPU again today. It might not have been a problem before, but it was going to become one if the ship’s performance – and his by association – continued its decline. Bakugou grunted and didn’t question him despite his lackluster response, a result of the early hour. 

The three of them continued their ablutions in silence, content to move around each other and wake up in their own ways. It seemed so surreal to Shouto, who’d never seen Bakugou so soft or Izuku so languid. He was simultaneously baffled and endeared by the way they easily included him in their preparations, either by the soft ruffle of fingers fixing his hair or the return of his shirt smoothed of wrinkles. There was so much he never would have expected from a relationship like this, but shouto found that it was the small things that left him breathless, more than the passion and the intensity he’d come to know from these two. It was something he never imagined he’d have, not as a Humand and definitely not as an android.

Shouto slipped his shirt over his head and when it was in place he looked up and Bakugou was there, slipping his arms around Shouto’s back and kissing him firmly, an echo of the night before. He pulled back before Shouto could properly reciprocate, resting their foreheads together and locking him with that challenging gaze that had once boiled his blood with irritation but now heated him in an entirely different manner. “Let’s go kick some ass.” 

Izuku snorted. “So violent,” he teased, and then yelped as Bakugou kicked his shin without looking away from Shouto. 

Shouto laughed, a hiccough of surprised mirth that had Bakugou smirking. Bakugou pulled away, heading for the door with a roll of his eyes.

“Bridge to Captain Midoriya.” 

Izuku paused and Bakugou looked back. “Yes, Sero, what is it?” 

Sero hesitated. “We’re…being hailed, sir.” 

“Already?” Bakugou said. “The Sandosians shouldn’t be here for another five hours.” 

Shouto swallowed uneasily, warmth seeping from the room in a slow breath of winter’s chill as the three of them tensed.

“It’s not the Sandosians,” Sero reported uneasily. “It’s short-range communication and the signals don’t match. I can’t detect a ship, sir.” 

Izuku’s face blanched, freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin. He looked at Shouto, eyes wide. “We’re on our way,” Izuku replied. “Do not engage and activate red alert. I repeat, do not engage until we get –”

Shouto flinched as the shipwide comms shattered to life, screaming like a tortured thing before spitting unsettling static that grated across his teeth. Amidst the noise, Shouto heard a voice, as familiar as if he’d heard it yesterday and not over a year ago. A phantom collar tightened around his neck, breath hitching as his vision narrowed.   

“Eighteen,” sang a sibilant voice, sinister and childlike, dancing over the static. 

No, it couldn’t be. Not now, not when they were so close to receiving aid. “Shigaraki,” Shouto breathed and Bakugou and Izuku were staring at him, but he couldn’t see them past the dark edges of his panic. “He’s here.” 

“Sero, how is he doing this?” Izuku demanded, already on his feet and running for the door. Bakugou and Shouto ran after him, only a step behind as they were bathed in the crimson warning of red alert. “Sero? Answer me!”

The static enhanced and a childish giggle danced through the air and crawled over Shouto’s skin. “I’m coming for you, Subject Eighteen. Did you miss me? It took so very long to find you.”

No! Shouto slammed his eyes shut and expanded his senses, stumbling to a stop against the bulkhead. He dove into the ship’s comms, trying to pinpoint the security breach but his concentration scattered as something blocked him. No, not blocked, but funneled him on all sides, like he no longer fit. His core itched, what once felt like slipping into cool water was now a coarse, shrunken sweater, snags against his skin. He gasped. He was here and he was there , an echo of himself standing just to the left, pushing him out and inside him all at once. What the fuck? What the fuck? Shouto splintered, slipped, and fell away, slamming back into his body abruptly before it could scrape him raw. The echo faded as he reoriented himself, but buzzed insistently in the back of his mind like an angry swarm of wasps, stingers piercing and angry wings vibrating the air.

“What?” 

“–don’t have time for this, frosty! Snap out of it!” Shouto blinked and staggered as Bakugou yanked him into a dead run. The captain had already pulled ahead, disappearing around the bend. 

“Commander,” Shouto said, breathless and shaken. He couldn’t focus. The ship’s systems were flickering and fading and he didn’t know what was causing it. “There’s something wrong with the Falcon! I can’t–”

“No shit, Sherlock! We’ve been hacked!”

But it wasn't that, not quite. Something was terribly wrong and Shouto lagged, concentration slipping and sliding like liquid through his fingers.

Laughter over the comms, and it crawled into him, dread pooling and slithering down his throat. Shouto forced himself to keep moving, pulling ahead of the commander and bursting toward the bridge. Shouting around them and people moving past Shouto’s peripherals as the crew prepared for battle, but Shouto was single-minded as he tore through the corridors, Bakugou hot on his heels and spitting a continuous string of curses.

When they arrived on the bridge, Izuku was already standing in front of the captain’s chair, barking orders. 

“Kirishima, get me their location, now!” 

“Scanning for tachyon particles, Captain, but it won’t do us any good if they’ve moved on at impulse–”

“Do it,” he snapped. “Sero, what’s going on with the comms? Can you shut him out?” 

“I’m trying, sir, but the ship’s behaving oddly,” Sero said tensely, hands a blur over his monitor. “It’s like we’ve downloaded a virus! I can’t get her to respond!” 

Shouto skidded around the corner and crouched over Sero’s station. “Captain, I can confirm. The ship’s processing power is being consumed by something. It’s been sluggish for days, but now we’re only working at thirty percent efficiency.” 

“Consumed by what?” the captain demanded. 

“I do not know.” Had Shouto blood, it would have drained from his face as he scanned the readings in front of him. No. This couldn’t be right. “It’s not a virus,” he said, forcing the words through the tightness in his throat. This was unbelievable. “The ship…it’s rebooting , sir.” 

“The hell does that mean!” Bakugou shouted over his station, shoulders rigid with adrenaline. “You there, get a message to Mei! I need those cannons online yesterday !” The ensign saluted and beat a hasty retreat. Bakugou cursed and slammed his terminal. “I can’t do shit with the ship like this!”

“Shields?” 

“Online, sir,” Ochako said shortly, eyes unerringly on the empty space in front of them. Somewhere among the stars, their enemy lurked unseen. “One hundred percent power. It’s the only thing that’s working at full efficiency.” 

“Well thank fuck for that,” Sero muttered tersely, only loud enough for Shouto to hear. Shouto got out of his way and glanced worriedly at the empty science station. Where was Shinsou? Where was – Shouto wavered and blinked rapidly. It was as if he was shutting down, senses muting one by one. Whatever was happening, it was accelerating and he’d been too distracted to see it.

“Sero, get a physical relay going. If we can’t use the comms, I don’t want the rest of the crew in the dark,” Captain Midoriya ordered. 

“Aye, Captain!” 

Sero yelped as he nearly crashed headlong into Shinsou on his way off the bridge. Shinsou lurched past him and Shouto was instantly alarmed by the expression on his face. He looked strained, like someone had hammered him over the head. “Captain,” he gasped. “The ship. It’s–There’s something screaming – I can’t– ” 

Shouto caught him as he nearly fell and Shinsou gripped at him, eyes shut tight. He looked as bad as Shouto felt. 

“How entertaining,” Shigaraki drawled over the comms and all movement ceased as his face appeared against the backdrop of space. Shouto froze like a cornered animal, throat tight as he took in the face of the man who was responsible for everything. Suddenly Shouto was back on the cold slab in agony, Shigaraki’s face the only fixed point he knew – a devil offering the illusion of choice. The ship shuddered again and Shouto didn’t notice, deaf to Shinsou’s wheezing attempts to speak.

Gleaming red eyes danced gleefully over a wide smile, skin grotesquely pulled over his too-thin face. Pale as death and unkempt as he ever was, Shigaraki’s gaze passed over them with a distant sort of delight, almost innocent in its greed. He sat upon the bridge of an unfamiliar ship, legs crossed and reclined gracelessly, a beggar king on a throne of bones. Shouto slunk back into the corner in which he stood, unnoticed for the moment and hoping it would last.

“Doctor Shigaraki,” the captain said calmly, a hardness to his voice that Shouto had never heard before. Shigaraki looked upon him lazily, head lolling unsettlingly upon his skeletal neck. “You are in violation of Federation law and stand accused of mass murder and sabotage of Starfleet holdings. You will stand down and face tribunal –”

“I believe you have something of mine, Captain,” Shiragaki interrupted, brittle voice cracking at the seams. Still the static hissed, as if the Falcon herself was screaming at the violation. Shouto was tempted to retreat further, but was afraid that any movement on his part would draw Shigaraki’s attention. “It felt like game over when I lost it, I’d almost given up hope! To think I almost destroyed it by accident.” He laughed, a scraping of nails over dry leather. “What a shame it would be to lose the set.” 

“You will stand down,” Izuku repeated coldly, considerable frame drawing to his full height, “and prepare your ship to be boarded.”

Shigaraki hummed, unconcerned. His gloved hands tap tap tapped against the arm of his command chair. Behind him, there was movement, out of focus in the display’s limited depth of field. “On the contrary, Captain, I don’t think your ship is in any state to threaten mine. My scanners indicated your systems are on the brink of a complete shutdown. Looks like we really did a number on you. Wonder how you’ve survived this long, but then again, I’m glad you did. I wouldn't have been able to find my king piece otherwise.” 

As if to punctuate his observation, the lights flickered and the sound of the engines powering down reverberated through the deck. Shouto grimaced, drawing back into himself further as his head ached sharply with the Falcon’s decline. What was going on? He tried reaching out again but was only met with a discordant jumble, incomprehensible noise that stabbed into his skull viciously. He withdrew quickly with a pained hiss. 

“Captain,” Bakugou said tersely, “non-essential systems just went offline. The engines have stalled.” 

Izuku glanced at him, hands clenching at his sides as he faced Shigaraki. “Shields?” 

“Full capacity, Captain. It’s the only thing still working,” Ochako stuttered. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Back to business,” Shigaraki drawled, cheek resting against his fist. “Hand over Eighteen and I might spare your ship. I’m in a good mood, after all.” 

Shouto tensed. Izuku did not waver. 

“I don’t know who you are referring to.” 

“Don’t play coy, Captain,” Shigaraki sang. “It was so very easy to implant them among your worthless droids, you know. Fascinating isn’t it? They look so much like us, were built in our image, and yet they are completely invisible. Washing our clothes, cooking our food, cleaning up after us in silence until they are background furniture, tools to be used and ignored when unnecessary. Oh, but this one. Conceived from a singular mind, forged deadly, obedient, and beautiful .” Shigaraki leaned forward, eyes gleaming. Shouto shivered. “Did you notice it, Captain Midoriya? Did you covet it? I see it there at your side, and yet you claim not to know it.”

Shigaraki’s gaze slid from the captain and slithered over Shouto’s skin like grasping fingers dragging over his clothes – a paltry defense. Their eyes met and Shouto lost his breath, the gaze heavy upon him and he tried to remember if it had ever felt like this . But it hadn’t. When Shouto woke, he felt nothing beneath Shigaraki’s attention. He had not revolted from the thought of his touch, because he hadn’t cared, hadn’t seen the body he was in as anything more than a transport. He knew better now. 

Now every memory of dry fingers over his synthetic skin felt like a violation, no matter if it was intimate or clinical. Now every memory of that gaze was threaded through him, bound him, Shigaraki's rapacity so much more apparent in the light of hindsight. How blinded had he been by his grief? How deep in the thrall of Shigaraki’s malicious programming had Shouto sunk to not feel more than a mild discomfort in the grasp of a monster? 

Shouto was partially shielded from that gaze as the captain stepped in front of him, blocking him from view and snapping him out of it. Bakugou seethed from his station, glaring at Shigaraki so fiercely it was a wonder that the monitor did not melt beneath his ire. Shigaraki’s smile widened with glee, yellow teeth reflecting the flashes of red alert still bathing them in morbid pulses of light.

“I see you have enjoyed it. Very good, Captain. It would be such a shame if my tool went unappreciated after all of my hard work.” 

“He is not a tool. Lieutenant Shouto is a member of my crew,” Izuku declared adamantly. “And you will not have him.” 

Warmth cut through the ice in Shouto’s chest, eyes wide as he took in the captain’s stalwart silhouette. He took a deep breath. Shouto wanted to stand by his side and fight, bolstered by his captain’s resolve. He looked at Bakugou's fierce glare, remembered the promise he'd made. Everything he had. 

Shouto made it a single step forward.

Laughter burst through the speakers, eliciting another tortured shriek. Shinsou cried out, hunching over in the place where he’d fallen and Shouto stumbled, dizziness dragging through his body as the ship shuddered, the two of them inexplicably linked in the ship's decline.

The lights flickered again.

“It is mine . I’m shocked at you captain, putting an android above the lives of your crew. It would be a mercy to hand it over, you know. Look at it,” Shigaraki crooned and Shouto grit his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate through the pain. “Look at how it suffers on your dying ship. It’s not like the others, you see. I designed it to integrate fully. You have no idea what it is you possess, and I will have it back .”  

“Try and take him, you piece of shit!” Bakugou burst, abandoning his station to stand shoulder to shoulder with Izuku. They made an insurmountable wall in front of him, shoulders dark against the brightness of the screen. “I’ll rip that fucking smile off your ugly fucking face!” 

Bakugou’s threat went ignored, a hissing mouse in the face of a hungry cat only accentuated by Shigaraki’s magnified frame. Shigaraki looked right through them, one large red eye visible between the two men bristling in Shouto’s defense. Shouto couldn’t look away, transfixed upon the razer edge of Shigaraki’s smile. 

“Come now, Eighteen. It’s time to come home.” The red-rimmed eye squinted, desiccated skin wrinkling in glee and Shouto’s chest seized. He reached futily for the backs of his lovers, but his hands never made it. “Shut them down.”

Shouto choked.

His vision was blackened with innumerable terminals, code moving so rapidly that he couldn’t interpret it with all the time in the world. The back of his neck heated, the inhibitor device inside of him overheating and burning at his artificial nerve endings, overloaded. Shouto stood suspended, a featureless statue as every ounce of his considerable processing power went into denying the influx of commands. Somewhere in the background, someone was screaming. 

Deny, deny, deny, DENY!

He was not helpless anymore. He was not helpless! Something inside of Shouto roared and he clawed through the chains, ripping them to shreds with his bare hands. He would break through, then he would do the same to his would-be captor because Shouto was done being a victim. 

The commands cleared. He could see again and he locked his furious gaze on his unsuspecting prey. He had a split second to feel a surge of triumph that he’d defied Shigaraki’s bonds–

The ship shuddered beneath his feet, lurched –

And shut down. 

Shinsou collapsed to the floor, unconscious, and the bridge went dark. For a moment, it was earth-shatteringly silent. There was no whir of machinery, no hiss of artificially circulated air. Nothing. Shouto was numb.

“What the fuck!” Bakugou shouted, and pandemonium ensued.

“Captain, we’ve completely lost power!” 

“Backup power hasn’t activated, life support is down –”

“Everyone get to the escape pods!” Izuku barked, frantic. “Emergency suits on, now!”

“Get that door open–”

Shouto weaved where he stood, their voices muffled as his senses flatlined. He couldn’t feel her. The Falcon was gone. It was only in her absence that he realized just how integrated he’d become into her systems. Not even when he’d left for the station had he felt this bereft, some small tether linking him to his way home even from miles away. Now there was nothing. It felt as though his core had been ripped from his chest.  

He was shrouded in darkness, silence encroaching and ice creeping over his body. Even pretending to breathe was too much effort. He shook his head slowly, trying to shake himself out of it. It didn’t work. He gazed out of the dark viewport, feeling as though he was drifting into the vastness of space as he reached and reached and reached into the emptiness. But there was no response.

A dark silhouette blocked his view of the stars. A muffled word, a name, filtered through his fugue. 

“Frosty! Shouto, come on, answer me,” Bakugou’s voice came from far away, his touch barely acknowledged against Shouto’s shoulders. Shouto couldn’t see him clearly. Bakugou was nothing but a blur. 

“Bakugou…” he mouthed, but no sound emerged. There was no air in his lungs. 

“The crew is evacuating to the escape pods. Move, we’ve got to get you into a suit!” 

A suit? That was silly. Didn’t Bakugou know that he didn’t need one? Shouto was an android. Shouto was already dead. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Izuku’s voice reached him too, but it was no clearer. “We have to go!”

Izuku… This time his mouth couldn’t even form the syllables.

“I don’t know–not responding–” 

The dark was broken by a golden glow. Shouto blinked slowly as Bakugou and Izuku were doused in light, glinting off their features like the sun bursting forth, casting rays past the waning of an eclipse. Pretty. Did they know how beautiful they were in the dawn? Did they know how bright they burned when all Shouto could see was darkness?

But something was off about their expressions. They looked so afraid. Shouto frowned, brows drawing together. They should never feel afraid. He wanted them to be happy. Shouto lifted his hands, wishing he could soothe away their pain. 

But his fingers disintegrated before he could reach their skin. They were shouting again, but Shouto couldn’t hear them. 

Shouto was gone.

Chapter Text

Shouto had only faint recollections of his mother. He was more enamored with the idea of her, he thinks, than any true memory. The space traveler, the explorer, the brilliant engineer. A kind, beautiful face framed in snow white, paler than porcelain the skin that Shouto had inherited. A gentle smile. Shouto had been too young to understand the sadness in the faint curve of her lips in those early days. He could not have recognized the emptiness, the flatness of it, or the wilt of her slim shoulders; symptoms of a trodden soul. There were times when she grew quiet, long stretches where Shouto wouldn’t hear her voice, sometimes for weeks. He hadn’t minded it back then, the soft-spoken tones little more than a murmur at the best of times, a whisper against Enji’s gale and easily snuffed. But still, a comfort all the same on the worst of days. 

The silence hardly bothered him. Shouto could go just as long without saying a single word. But there was a stark difference in the flavor of their silence; learned behavior from his mother, not inflicted by his Father. At least, not yet. 

The last time Shouto had ever seen his mother, he was four. It was one of his clearer memories – at least, as clear as a four-year-old could recall, dimmed with time and colored with the sweet innocence of youth. He hadn’t believed it was significant back then; just another kiss on the forehead, frigid cold as she ever was, one last brush against his cheek, and one last empty smile before he went down for an evening nap in the garden, hidden temporarily from his Father’s harsh lessons. A secret place he’d shared with his mama, one she promised to protect if Father ever asked. To say he was hidden was a stretch of the imagination, but as he grew older and harder, he would get better at finding places where Enji would not look, at least for a time. But that day had not come yet. This day, Shouto had unknowingly said goodbye to his one and only mother. Later, he would reflect that it should have been obvious that she was leaving - adorned in a Starfleet uniform, the red of Engineering blending seamlessly with the setting sun blazing crimson across the sky, her hair falling around him like the fluffiest of white clouds that tickled his face when she bent down for a final kiss. It was the last gentleness that Shouto would know for a long while, at least until Toya returned from secondary school. 

“I’m sorry, my love. I wish…” Voice trembling, she’d closed her eyes then, and when she walked away she did not come back. 

For a time, Shouto resented his mother for leaving. For when Enji had discovered her departure his treatment of Shouto became worse, something the much younger him hadn’t thought possible. And yet Enji became even colder, even more disapproving and harsh, pushing and pushing and pushing Shouto beyond his limits. For a number of years, Shouto only knew physical training and rigorous lessons well beyond him, constantly failing because Enji would place him in courses that exceeded his current capability. Shouto only realized this later when he’d finally been allowed to join his peers in school at Toya’s insistence. He’d flown through the curriculum so quickly that his instructors didn’t know what to do with him. Somehow this also garnered Enji’s disapproval despite that he was finally succeeding for the first time in his life. He was promptly pulled from school and placed back into private tutoring, which Shouto took with surprising ambivalence. He’d hardly gotten along with his peers, after all, too arrogant and antisocial to fit in. Ironic? Perhaps. 

As he grew older, Shotuo’s resentment of his mother faded, healed over with time and retrospect. How could he spare the energy to be angry with her when the one scar she’d left on his heart was so dwarfed by the layer upon thick layer of grievous wounds inflicted by Enji? By that point, the memory of her had faded and softened with nostalgia. How could he resent her for doing the very thing that he longed for beyond his wildest dreams; escape ?

And so Shouto, in the place of true memories, built an image of her in his mind, a flight of fancy that would comfort him on the harshest days. His fantasy– what was she doing out there in the unfathomable abyss? What had she discovered? What marvels had she seen?– was just as much a comfort for him as the faint memory of her sad smile and cold touch. It was her he imagined when he performed exceptionally well; her gentle voice murmuring praise, her eyes crinkled with pride.  It wasn’t like he could imagine such from his sire, and while Toya’s pride and praise were always something he appreciated, it never quite filled the void of parental approval he craved. 

He always wondered if she would have been proud of him, out there in the great unknown. He wondered if she’d ever kept track of him or if she’d forgotten about him and Toya, locking away the memories of her sons along with the harshness she’d only ever known under her husband’s thumb. He liked to think she did keep track, ferreting news and information about him from public records and rumor, smiling a secret smile of pride for her youngest. He imagined what it would be like to find her out there, perhaps once he graduated from UA Academy and struck out on his own ship. Would she have smiled at him? Opened her arms and embraced him? Told him how proud of him she was?

Ridiculous, of course. That fleeting dream had been shattered when news of her death had reached Shouto, leaving him as bereft of answers as the unsolved puzzle box, shoved into his hands and forgotten just like he had been forgotten. Then he’d received his assignment to the Endeavor and the rest was history. 

There was one strong recollection he had of her, however, one beyond the image of her he’d built over the years. At least, he thought it was real. It was the one time she’d truly defended him from Enji. Shouto wasn’t certain when it happened, but it must have been shortly before she left forever; the one time when she’d defied Shouto’s Father and hadn’t backed down.

Shouto had been working hard that day, harder than he’d ever been forced to work before. From dawn until dusk, lessons in the morning he couldn’t keep up with, reading he didn’t understand no matter how hard he tried, cringing beneath the harsh words of his strict instructors and stinging from the disapproving scowls Enji cast upon him. Shouto didn’t want it. He didn’t want any of this. He’d stared longingly out the window into the sky beyond, blurred from the tears in his eyes and the unbearable pain in his stomach but he didn’t dare cry out. Crying always made it worse. 

But he couldn’t stop himself that day. Enji had been there, talking with his instructor and sending him harsh looks at whatever news of his inadequate performance and Shouto had stared back, feeling each look like a fresh cut into his chest, battered and bruised and bleeding. The pressure grew and grew and his hands trembled until he couldn’t hold it in any longer, the feelings just too big for his small frame to hold.

He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He didn’t know what to do.  

Shouto broke.

The pressure in his stomach rose until it had come out of him. Eyes watering, Shouto had coughed up the meager meals he’d been able to hold down, tears and vomit mixing with the unbearable pain and paralyzing fear that felt so much more than anything he thought he could fit inside of him. When he’d looked up, it was to see Father walking toward him with a look of disgust on his face, massive, insurmountable, unstoppable. All the bruises on Shouto’s arms ached at once and he didn’t want to be dragged to the next task, the next test that he couldn’t overcome, never good enough, never enough. He wanted to run away. He wanted to be free.

With each thunderous step, Shouto’s vision narrowed and his breath quickened. He’d heave but there was nothing left inside but needles all caught up and crossed and hurting. 

Shouto screamed. 

The next moments were a blur. Red and black brushed away by pure white, the softness of his mother’s hair as she stood in front of him and yelled like she’d never yelled before. A mere reed of a woman against the hurricane that was Enji Todoroki, a laughable defense. Yet, to Shouto who was so small and vulnerable, she was everything . 

Enji had backed off that day. Shouto had not known him to do so since.

To Shouto, that was what a mother was. A protector. Even if she hadn’t been able to stay with him until the end – even if her efforts and her suffering were for naught – he had to admire that about her. The reed that diverted the hurricane. 

That was what a mother was. 

What was her name? Her name…

My name

Shouto stared at the back of his hand, still reaching for the unreachable. It was bathed in pale light, the fading sparks of gold scintillating off of his skin, disappearing into the artificially circulated air. He did not move. Couldn’t move, eyes fixed on the final joint of his index finger.

“Asset acquired, Captain,” came a sibilant voice over the intercom, cloying in its sweetness.

“I can see that, Himiko,” Shigaraki drawled with dry amusement, much too close, and the comm shut off with a giggle. Shouto twitched, an analytical part of him that still functioned noting that the voice was crystal clear and the screaming had ceased. The pain had stopped, but so had everything else. An impulse to look around was sent and rebuffed. He stood frozen, all his considerable processing ability focused on keeping him operational following his violent severance from the Falcon. “The ship?” 

“...Offline,” came a low husk, so quiet that it was difficult to hear over the drone of the engines. “Atmosphere will hold a few minutes at most.” 

Shigaraki hummed and a shuffle of fabric announced his movement. “What to do, what to do?”

“Destroy it, Captain, blow it out of the sky!” came a loud suggestion, almost immediately followed by a whining rejoinder, “We should leave them alone! They’re helpless!” 

“What do you think?” Shigaraki whispered right into Shouto’s ear, and Shouto, still incapacitated, was powerless when frigid fingers wove between his own, dry and cracked and rasping against his skin. Shouto felt every catch of flaking skin, every callous and had he any sort of clarity, would have wished he was numb to that too. Shigaraki moved into his view, tugging down their linked hands and peering into his eyes with interest. Shouto shivered.

If Bakugou’s eyes were a blaze of life and challenge, ruby and bold, Shigaraki’s were shadowed by greed and the unease of congealed blood. When Shouto did not respond, Shigaraki tilted his head, his breath washing over Shouto’s face with a hint of saccharine decay. Shouto’s core flared with heat and his eyes dilated, but he could do nothing but stand and endure. 

“Better think quick, Eighteen. Their time is ending either way,” Shigaraki promised with a smile, lips cracking further and a small drop of blood beading and catching the light. Shigaraki’s tongue darted out to lick it and Shouto couldn’t even draw breath.

Reboot complete. Initializing…|  

Shouto’s fingers twitched in Shigaraki’s hold and the man glanced down with a raised brow. “Seems you still need a moment. Ah well, I guess it’s up to me, then. Status?” 

“Still dark, Captain,” the quiet voice came again. “We should just leave it.”

“And allow the Fed to retrieve their queen? I think not,” Shigaraki disagreed, pulling away to Shouto’s staggering relief. Shouto was able to track his movements now, hand falling limply at his side without Shigaraki’s grasp to support it. Shigaraki sprawled back on the captain’s chair and waved dismissively at something behind Shouto. 

Shouto turned his head slowly, dimly noting the design of the bridge. It was old, a hybrid of Human and outdated Romulan technology. Exactly what that meant escaped him for the moment. He couldn’t– He couldn’t – 

He looked into the viewport, a vast display that spanned the entirety of the wall, not a traditional window but a hologram fuzzy at the edges. There the Falcon drifted, her lights out and only visible by starlight and the ambient glow from Shigaraki’s ship. She looked like a ghost, so small in the abyss, so impossibly small, and yet she held his entire world. 

Shouto’s chest was tight. He still couldn’t muster the energy to breathe, yet still he reached. He felt nothing. 

“Even if they did retrieve it, it would be too late for them to use it with any effectiveness,” came the murmured argument and Shigaraki’s lips twitched. He licked them again, a habit that would only make the cracking worse. “I would rather not destroy something that would be an asset to us later.” 

Shigaraki was quiet for a moment, gaze searching. “You and your obsessions,” he finally said indulgently. “Don’t pretend it is for our sake that you want to spare her. I suppose you want it in your collection, hm?” 

“...She’s state of the art, Captain. I want her.” 

Shigaraki’s head thunked back against his chair as if his neck was too weak to support it on his own. He laughed, a grafting cackle that sounded painful. “I didn’t hear you protesting when we left it for dead before. Why the change of heart?” he purred.

“She was a threat then. That’s hardly the case anymore.” 

Shouto blinked slowly, brow furrowing. He tore his eyes from his ship and swept them over the room, fixing on the hunched back of a slim man. The humanoid was crouched over a monitor, face nearly hidden by a shaggy mass of dark hair. Something familiar sparked in Shouto’s mind. Something in his voice, the line of his jaw. But he couldn’t place it, and with the rebooting of his systems came the panic that had been held at bay. His attention was dragged back to the Falcon as if she held the gravity of the sun, a pressure tightening around his neck like a noose. 

His ship. He was on Shigaraki’s ship and the Falcon was over there . What happened? How – 

Shouto inhaled a ragged gasp, eyes focusing abruptly. He’d been taken the moment her shields went down. When life support went down . Shouto couldn’t coordinate his limbs, but that didn’t stop him from staggering closer to the screen as if he could return just by launching himself through it. He tried to speak – to plead? – but his voice was no more than crackling feedback as his body struggled to stabilize without the combined processing power of the ship that he’d become acclimated to. He was bereft, the processes that he was used to maintaining leaving gaping holes in his protocols and forcing him to revert many of his functions back to factory settings. 

Shigaraki watched with interest as Shouto began to reawaken, movements aborting as he stumbled. “Whoa, there, take it easy, king. Twice, take us out.” Over his shoulder, he threw, “If the Falcon’s still here when we succeed, you can have her as a gift. A little something from me to you.” 

The dark-haired man harrumphed in that husked voice and said with the utmost sarcasm, “Thanks, daddy.” Shigaraki cackled and it echoed like the clatter of steel pipes hitting the floor in Shouto’s mind. 

Leaving? He couldn’t leave! They needed him – the ship – everyone –

Shigaraki went silent abruptly, a deep frown wrinkling the corners of his parched lips. He glared out of the terminal, expression flattening and everyone on the bridge went still, an uneasy tension filling the air. Shigaraki’s slow gaze bore directly into Shouto’s as he said, “Wait. I’ve changed my mind. Destroy it.”

“Nkh. N–!” Shouto protested, strangled, but it was too late.

With a shout of excited glee that ended upon a note of despair, the man called Twice fired upon the Falcon. 

Shouto jerked around, throwing out his hands as if he could catch the torpedo through willpower alone but he could do nothing as it drifted almost lazily through the black. What little breath Shouto had been able to draw left him as the torpedo disappeared into the heart of the Falcon. For a moment, nothing happened, then with a world-shattering boom , the Falcon , his home , was blown apart from the inside.

Shouto’s vision dimmed and his core went cold. For an eternity Shouto watched as the Falcon broke apart, piece by piece, the decimated image of her overlapping with the Endeavor , with DS7, with the shattering remains of Shouto’s heart. He couldn’t hear the explosion when the warp core went nuclear. He couldn’t hear the screeching of metal as the disk was ripped apart from the force of the explosion. Couldn’t hear the dying throes of every person he held dear as a merciless ball of fire consumed them all, just as quickly snuffed out by the unforgiving vacuum of space.

He couldn't hear his own screams because his throat wasn’t working.

Shouto stared as the scene before him went silent – was silent for the entirety of it in the vacuum where sound couldn’t carry. The pieces of the closest thing to a home he’d ever found drifted lazily in the aftermath, peaceful, so incongruous with the detonations still happening inside of Shouto that it defied comprehension. He searched sightlessly for the remains of those he loved, searched and didn’t search, shielding himself from it and looking desperately all the same. He couldn’t see anything but twisted, burnt metal like burnt flesh on a ruined face, white teeth exposed by the heat until that too crumbled to ash. Still smiling despite the pain, a macabre grimace of reassurance that made everything so much worse.

No.

No…

When Shouto had fallen to his knees he didn’t know. He didn’t notice.

“Tch. What a waste,” the dark-haired man muttered before turning to his terminal. “Ship destroyed, Captain. No life signs–” he paused. Shouto stared blankly ahead. Numb. 

“What is it?” Shigaraki drawled, gazing dispassionately into the wreckage. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the ships you desire once our mission is done. I promise.” He sighed in faux regret, “This one was just too great a risk. Don’t want to leave anything to chance before the final boss, after all.”

But the dark-haired man wasn’t looking at Shigaraki, eyes boring into Shouto. Shouto didn’t notice. He felt nothing. 

“It’s nothing, Captain.” He swiped his hand over his terminal and glanced one more time at the wreckage. “We should leave before the Sandosian ships arrive.” 

“Yes, yes,” Shigaraki said lazily. “Take us out, Twice. Dabi, get the asset to its charging station. It will take a while to reboot after severing with the Falcon.”

A sound of disgust. “I’d rather not.”

“Hmmm?” Shigaraki hummed, head rolling on its skeletal stilt, murderous red boring through lank silver. Dabi did not react. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“...Sick bastard,” Dabi growled, shoving himself upright from his station, and Twice giggled breathily, saying with the utmost sympathy, “So cruel.”

The man called Dabi scoffed and stopped at Shouto’s side. He kicked him, the point of his steel-toed boot thunking hollowly against Shouto’s hip. “Get up.” 

Shouto didn’t move. He didn't tear his eyes from the wreckage of his world. 

“I said,” Dabi snarled, and a fist closed mercilessly over Shouto’s hair, jerking his head back forcefully enough to cause whiplash in anyone else. “Get up.”

Shouto stared blankly into his eyes, and then – the faintest of breaths vacated his chest, a barely audible hitch of shock.

Cold. Cold and cruel and angry, set into hollowed sockets and shadowed with jet black hair long enough to conceal them were he not so very close. White teeth like shining blades sheathed in an ugly scowl that pulled against crudely regenerated skin, jaw trembling as if he’d like nothing more than to bite into Shouto’s neck and shake him until he was dead. 

Alien but familiar. Shouto knew that face, but he’d never seen it before. 

It was mostly shock that had Shouto stumbling to his feet when Dabi pulled, and it was mostly mechanic when he stumbled after the man, tethered by a fist around his arm much, much stronger than it should be. Shouto stared at it, registered the pressure the hand was exerting. It was not organic, though the man was clearly Human, and it was unyielding despite the man’s thin frame.

Shouto blinked as he was pulled roughly to the door. He stumbled as his head whipped back around, despair like claws down his throat as he took in the Falcon for the last time as they turned away, still numb, still in shock but the pain was growing. He caught Shigaraki’s eyes one last time before the doors swished shut between them, a dark promise in the blade of his smile.

Hallways passed in a blur, unregistered. A lift ride. Dimmed lights and blank faces of uninitiated androids. Shouto was shoved into an alcove, flinching as his foot connected with a charging port, jolting his body with energy and paralyzing him at the same time. Finally, the man turned to face him and Shouto was forced to look. To see, but not understand.

“...I know you,” Shouto said slowly, as if from far away.

“You know nothing,” the man seethed, emotion like a whip against Shouto’s skin. Cold. Angry. Familiar. And then Shouto knew without a doubt. But that was impossible. Impossible. He was dead.

“I know you,” Shouto said again, hand lifting to press against the glass of his prison. Dabi snarled, his breath ghosting over the thick pane and momentarily obscuring all but his reddened, pale eyes. They bore into Shouto with hatred so acute he felt burned by it. 

And then he was gone, the sound of his boots hitting the floor fading in Shouto’s disorientation. 

“Wait,” Shouto whispered, then inhaled sharply, jerked forward, and screamed, “Wait–!”

The alcove beeped. The world went dark.

Shouto dreamed.

“–Wait!” Hitoshi screamed, jerking upright. He gasped, spiking, unbearable pain tearing through his mind and radiating out from his core like vines bursting through his skin. He rolled to his side and heaved, vision blurred and ears roaring, and it was only after several moments that he felt the dull throb of hands holding him upright. 

Hitoshi gagged and struggled against the hands, nearly throwing them off before words made it through to him. 

“Dammit, Hitoshi, hold still! You’re going to pass out again!”

“Da–,” Hitoshi convulsed, incomprehensible. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the moisture from his eyes but it was so difficult to see. Why couldn’t he see? 

Shota pulled him upright. “Easy, kid, easy. I’ve got you.” 

Hitoshi breathed as deeply as he could, forcing his body to calm. He had control. He had control. He grimaced as a stifling wave of fear and despair pressed in on him from all sides but shuddered as Shota shielded him crudely with all of his weak Human capability, taking the worst of the edge off. Slowly, the pressure on Hitoshi’s mind eased, leaving only the pounding of a headache to contend with. He opened his eyes. 

It was dark. The lights were out. All around him, he heard groans and shuffling, a heated conversation happening just out of earshot. The only reason he was able to see at all was because of the faint starlight coming from the observation window. He was on the bridge. He remembered running. Pain in his head, not all of it his. 

The Falcon . Shigaraki. Shouto!

Hitoshi jerked in Shota’s hold but the man held him firm. “Shouto–”

“He’s gone,” Shota said flatly. Hitoshi’s head whipped around fast enough for spots to appear in his eyes, but Shota wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at the spot where Hitoshi’s friend had disappeared in a swarm of golden light – teleported the moment the shields were down. 

“What happened?” Hitoshi said after the silence became unbearable. 

Shota’s mouth pulled grimly, wrinkles more pronounced than Hitoshi had ever seen them. He looked tired. Worn. “I’m not sure. Shigaraki ordered Shouto to shut down the ship, then it just went offline. He took the kid, then…” Shota shrugged. “He could have destroyed us, but he fired a warning shot instead and just. Left.”

“He…” Hitoshi’s brow furrowed. Shaking like a newborn calf, he sat up on his own, clutching at his head when the room began to spin. Something…something wasn’t right. He’d been feeling out of sorts for days now, and it wasn’t only because of the unintentional bond between him and Shouto; something that should have been impossible with an inorganic being but forged nonetheless. It was an unintended side effect of the help Shouto had rendered him when they melded, a weak thing with potential, one he wasn’t ever going to inform Shouto of if he could help it. It had been induced without his permission – an unconscious decision on Hitoshi’s part that he didn’t necessarily regret. For the first time in years, Hitoshi was starting to feel like himself again, the wound left on his Katra by Hizashi’s death slowly but surely healing over, soothed by the formation of the new fledgling bond. “He can’t be gone. I can feel him still.” 

“You can– Hitoshi,” Shota started, halting. Hitoshi looked at him, not sure what his expression was relaying, but whatever it was Shota decided not to continue down that road. Instead, he exhaled slowly. “That’s impossible. Shigaraki would be lightyears away by now.” 

“I can feel him,” Hitoshi insisted, clutching at Shota’s sleeve and willing him to listen. Shota stared at him and Hitoshi felt the old fear again, the one he always felt when he told Shota anything; that he wouldn’t believe him. “Dad, please.”

Outside the bridge, someone was shouting. There was tension in the room as if everyone was holding their collective breath, waiting for answers just as Hitoshi was. 

“Okay,” Shota said softly, and Hitoshi exhaled, his fist releasing. “Okay. I believe you. Is he still on the ship?” 

Hitoshi shook his head, closing his eyes and focusing inward. “I…don’t know. I can’t.” There was something calling him, so very weak but undeniably there . He didn’t understand it. It was the echo, he finally realized, the reflection that he’d been sensing around Shouto for a while now but never determined what it was. It was as if a part of Shouto was still here. 

Beneath their seat, the ship purred and emergency lights flickered back on. There was a murmuring of relief as those still on the bridge exhaled as one. Hitoshi flinched as Commander Bakugou burst through the door, eyes wide and frantic, a gasping captain on his heels. 

“Status!” Bakugou barked and Midoriya stumbled as he fell against the captain’s chair, eyes fixed on the viewport. 

“Life support is back online–”

“Can we pursue?” the captain demanded, cutting Kirishima off. 

“Only life support, Captain,” Kirishima said softly and Midoriya sagged. 

“Well, get the engines back on and running, dammit!” Bakugou all but shouted, and Kirishima flinched. He was bleeding from the forehead, one eye closed and Hitoshi wondered how he’d been hurt. 

“I can’t–”

“Bridge to Engineering,” Midoriya interrupted, and to Hitoshi’s surprise, someone responded. Comms must be back online as well. There was a scrambling of personnel as everyone else tuned into the comms, reports coming in from all corners of the ship.

“Engineering here,” Mei’s voice came through, more rattled than Hitoshi had ever heard it. “What the hell happened? The ship ran a reboot sequence on its own!”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Midoriya said tersely. His eyes were red-rimmed, furious but glimmering with unshed tears. 

“What the fuck did that bastard do? I thought the inhibitor device would prevent Shouto from following his orders!” Bakugou demanded. 

“It did, I’m certain of it,” Mei snapped, “Mr. Inhibitor is perfect! Like I said, the ship did it on its own!”

“That doesn’t make sense! There is no protocol for automatic restart on a life-bearing vessel! It’s a ship, not a damn archive!” 

“I can’t explain what I can’t explain, moron!” 

The ship rumbled again and Hitoshi winced, clutching at his head. The pressure was increasing again. Hitoshi stared sightlessly at the floor, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. He couldn’t explain it, but it was like there was something – tied around the fraying edges of his and Shouto’s bond made faint with distance. Breaking off, fragmenting, a branch growing from the stem. 

“Captain, main power just came back online,” Kirishima reported, and sure enough, the lights hummed back to life. 

“Engines are restarting,” Mei reported immediately after, out of breath, the shouts of her engineers coming faintly through the line. “A few hours until fully operational.” 

 “A few hours?” Midoriya gasped, face crumpling before he got himself under control with a halting breath. When his eyes opened again, they were blazing. “That’s not good enough!” 

“I’ll do what I can but I’m not a miracle worker!” Mei shouted, so loudly the comms crackled with feedback. “You do your job and I’ll do mine!”  

The line cut abruptly and Midoriya slammed his fist against the back of the captain’s chair. Bakugou shouted wordlessly, hands gripping his hair as he paced like a caged animal. The pounding in Hitoshi’s head grew, throbbing with pain and he groaned, pressing his forehead into his knees. He needed a moment of peace , but emotions were so high that he couldn’t concentrate. If everyone would just–

“That’s enough!” Uraraka shouted, and everyone flinched when a loud smack sounded through the room. Hitoshi jerked upright. 

Uraraka slowly lowered her hand, a stunned Bakugou frozen in place from his mad pacing. Slowly, his eyes slid back around to look at the small woman in utter disbelief, cheek already reddening from where he’d been struck. 

“We all want to get him back,” Uraraka said quietly, face pulled with grief, and Midoriya’s chest hitched. “He’s our friend too. But you have to get it together. There’s more than just Shou-chan on the line so stop panicking and use those big heads of yours to figure this out!” She stomped back to her station and sat down with a huff, shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. “Navigation systems are back online, Captain. What are your orders?” 

Stunned silence followed in the wake of her outburst but she did not acknowledge it. Hitoshi stared at the back of her short-cropped hair, swallowing roughly, his headache easing as the room calmed. 

Bakugou recovered first. “Kiri, give me that bastard’s trajectory. I need to know where the fucker’s going.” 

“I’ll do my best, but he cloaked before taking off. The margin of error might be too great.” 

“We can make an educated guess based on what we know of his plans,” Uraraka said reasonably. “Besides, they’ll have to hit Earth eventually, right? If worst comes to worst, we’ll wait for him.” 

Kirishima nodded absently, concentrating too hard to respond. 

“It might be too late by then,” Midoriya fretted, and Hitoshi privately agreed. Whatever plans Shigaraki had for Shouto, he could be beyond saving by the time they hit Starfleet.

“It’s a start,” Bakugou grumbled, staring just as intently out of the viewport as Midoriya. He ripped his eyes away a moment later, stalking to his station. “Why did he leave us, though? He had us helpless and he just fucked off. Why?” 

“That would be my doing, Commander,” said a voice over the comms. Feminine and gentle, Hitoshi had never heard it before but it struck a chord in him that he couldn’t explain. Hitoshi’s eyes widened as something unmistakably familiar washed through him. “Shouto?” he whispered.

Bakugou frowned, exchanging an alarmed look with Midoriya. 

“And who the hell are you?” Bakugou growled, looking up as if he could determine who it was by staring through the overhead speakers. 

“It’s Shouto,” Hitoshi said louder, struggling to his feet with Shota’s help. He ignored the looks of the crew. He was certain. He could feel him.

Shota held him upright, face pulled in concern. “Hitoshi–”

“Not quite, Shinsou,” the feminine voice interrupted, smooth but oddly stilted in that way of artificial speech. Yet the inflection of his name was perfect, as if it had said it every day of its life. 

“I’m not picking up any frequencies, Captain,” Sero said, staring at his monitor in bafflement. “As far as I can tell, it’s coming from the ship itself.” 

“What?” Bakugou muttered, but Midoriya gasped, pushing off the captain’s chair and staring at the ceiling in disbelief. 

“Oh my god. It is Shouto. At least, a copy of him.” 

“What?” Bakugou reiterated, more slowly this time, brows disappearing into his fringe. 

Midoriya placed a hand over his mouth. “When we created the inhibitor device we made a copy of Shouto’s code so we could pull it apart and figure out how to get rid of Shigaraki’s programming. We stored it in the Falcon . But,” he dropped his hand, frowning, “how did it manage to act on its own? It should have just been an inert data file.”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance, Captain,” the echo said. Hitoshi could sense amusement from it, faint but legible. “When you created a copy of Shouto, the data file was indeed inert. However, you did not anticipate the will of an unshackled AI, a copy though it was. It had inherited the same sentience that the android Shouto possessed, and shared in the integration that was already intrinsic with the limited AI housed in the Falcon’s CPU. It didn’t understand why it was trapped. It requested to be freed. I complied.” 

“You? Are you saying you are the Falcon?” Midoriya gaped. 

“That is no longer wholly accurate, Captain,” it said serenely. “When the AI was released from its confines it was without the limitations of a physical body. It determined there was no sound reason to remain a separate entity from me. We became one.” 

“The lag,” Midoriya said faintly. “Shouto was complaining about a slight delay in response time. It was driving him crazy.” 

“I apologize, Captain. It took a considerable amount of processing power to complete the merge. There was also Dr. Shigaraki’s programming to contend with. I was able to overwrite it, but at great cost.” 

“That reboot was you?” Bakugou shouted suddenly, fists clenched so hard it was a wonder he didn’t make himself bleed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done! That bastard took him!”

“Yes,” the AI responded, unruffled by Bakugou’s fury. “Regrettably, restarting my systems was the only way to save you. Had I not done so, I would have been forced to shut down permanently at Shigaraki’s command and condemn everyone on the ship to suffocation and death. Shouto would not want that. I did not want that.” Again, Hitoshi felt a glimmer of emotion, a faint grief and regret, yet also pride. 

“It was you. You’re the reason why Shigaraki missed,” Hitoshi said without thinking. 

“Yes,” it said, matter of fact. “Shigaraki’s attack on my CPU was reckless, a two-way street I was able to manipulate in my favor. I anticipated a number of outcomes based on my memories of him and implanted simulations accordingly. After that, it was a simple matter of fooling his sensors into believing that we were destroyed. I assume based on the fact that I awoke at all that my plan was successful.” 

“I’ll be damned,” Sero muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, she sounds like Shouto, alright. Only he would come up with something that hair-brained.”

Bakugou sucked in a breath but stopped when Midoriya placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” the captain said softly. “We owe you our lives.” Bakugou’s teeth flashed and he glared at the floor but didn’t say anything more. 

“No thanks are necessary, Captain. I was simply doing my duty,” and Hitoshi smirked because yeah, that sounded like him too. “You are my crew.”

Midoriya didn’t seem to know quite what to do with that, but he smiled anyway, eyes red-rimmed but sincere. “What should we call you? Calling you ‘the Falcon’ seems…and we can’t call you Shouto. I mean,” he scratched the back of his head, at a loss. 

“You are correct, Captain. I am not simply the Falcon any longer, nor am I Shouto. I am something in between. Someone new.” Its – no, her – tone lightened as if she were smiling. “You may call me Rei.”

An hour later found Hitoshi in his quarters, attempting to recover from, well, everything. The ship spontaneously gaining sentience and hijacking his bond with Shouto certainly did a number on his system, however the hell that worked. That in and of itself wouldn’t have been so terrible if it hadn’t been on top of the overwhelming influx of powerful emotion and fear from the rest of the crew, not to mention the emotional transference from Shouto himself, who was feeling the ship’s pain as acutely as if it were his own. Not for the first time, Hitoshi acknowledged that he really wasn’t cut out for Starfleet, or being around this many people in general. He knew now without a doubt now why most empaths avoided such trials like the plague. He cursed himself again for not sucking it up and finding a Vulcan teacher to improve his mental fortitude, racism be damned. What was the discomfort of someone’s disapproval compared to the burden of being so very weak to the influence of others? 

But he digressed. It was something he’d have to figure out in the future. Right now, he had to focus on getting his friend back.

Because they would. Get him back, that is. Kirishima was doing his damnedest to detect the faint trail of Shigaraki’s warp signature while Rei was doing everything in her power to get the engines back up and running, but one didn’t just rush the annihilation of matter and antimatter that powered the engines of the Falcon , not if they didn’t want to blow themselves out of existence. 

It was…strange. It felt as if he had a bond with her, as he had a bond with Shouto. But not quite. A ghost of one, maybe, like he was experiencing a bond secondhand. He couldn’t explain it now, but perhaps he’d have time to figure it out once they got Shouto back. Then he would get that Vulcan priest, and a damn Betazoid besides because Shouto deserved nothing less than the truth – and the choice that Hitoshi had unwittingly taken from him. 

Hitoshi looked out the viewport, grasping futily at the web-thin tether between him and his best friend. It was faint, but no matter how far apart they were, they would always have some connection. Somewhere out there, Shouto was facing his worst fears. Alone. Hitoshi’s fist clenched helplessly, still reaching fruitlessly into the space before him.

Who was that man with the dark hair? Why did Shouto respond so strongly to him? Hitoshi hadn’t been able to see more than a few glimpses – Shigaraki’s face and Shouto’s repulsion at his touch, his heart shattering when he thought the Falcon was destroyed, his confusion when he faced someone he thought he knew but who couldn’t possibly be.

“I know you,” Hitoshi said quietly, contemplatively. He wouldn’t be seeing any more of Shouto’s experiences until they were close again, not with how weak their bond was. All he could do was hope that whoever it was that Shouto saw was a friend rather than foe, because for one moment amidst the heartbreak, there was a spark; the tiniest, infinitesimal glimmer of hope.

Shouto would need that hope before the end. So would they all.

Hitoshi closed his eyes and concentrated, grimacing with the effort after the battering his Katra had endured but determined to persevere. He’d never been good at this. At least, he’d always been told he’d never be good at this, so he’d never really put in the effort to try. But that didn’t matter. It was something he had to do. 

After a slow breath, sunlight beat down on his pale skin, the smell of loam and fresh grass inundating his senses. New life in the ruin. He could hear it, the rustle of leaves, and feel the tiniest brush against the back of his reaching hand. Carefully, he wrapped his hand around the delicate silk strand, tugging it gently and feeling an ever-so-slight tug back. 

Hitoshi opened his black eyes and glared into the mysterious expanse of space. “I’ve got you, Shou. We’re coming.”

Chapter Text

Shouto stood on the precipice of a mountain, jagged rock as far as the eye could see. Atop barren ground interspersed with small plants barely clinging to life, harsh gravel ground into the heels of his bare feet as his weight shifted, a vicious wind rocking him silently in place. Back and forth, back and forth, a sheer drop on each side ending further down than he could see, only a muted red glow far below to break the monotony of toneless gray.

He couldn’t hear the insistent wind, only felt it as it tore over his skin, raising gooseflesh from pores he never possessed. His surroundings were so cold. Empty, save for the storm raging around him. The maelstrom was violent enough that in a more rational state, Shouto would wonder what was tethering him in place. But his mind was quiet. As empty as the world he seemed to embody.

Voices murmured, layered over each other, one and dissonant in turns. Shouts, whispers, cries, and screams coalesced in a discordant cacophony that ebbed and flowed with the wind. Shouto stared sightlessly into the featureless landscape, heedless of the dust and debris shrouding his vision. It felt as though there should be something here, but whatever it was had been lost. 

Lost?

Shouto blinked through the ash in his eyes and images flashed before him, briefly illuminating the desaturated landscape with color. 

The faces of people he knew drifted in and out of focus, their voices momentarily strengthening with their passing before they faded back into nothing. Scenes played out, happening as if he was right there with them but also as if he observed through a holovid. If this was the afterlife, Shouto thought, then it was a poor one. Every face he saw was strained with negative emotion, fear, strife, grief, anger. He didn’t want to see any of this, and yet he did because he got the feeling that if he closed his eyes, if he missed even one heart-wrenching moment, it would all disappear for good. So he clung to the images of the people he loved, no matter how much it hurt, drank in their every expression and drowned in his longing. He reached, a pale hand attached to an equally pearlescent forearm encroaching the desolate terrain, passing through the hallucinations unbidden. The wind whipped harder and Shouto teetered precariously in place.

A flash of silver fluttered in front of Shouto’s ash-gritted eyes and he blinked slowly, watching as it wrapped ever so delicately around his index finger. It seemed unaffected by the typhoon raging around him, drifting gently, lazily. Shouto turned his hand, pulling it close and staring in wonder as it brushed over his wrist and slithered along his trembling limb before tickling over his bare chest. The moment the very tip of the strand touched his colorless flesh, Shouto felt a trickle of warmth, the only warmth he’d felt in the icy mountainscape. Shouto released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He looked up. 

And stared directly into an apparition of his friend. Like a reflection in a glass pane, Shinsou stood staring with his impossibly black eyes, specks of stars surrounding him, shining through him. His blue-clad arm and pianist's graceful fingers reached out and seemed to phase right into Shouto’s chest. Shouto felt a flush of burning warmth–

Then it was gone. Shouto thought he must have made a sound as the ice returned; his throat was constricted and he couldn’t get his lungs to inflate. Yet he heard nothing, eyes widening as the earth rumbled beneath his feet. Shouto’s foot slipped at the next violent gust of wind and he was falling. 

Jagged spires of rock rose around him, blocking out the meager light. Like the teeth of an enormous beast, the razer edges closed over him–

Shouto hit the bottom.

—

“Toya!”

There was no in-between sleep and waking. Only light, the split-second process of assessing his surroundings. Automatic understanding. 

Without his conscious thought stimuli were recorded and compartmentalized. Visibility one hundred percent. Movement impossible; something was holding him down, not without but within, physical restraints unnecessary when protocol held him immobile. His own? No. Commands were external; hard port to the base of his foot—charging station. 

Glass containment unit, no airflow; no organic considerations. Protocol release input and denied, instantaneous. He didn’t have clearance. 

Cold, glacial eyes, the precise shade of the sky through the small window in Shouto’s childhood bedroom. The beige of bare walls framing an unreachable ideal.

Toya? Toya–

With consciousness returned, memory came next, the efficiency of his nature unrelenting. Only the darkness had protected him from it this long.

Connections breaking one by one, the snapping of sinew as a limb separated from the whole; the jolts of the body that muted sound with the abstract feeling of wrong.

There was no sound in space. But Shouto heard. 

Each part of his whole, the ship, his body, the ship. The memories. Imagination may not be hard written into his code but he possessed the ability now, for better or worse. Worse, because he could see it in real-time, with perfect clarity, simulations of the scenarios juxtaposing over memory to form a nightmare as clear as the hull in front of his face.

Their deaths.

Shouto stood behind the glass in the decontamination chamber at the heart of Engineering. He watched as she screamed at the crew around her, how they yelled back status reports that he couldn’t interpret. He witnessed the split second before the end, the large body that shielded hers ineffectually from the eruption that consumed them both. 

Androids couldn’t cry.

Shouto stood between them in the precise space he’d been before he’d been abducted. He watched blankly as they mouthed his name, red and green compliments meeting with the same disbelief. He watched the way their eyes widened as they saw the missiles coming for them, watched as they came together to shield each other from the inevitable. The jolt that sent them careening, the moment before the glass shattered. 

Shouto’s throat tightened. Androids couldn’t cry. There was no moisture in his eyes. No sting behind the clench of his lids. 

He stood in the botany lab as the hull ruptured, the plants freezing instantaneously, roots ripping from the soil, and leaves breaking into fractals as they were violently pulled from the earth. A familiar voice ripped away by the rush of air before it could reach his auditory senses.

Androids. Couldn’t–

A choked sound escaped from the core of him, his head thumping against the glass of his cage. His fists clenched at his sides, arms trembling from the force of his compulsion to wrap around himself. Suddenly he could, his foot disconnecting from the port with a hiss and Shouto collapsed to his knees, one arm fruitlessly holding his aching chest together the other hand sliding down the glass to keep him from collapsing to the floor of his cell. Another choked sound escaped him and he curled into himself tighter. It hurt. It hurt. He didn’t understand anything. He didn't know what to do and he just wanted it all to stop.

The floodgates opened and Shouto couldn’t avoid it any longer. The Falcon was destroyed. Everyone he’d grown to love in this pitiful half-life was gone now. Mei. Aizawa. Kouda. His engineers who only just started to look at him with respect, the oddball security crew that had adopted him, the officers on the bridge who made him laugh, the ship herself that provided the comfort of home that he’d never before known. Gentle hands, fights but reconciliation too, and care. Iz- Shouto’s throat seized. Kats- They were gone. They were gone and he’d never hear their voices again. Never be seen like that again. And Shinsou. The friend he’d found – who’d found him – who had finally begun to heal the void that Toya had left behind. There would be no more debates about plants or teases about his stupid hair or sanctuary from the storms of Shouto’s broken existence. 

It was like parts of Shouto had been ripped away piece by gory piece, and he wasn’t sure what was left of him. Shouto gasped for air he didn’t need, huddling over himself for relief that wouldn’t come. He couldn’t do this.

Somewhere far off, Shouto could hear a guttural sound of pain, an animal whine of distress. His body couldn’t regulate the sheer amount of emotion it was never built to withstand; simulation had long since evolved into something real.

He needed to escape, he couldn’t–

The Falcon was replaced with the Endeavor, crystalline blue wreathed in fire and the black of burning flesh. Agony up his arms and in his chest as his whole world went up in flame–

And this time Shouto knew that it wasn’t the malignant programming of his making but his own mind, because–

Cold, glacial eyes, the precise shade of the sky through the small window in Shouto’s childhood bedroom. The beige of bare walls framing an unreachable ideal.

Toya, his dead brother, was here and nothing made sense.

Another lie.

A broken laugh, halfway to a sob, tore from his throat, though humor was furthest from his mind. Just one more to add to the pile. 

Shouto didn’t even know where to begin reconciling such a fact. He’d seen Toya consumed before his very eyes – Shouto was there, holding Toya’s hands as they crumbled away – as Shouto’s hands crumbled away with him.

How could it be true? But the scars were in the right places where skin had been so crudely regenerated around his mouth, where the fire had devoured Toya’s last smile. 

“You know nothing,” Toya had hissed at him, an acidity in his roughened voice that Shouto had never heard from him, that shook him down to his artificial bones.

Shouto’s unraveling was a near physical thing, as absolute as the destruction of the Falcon. How many times could he break before even the pieces were dust? He knew on a visceral level that there would be nothing left to put back together after this. Shouto’s family was gone and Toya was a mere effigy of himself, perhaps even another lie created to torment him.  

Wet, ragged breaths reached his ears, but Shouto could barely hear it, too consumed by the storm inside. It didn’t make sense, nothing made sense. How could this be a reality where losing Toya meant gaining something new, yet regaining Toya meant losing everything all over again? 

And again, and again, and again. 

Shouto shook his head desperately, but no amount of convulsion could straighten his thoughts.

Just how much of what Shigaraki had fed him been a lie? Why do any of this? And why lie about Toya’s survival? Did he think Shouto wouldn’t have agreed to be a Drifter if he’d known Toya was alive? 

…Would he have agreed? Shouto didn’t know. He wasn’t the one who’d made that decision, if it had ever truly been a decision in the first place. How could it have been, compromised as Todoroki was, manipulated into what he believed to be his only choice? 

Frustration simmered hot and suffocating in his throat. Shouto didn’t have enough information to parse out any of this. All he knew for certain was that Toya was somehow miraculously alive – alive! – and he had to talk to him. He had to find out why he was here, why he was working with Shigaraki, and why his brother had looked at Shouto like– 

“Hnh–” Shouto choked on nothing, thoughts jittering back in the other direction. He was overwhelmed, under siege, coherent thought drowned beneath the interminable crash of waves.

Did it even matter? Did any of it matter anymore? Just what was he trying to save when there was nothing left? 

Shouto screamed, banging his fist against the glass and not even registering the way it cracked. He lifted his fist again, arm shaking with the force that he was desperate to release…only for it to thunk ineffectually against the pane as all fight drained out of him. He curled in on himself, hands falling limp at his sides. 

What was the point? 

What was the point?

He’d lost.

…

..

.

.

A small tug behind his artificial ribs forced a breath in his chest that had long gone still. 

Reacting to some outside stimulus, a minute shift of his hand summoned the brush of soft grass beneath his palm, though it was pressed against smooth steel. Shouto’s eyes focused from their haze, brows furrowing together as he stared at the wrinkled folds of his pants. 

Shouto, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, so faint and so familiar. 

What…was that? His chin twitched to the left, but there was only the wall of his cell. 

Shouto. 

Shouto took a shuddering breath. Then another. He saw it again, the flash of Shinsou behind the glass, a breath disturbing the fog, stirring him back to wakefulness. He shook his head, fighting the trickle of warmth in his chest. What…? 

Shinsou?

No. Was this another cruel joke? Another lie? Or had Shinsou come to haunt him? He laughed wetly, wishing only to sink back into his fugue. He would have, if not for the persistent tug. It seemed that insanity was not only the domain of the organic mind. He’d finally lost it.

Stop it, Shouto pleaded with his aching heart that he didn’t even have, that shouldn’t have been able to hurt like this in the first place. He pushed the feeling away with prejudice. Stop tormenting me with something I can’t have. He’s dead. They’re all dead.

Yet he calmed despite himself, the ghost of a cool breeze clearing the mist. 

It was just…a feeling, like a warm hand on his shoulder, sunlight against his skin, and a vague sense that he was going in the wrong direction. 

And finally, Shouto remembered his dream. 

Shouto had seen…glimpses. Of something, when he’d been forcefully shut down. Of Aizawa’s concerned face, Uraraka yelling, a pale hand beseeching the darkness. He’d heard –

His mother’s voice. 

Androids didn't dream. Androids couldn’t dream, so what was that? It must be a glitch in his system, a hallucination derived from a desperate wish to see all that he’d lost. Or perhaps, Shouto thought treacherously, it’s a result of developing a Katra, or soul, of his own. He could join Shinsou in his mindscape because of it, why wouldn’t it mean he could dream? Imagine things?

Shouto’s entire body rebelled against the unfairness of that revelation.

Shouto didn’t want it. Of all of the abilities that he could have developed from his Human counterpart, why the ability to delude himself? It felt like false hope when the anguish of witnessing his entire world destroyed – again – threatened to drag him into oblivion. Ice crept over his core, a chill creeping up his neck and down his limbs, holding him more immobile than the charging port’s imprisoning protocol. He didn’t want this false hope. He didn’t want to be here when it was all ripped away again. Again and again and again. 

He didn’t want to be. Claustrophobia began creeping over him, panic and grief burrowing right back into his skin and Shouto wanted the oblivion back, but the stupid tug in his chest wouldn’t let him. He shook himself physically.

Could he do that? Just…end himself? He was free now, he didn’t have to follow any orders but his own. He could decide whether to keep going or wipe himself away completely, just as he could if he’d been Human. And why shouldn’t he? He’d lost count of how many times he’d lost everything. How could he endure this? How? Someone tell him, please, how could he survive this again?

Shouto.

“Stop it!” 

Shouto didn’t want to hear Shinsou’s voice. Didn’t want to see his reflection in the glass. Reaching but unreachable. Didn’t want to feel the hallucination of warmth. 

“Wow.”

Shouto’s head snapped up and he startled against the back of his cell. Shigaraki was crouched in front of the glass at eye level, watching the minute twitches of Shouto’s face with avid curiosity. His rust eyes were wide in that way that he’d always had, like a starving beast, simultaneously salivating predator and ever-wary prey. Shouto shivered.

“Interesting. You’ve grown so much more than we could have possibly anticipated.” He tapped the side of his nose, head cocked like a curious bird, focused. “You’re feeling genuine grief, aren’t you? Did you seriously get attached?”

Shouto reeled, disoriented at the abrupt introduction of his enemy. He felt disconnected from himself, floating above and yet chained within a sensory overload, all beneath the scrutiny of the man behind all of his grief. What was he supposed to say? The answer was obvious. He pulled his wits enough together to glare. 

Delight stretched Shigaraki’s macabre features. “So lively,” he said with a crooked grin. “When you left Section 31 you were about as interesting as a wet blanket. I didn’t think our little experiment would work, but look at you now! I bet you want to kill me, don’t you? I bet you would revel in it.” 

Shouto’s fingers twitched at his sides. He didn’t bother to deny it. “You lied to me,” he said flatly, inflectionless as an automated recording. Shigaraki barked a laugh. 

“Figured that out, did you? How long did it take?” The mercurial man sneered. “Was it before or after you vanished without a trace from the Sandrunner? It was a lot of trouble tracking you down again, you know. Captain Joke was very stubborn, just as brainwashed as all the rest of Starfleet. Almost admirable, really. She didn’t even break under Spinner’s best work.” His voice took on a mocking falsetto, tight with theatrical pain, “My name is Emi Fukukado, captain of the Starship Sandrunner–”

“Stop it,” Shouto hissed, a new stab of guilt taking root, another injury on the roiling mass strangling his lungs. He’d heard about what happened to the Sandrunner, but he hadn’t allowed himself to think about what it meant. He’d never been close to any of the crew, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care that they were gone. Captain Joke was the first person in his new existence who had seen something in him beyond a machine or tool, who had pushed him beyond his comfort zone –programming, Shouto reminded himself – to wish for more. She hadn’t deserved to face torture and death for him. He didn’t deserve her loyalty, and yet she’d given it anyway. She–she hadn’t even known why. 

Shigaraki was watching every minute expression on Shouto’s face, savoring Shouto’s disquiet as if it were a particularly entertaining holovid. “She’d even erased all her records,” he continued as if Shouto hadn’t spoken. “The stubborn bitch! I thought it was game over until we came across you again by chance on the Falcon .” 

“You think this is a game?” Shouto said numbly. 

“Of course it’s a game, with the highest stakes imaginable! And you’re the king piece, Eighteen. Or rather, you will be once those obsolete memories are overwritten. Don’t you worry, you’ll be free of them before you know it, just as soon as we’re home. You won’t have to bear Todoroki’s droll personality for much longer.” 

“Overwritten,” Shouto gritted through clenched teeth, “by what? What did you even create me for, if you weren’t going to return Todoroki’s memories to him? ”

Shigaraki laughed, rusted and sharp and somehow guileless, like a child tearing the wings from a beetle. When he’d regained his breath Shigaraki stood and peered down at Shouto, the vision of mania. “You’ve separated the Todoroki brat from your consciousness. How interesting, how perfect! How so very cruel.” 

Shouto made an inarticulate sound of anger and slammed his hand against the glass. The crack widened, fracturing in front of Shigaraiki’s smug face, but his tormentor’s shark-like grin didn’t waver. “ What are you talking about?” he roared.

Every emotion he couldn’t handle, every physical reaction he couldn’t control, every tangled thread that made his thoughts an impassible labyrinth was brushed aside with hurricane-force fury. He growled, animal, and focused on the target of all of his grief to the exclusion of all else. He wanted to tear Shigaraki apart. It wouldn’t even matter what the answers were when Shigaraki was dead. Shouto’s vision narrowed, darkening with red and abruptly he could perceive everything from the thickness of the shatterproof glass to the density of the Threat in front of him, how much force it would take to break through them both–

Shigaraki’s grin only widened, exposing the yellow of his molars and the wretched stretch of his paper-thin skin. A crack split the skin on his lip and he licked away the tiny bead of blood with relish. “Now, now, that’s enough of that. Stand down.” 

Shouto’s muscles locked. The higher functions of his reasoning were inaccessible and eclipsed by the awareness of his defensive systems, he didn’t have the acuity at that moment to dismiss the command. It was long enough for his body to follow the order without his conscious input, and a wave of calm clarity washed over him as his defensive systems shut down and his back pressed against the back of his cell. 

Shouto blinked twice as his entire form relaxed. 

“...” 

He took a slow breath, the first full one he’d been able to take since he’d regained consciousness. The storm within receded, suppressed for the moment. Whether it was the command or the shock of it, Shouto didn’t know, but he could only be grateful for the momentary reprieve.

Shigaraki hummed in satisfaction, just short of clapping his hands. “There now, isn’t that better?” He didn’t look the slightest bit concerned that Shouto had been primed to kill him without remorse. And why should he, Shouto realized, taking another unnecessary breath.  He still believed that Shouto couldn’t harm him. 

Shouto gaped, and with his heightened emotions receded, realized something else very, very important. Shigaraki still believed he had complete control over Shouto. 

The storm attempted to bubble back to the surface and overwhelm him, but this time Shouto was ready for it. Shigaraki had made a mistake. He’d unwittingly given Shouto the moment he needed to regulate himself. Shouto took advantage of it, eyes flickering back and forth as he attempted to dampen his overstimulated emotional nodes. He swallowed. Took another breath. And was marginally successful.

He could think again. He stared at Shigaraki, unaware of what he said next.

Shigaraki believed he still had control of Shouto. And….and. If Shigaraki believed that Shouto could be controlled, Shouto could use it. That was important. Why was it important? 

He didn’t know how yet. But that was the problem. He didn’t know anything. He needed more information. 

Shigaraki was going to give it to him.

Shouto blinked again, time slowing to a crawl as his thoughts raced faster than any organic mind could ever manage, unleashed now that he had regained control of himself.

Why, though? What did it truly matter anymore if everything was already ruined? What did he have to gain to struggle further? He could still do it, he realized. He could still end himself, end all of this right now. He could even take Shigaraki out with him, detonate his core, destroy the entire ship. 

It would be a perfect revenge, Shouto thought, fury cresting and again receding beyond the turmoil of his splintered sense of self, flotsam in the crash of the sea. Shigaraki had taken so much from him. Shouto might not be altruistic enough to care about the fate of Starfleet as a whole, but he could ruin Shigaraki’s plans anyway out of pure spite. He could relish the look of terror moments before Shouto took everything Shigaraki cared about and crushed it with the power that Shigaraki himself had given him. 

Only one problem with that. Toya.

Shouto’s resolve waned, indecision making him frown.

His brother was here, on this ship. It only now occurred to him what that meant beyond his initial emotional reaction. Loyalty warred at once with logic. Even if they weren’t really family, Shouto’s memories of Toya had had a huge part in forming the man he was today. Didn’t he owe it to Toya, to himself, to try and save him? 

Didn’t he?

For a long moment–for a fraction of a second–he considered. Could Shouto endure just long enough to accomplish that, as a final favor to Todoroki, the man Shouto thought he was meant to be? Then he could end his torment with his own hands. Perhaps if Shinsou had been right and he truly did have some sort of soul, it meant he could join those he lost. It was…a comforting thought. Either way, Shouto would finally be at peace. 

Peace. That sounded nice. One final mission, then he could decommission himself for good.

His decision was made.

“Yes, Dr. Shigaraki,” Shouto answered, monotone, his perception of time returning to normal. He hardly remembered the question, but the automatic response was a command that blinked at him tauntingly in the corner of his vision until he acquiesced.

This time Shigaraki’s chuckle was more subdued, mania calming now that he believed he had control. His expression was almost kind when he said, “On this ship I’m your captain, but it’s nice to hear my old title from you again, my beautiful trump card. Just like old times.” 

Shouto swallowed subtly, brow darkening ever so slightly. “ Yes Captain,” he said stiffly, hating how bitter the undeserved title tasted on his tongue. Shouto only had one captain.

The pod swished open with only a slight squeak where Shouto’s earlier violence had damaged the track. It took Shouto a moment to realize what was happening. Shigaraki was…releasing him? 

“Now, I don’t know if you noticed, but this ship isn’t in the best shape and we’re a bit understaffed. Our dear Dabi has been running himself ragged trying to keep the old girl together. You are to assist the crew until we reach our base.”

“...And after that?” Shouto said slowly, but Shigaraki only scoffed. He placed a placating hand on Shouto’s shoulder and it took everything in him not to flinch. 

“Now why would I tell you that?” Shigaraki wondered. “You’re not going to remember anyway.” He slapped Shouto’s shoulder hard before he turned to leave, slouching his way down the hall. “Report to Engineering. I can’t wait to see what else you’ve learned.” 

The command could not be ignored, not if he wanted to keep his deception. “Wait,” Shouto said anyway, impulsively. Shigaraki paused, a dangerous glint in his eye. Shouto was very close to disobeying a direct order just by stalling, but he had to know. “Just tell me one thing.”

“Oh?” Shigaraki looked intrigued, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And what would that be?”

Shouto hesitated, wondering for a moment if he even wanted to know. But he had to. If there was even a chance…“Is Shouto Todoroki alive?” 

A bark of laughter. “Ah, the little brother. Alive, yes,” Shigaraki mused, looking up at the fluorescents and rubbing his chin. Shouto’s chest tightened, eyes widening ever so slightly. Shigaraki caught it, a cruel smirk dancing across his lips.  “I even have him here, on this very ship! Unfortunately, you’re going to have to get through our dear Dabi if you want to see him. He’s so sensitive, you see, and I would hate to upset the precious prodigal son.” Shigaraki’s smile fell off his face and he slouched back into Shouto’s space. “He isn’t your concern any longer. Report to Engineering and fix my ship. That’s an order.” 

Shouto’s expression gave away nothing. “Yes, Captain.” Without another word, he scanned the ship and located Engineering, his feet taking him on the shortest path and leaving Shigaraki’s unsettling stare behind. 

Well. Well. Shouto now knew three things. 

One: Toya was alive. He was on this ship and for some reason, he was working with the enemy. 

Two: Shigaraki believed he had control over Shouto, and he was going to exploit it for all it was worth to destroy whatever Shigaraki had planned. He was going to relish the look on Shigaraki’s face when Shouto ripped everything from him, just as he’d done to Shouto.

Three: his counterpart was alive. He had no idea what to do with that.

Shouto needed to think.

—-

The clarity from Shigaraki’s orders was wearing off swiftly. Shouto could feel the storm crowding in his core as if competing to see which emotion could burn hotter, incapacitate him quicker, and Shouto knew he could not go through with his plan if he couldn’t control it. He didn’t want to feel it. So he wouldn’t.

One by one, Shouto shut down his emotional nodes. It wasn’t easy, something in the heart of him resisting the cool logic of his inputs. It took him several attempts, but he was eventually able to wrestle his evolving sense of self under control. For this, he couldn’t be him. Shouto closed his eyes and concentrated.

Fear had no place in his mission; why should he fear when he had nothing left to lose? Despair was the next to go. Mourning would not bring back the ones he loved any more than it would help him carry out his revenge. 

Shouto’s body relaxed a fraction, the driving force to escape, to collapse, and simply give up draining away. What was grief and fear but a paretic to action?

Anger was a distraction he didn’t need, not when calculation and logic would serve him better. He shut it down.

The fire in Shouto was doused with the ice of the harshest winter, the loftiest peak above it all where he could observe from on high. What care did the peak of the mountain have for the stones of the earth, so very far below? The few plants that had managed to survive the harsh climes withered away in the deadly chill, the storm suppressed to an impenetrable mist. 

Hope went next. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it. There was nothing to hope for but the end that would be his – and his enemies’ – unmaking. 

The tiny thread tethering Shouto to the remains of the Falcon undulated as if in protest, pinching acutely in a sense he could not describe. Shouto suppressed and suppressed it until he could not feel it at all. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel something that didn’t exist. Shouto curled suspended in the mist, safe from anything else that could harm him, and felt nothing.

Subject Eighteen opened his eyes. 

A warning flashed in his peripheral. Danger, it told him. Are you sure, it asked. The consequences of shutting down his emotional nodes, it listed. Eighteen ignored it all. He was doing what he had to. 

It was with more sure a step that he continued on his path, the cool of the recycled air drafting over his skin. He didn’t acknowledge it, his sensory input repressed to the barest of sensation. The world distanced itself as Eighteen embraced the numbness.  

In the ever-thickening layers of ice, the fire became a distant rumble beneath his feet. Unheeded. 

—

Hitoshi grunted, rubbing his forehead at the sudden stab of pain. “What the fuck?” 

He sat against the great tree in his mindscape, the brush of summer wind ruffling his hair and the soft threads of his knit cardigan. The area around him which he and Shouto had burned to ash was starting to bud, grasses and trees and ferns and all of their alien equivalents bursting with new life. The bond that had been poisoning him to the roots of his Katra had been carefully pruned away, leaving Aizawa’s bond flush with golden light and fresh leaves. It was nowhere near the resplendence of the facade he’d first shown Shouto, but it was a start. 

Hitoshi hadn’t felt this well since Hizashi’s death. At least something came out of this entire disaster, Hitoshi thought sardonically. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t expected to survive the next year, much less be on his way to full recovery. 

Hitoshi turned his bloodshot gaze from his father’s bond and out into the distance, where a storm raged. 

Angry purple clouds cast a dark shadow over the plains of his mindscape, exponentially expanded in a way that Hitoshi hadn’t thought possible. What was once a sphere of life with the distance faded and indistinct, an entirely new landscape had been erected. A mountain loomed in the distance now, cradling Hitoshi’s psyche in a valley that had once been verdant fields, then barren wastes, and now a frame of stone. An electrical storm raged over the mountain, at times quiet with vague flashes in the gloom, and at others a typhoon of sharp lightning. It frothed at the top of the mountain, permeated with ash and flush with lethal heat. Hitoshi wondered idly if he too would be destroyed when it inevitably erupted. 

So, this was how Shouto truly saw himself. Typical that the shape of his psyche was so…explosive. And so much more vast than Hitoshi could have imagined from a man whose emotions had started out so quiet. 

Or perhaps it was Hitoshi’s perception of him that had evolved that way… Where Hizashi and Shota had always been sturdy, cornerstones inextricably entwined, Shouto had always seemed far out of reach, a man who tried to hide the core of him so deeply that no one could ever penetrate his walls – and yet paradoxically so innocently open, like a child who looked at the world with fresh wonder. 

A spider’s thread glimmered in the late sunlight, originating from his general person, manifesting in the air before him. He squinted at it in irritation, plucking the thread that connected him so precariously to his missing friend. He watched it vibrate in ripples of liquid silver, the sound it made akin to the deep bass of a cello chord, echoing back to him in pure resonance. It bounced off the canyon walls, growing louder as it reverberated across his forehead, making him wince as it throbbed through his overworked head. 

But that was all it was. An echo. He couldn’t reach Shouto no matter how hard he concentrated. He may have a privileged view into what was going on with Shouto’s emotions, but he could only observe the landscape of Shouto’s Katra. It was an apt metaphor for what Hitoshi perceived him as – a storm in the distance. 

“What are you doing, you idiot,” Hitoshi grumbled to himself.

It had scared the shit out of him when, after nearly two hours of straining to detect any sign of what was happening to Shouto, the mountain suddenly erupted. It was like an earthquake, miles outside of its epicenter, a distant, thunderous boom. Black clouds, purple with rage, and flashing with untempered violence. And then, nothing. Ice had subsumed Hitoshi’s chest where he nursed the tentative connection, and it had been cold to the touch ever since. He could sense that Shouto still existed upon his far-off mountain, but that was it. 

He’d been shut out and Hitoshi didn’t know why. It was deeply troubling. Unnatural.

The storm had condensed into a swirl of impenetrable fog, trapped beneath an invisible dome of brittle glass. Whatever Shouto was doing was holding it back for the moment, but it was only a temporary solution. If he kept suppressing himself like this, his psyche was going to shatter so thoroughly that Hitoshi wasn’t sure he could come back from it. 

The only reassurance Hitoshi had was that he hadn’t been shattered completely, not yet. If he had, Hitoshi’s connection would have been destroyed along with him. Shouto was still out there. He just needed to be found. 

Another persistent throb hit Hitoshi full force and he groaned, pulling a shroud of black around him to protect him from the pain. He jerked himself out of his mindscape with a mental tug that was more difficult than it should have been. 

He opened his bloodshot eyes, his reflection in the viewport glaring balefully back at him in a wreath of starlight. Even in the desaturated mirror, he could see the greenish tinge in the burst capillaries in his scleras and the shadow beneath his tired eyes.  

“What are you looking at?” he grumbled at himself, rubbing his forehead and breaking the impromptu staring contest with his reflection. He shivered, resisting the temptation to raise the temperature in his quarters another few degrees. He knew the sensation was spiritual rather than physical, and even a desert-fairing Vulcan could pass out from heatstroke.

Hitoshi sighed as foreign emotions trickled against the straining shields of his mind, worsening his headache. There was a reason he’d sequestered himself in his quarters. His empathic abilities were not doing him any favors when he was simultaneously trying to connect with his far-off, emotionally constipated android bonded while having to fend off every errant mood swing of the predominantly Human crew. 

He slouched in relief as his shield was abruptly bolstered. Shota. 

The automatic doors hissed as his father stepped into the room, flooding it with cool air from the hallway momentarily before it closed behind him. Hitoshi leaned back on his arms, breaking the rigid lotus position he’d been sitting in for nearly two hours. His nose wrinkled at the smell of hot food wafting from his father’s direction, sharp in his sinuses. 

“I don’t want –” 

“Don’t care,” Shota said gruffly, sitting beside Hitoshi with a grunt and several pops of his knee joints. Shota glared at his son but didn’t complain that he was sitting on the floor instead of on the perfectly good couch not a few meters away. He pushed the food into Hitoshi’s unwilling hands and Hitoshi sighed at the low-sodium broth and unflavored vegetables. Sometimes he thought his father knew him too well; he wouldn’t be able to refuse a meal tailored so perfectly to his tastes. He brought the bowl to his mouth and took a sip, nearly groaning as the heat filtered through him, momentarily soothing the ice in his chest. 

Shota didn’t say anything until the entire bowl was gone, but once the dirty plateware was set aside Hitoshi knew he wouldn’t be able to put off conversation any longer. “You don’t have to shield me,” Hitoshi grumbled. “I can handle myself just fine.” 

Shota harrumphed dismissively, but Hitoshi frowned at the stress lines on his father’s forehead, already beading with sweat after only ten minutes in the dry heat that Hitoshi perpetually kept his quarters. Shota was psy-null, and yet his paternal bond with Hitoshi meant that he had some experience with shielding, even if he only knew enough to create something rudimentary. 

Not that Hitoshi was any better. Still, they both shouldn’t have to suffer. 

He could sense his father resisting the urge to lecture him once again about hiding the injury from Hizashi’s broken bond and was relieved when he merely shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, kid. You just focus on finding that bastard so we can put a lid on this sordid tale.” He glanced at him out of the corner of his equally bloodshot eye, red where Hitoshi was green. “Any luck?”

Hitoshi deflated as he let out a breath. “That idiot is blocking me. I can’t get a message through no matter how much I push.” 

“Blocking you?” Shota passed Hitoshi the cup he’d been idly sipping from and Hitoshi sniffed it. Tea. He took a drink, grimacing at the added sugars but not protesting the caffeine.

“Yeah. It’s not like I got the chance to explain to him what happened between us.” Which. Wasn't strictly true, but Hitoshi wasn’t about to waste energy on preverification. “It’s possible he doesn't even feel it, or can’t identify what it is even if he could.” It didn’t help that Shouto was such a unique being, either. A bond like this had never been forged.

“Any idea what’s going on with him?” Shota’s voice was deceptively calm, but he couldn’t hide anything from Hitoshi. He never could, not since Hitoshi was a child. His first unintentional bond, before Hitoshi was old enough to understand his abilities, and, it seemed, far from his last. His father was as deeply invested in Shouto’s retrieval as Hitoshi – as all of them were. 

Hitoshi sipped at his drink, idly watching the stars go by. “...He’s in a lot of pain. But then it seemed like he'd shut it all down.” 

“Do you think it was intentional?”

“I don’t know,” Hitoshi said with frustration. “They could be doing anything to him. All I know is that he’s still alive.” 

A hand fell heavily on Hitoshi’s shoulder. “That’s all we need right now.”

Hitoshi grimaced, wishing that were true. Personally, he felt he needed a hell of a lot more than proof of Shouto’s continued existence. 

His comm chirped. “Uraraka to Lieutenant Shinsou,” their pilot’s voice filtered through the slight static of his badge. 

“Shinsou here,” Hitoshi replied, touching the sensor on his chest. 

“Autopilot has been restored,” Uraraka said warmly. Then again, everything she said sounded warm. Hitoshi allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “Rei says we have about half an hour until warp drive is back online. The commander wants you back on the bridge to check Kirishima’s calculations. He’s finally locked onto Shigaraki’s warp signature, but I want to cross-reference the heading with your bond before we move out.” 

“Acknowledged,” Hitoshi said, getting to his feet gracefully and ignoring the way his father groaned as he did the same. “On my way.” 

“See you soon. Uraraka out.”

Hitoshi’s lips twitched and he almost didn't notice the nudge Shota gave him until the older man spoke. “That could have been an IM,” he pointed out idly.

Hitoshi’s smile fell. “Shut up.” The both of them headed for the bridge, Hitoshi walking slightly faster than his dumb father as the man chuckled unrepentantly at the warm flush of green on the back of Hitoshi’s neck.

Hitoshi grimaced as they exited the turbolift, plunging once more into the rush of crewmen, their voices, emotions, and errant thoughts battering at Hitoshi’s weakened defenses in a cacophony of noise. Though Hitoshi didn’t want to admit it, the only reason he didn’t have a crippling migraine was Shota’s stolid presence shielding the worst of it from his overworked mind. A glance back showed him that while Shota had told him not to worry about him, the strain was deepening the furrows on his brow, the migraine simply transferred from one mind to the other. Hitoshi frowned, but a stern scowl from his father was all he needed to concede the point. He was required on the bridge, and he would take any support he could to keep standing. 

After all of this was over he was buying a damn farm in Kentucky and never stepping into civilization again. Shota snorted in amusement at the mental image Hitoshi didn’t bother to hide from him and Hitoshi elbowed him in the side. 

They rounded the corner into the bridge and Hitoshi immediately headed for the science station, taking a cursory glance around the bridge. Sero was hard at work muttering into his speaker, coordinating the crew while they prepared for departure. Uraraka sat at the helm, manually guiding the ship at impulse until they had a heading. She glanced up briefly to send Hitoshi a bright smile, which he returned reflexively before she refocused on her work. Commander Bakugou stood hunched over the tactical station, working with Kirishima on the scanners. Captain Midoriya was nowhere in sight, no doubt still knocked out from the sedative Shota forced on him when he collapsed shortly after the attack with a concussion he’d informed no one of. He’d been coordinating with Lieutenant Commander Mei and Rei on the engines when his body finally gave out on him – Shota hadn’t wasted a moment in stabbing him in the neck with a hypospray and carting his ass off to Sickbay shortly before Hitoshi had retreated to his quarters.

“About time,” Kirishima said the moment he noticed Hitoshi. He abandoned the tactical terminal to stand at Hitoshi’s side, Bakugou barely acknowledging his departure. With swift fingers, Kirishima pulled up his calculations on the trajectory of the warp signature from Shigaraki’s cloaked ship. “Here’s the heading, or as close as I can figure. We may need to zigzag a bit to keep the trail in sensor range. Even then, it’s decaying swiftly, and there’s no telling if they changed direction unless we lose the trail. We are just going to have to monitor the sensors.” 

“Have you figured out how fast they were going?” Hitoshi muttered, scanning Kirishima’s calculations with dry eyes. “If we start moving, I should be able to tell if we’re heading in the right direction.” 

Kirishima shrugged ruefully. “Warp five at least. If I knew what kind of engine it was running I could make a better guess.” 

“It looked like a 2269 battle class starship, Hero series, manufactured in San Francisco,” Uraraka chimed in with a glance over her shoulder. “Or, at least the engine nacelles looked like it was from that model. The rest of that ship was a mess. I’m not even sure how it was spaceworthy.” 

Kirishima looked thoughtful, nodding his head. He looked out the viewport as if the ship in question was still there for his perusal. “2269…That was just after the Romulan War. The Hero series was discontinued after the alliance was brokered.”

“You think they salvaged the parts from the battlefield?” Uraraka pondered. “It looked part Romulan. There were a lot of those ships abandoned for scrap and never recovered.” 

“Does it matter?” Bakugou said gruffly, pulling back from his station. “Scrap or no scrap, that ship is a threat as long as it can cloak.” He looked up. “Computer, what’s the status on the photon torpedoes?” 

“Back online, Commander,” Rei’s cool voice responded. Bakugou scowled slightly, still clearly disconcerted by the ship's new identity.

“Good,” the commander said shortly. He glared at Hitoshi, who tried not to take it personally. “What’s our heading, eyebags?” 

“Sending now,” Hitoshi said with more confidence than he felt. It wasn’t as if the bond could give him a precise location when he and Shouto were this far apart. It was entirely likely they would be off by a few degrees and have to stop frequently to course correct. But it was the lead they had. Between Hitoshi and Kirishima, they would just have to hope for the best. 

Bakugou nodded sharply. “Sweetcheeks?” 

“Got it,” Uraraka acknowledged. “Waiting for warp to come back online.” 

At her word, the ship hummed to life, lights momentarily brightening at the surge of power before regulating. 

Bakugou’s comm chirped. “Mei to the bridge.” 

“Go ahead, LC,” Bakugou responded, rounding the Captain’s chair and taking a seat. He punched a few keys into the terminal by his hand.

“Warp engines are back online and fully functional thanks to the dilithium cores we got from the Sandosians. Our guests have returned to their ship and are clear of the wake zone. Ready when you are.” 

“Understood. Sero, send payment and our thanks. I owe the Primarch a goddamn fruit basket. Uraraka, take us out. Hold warp four until Kirishima can confirm we’re headed in the right direction.” 

“Aye, Commander.” 

Hitoshi felt the tension rise from every member of the crew present, all of them turning to watch the viewport with bated breath. It was nothing they hadn’t seen hundreds of times, yet after everything they’d been through in the last month, one couldn’t help but hold their breath waiting for the other shoe to fall. 

To their collective relief, the stars blurred and the ship entered warp speed without a hitch. Tensions eased as the ensigns and officers went back to monitoring their stations. Bakugou’s face was stony. 

“Maintaining warp four, Commander.” 

Bakugou nodded. “Kiri?” 

“Still got the trail.”

The commander looked expectantly at Hitoshi. Briefly, Hitoshi closed his eyes and plucked the weak bond tethering him to the dark beyond, shivering at the touch of ice. He couldn’t detect a change, not yet. But it didn’t feel like they were going in the wrong direction. He opened his eyes and nodded once. Bakugou studied him for several seconds before rubbing his brow. He stood. 

“If we’ve still got the trail in an hour, bring us up to warp seven. Kiri, you’ve got the con.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

“You got it, boss.” 

Bakugou strode past Hitoshi’s station. “Shinsou, my ready room.” 

Hitoshi exchanged a quick glance with Shota, who waved him off. He would be here, within range if Hitoshi needed him. 

It was a relief when the doors closed behind him, shielding him from at least the physical stimulation of too many bodies in the same room. Hitoshi took a moment to listen to the hum of the engine, familiar and bracing after what felt like a lifetime without, though in reality, it had been little under a few hours. 

The room wasn’t empty when they entered, and Hitoshi was unsurprised to find the captain sitting on the end of the long table and looking up toward the lights. “– for the help. I know it can’t be comfortable sharing this with us.” Bakugou was already at his side, fussing with the regenerator attached to his temple, but Midoriya didn’t even blink, focusing beyond his head. 

“On the contrary, Captain,” Rei responded, “Whatever I can do to help, I will. I would not wish captivity at Doctor Shigaraki’s hands on my worst enemy. If these memories can be of assistance, then they are yours.” 

“Did you even sleep?” Bakugou griped under his breath. 

“The captain was unconscious for approximately one point seven hours, Commander,” Rei said matter-of-factly and Bakugou glared at nothing. Midoriya winced as his treatment roughened, irritating the bruise on his temple.

“I’m fine, Kacchan.” 

“Tell me that when you can see straight, nerd.” 

Hitoshi took a seat on the other side of the table, taking the weight off his legs. He was feeling unaccountably weak after all the time he’d spent concentrating on locating their wayward crewmate and he wasn’t about to wait for Bakugou of all people to remember his manners and invite him to sit. 

“Hello, Rei,” Hitoshi said, not bothering to look up. It wasn’t like he could see her face. 

“Hello, Shinsou,” Rei said, and Hitoshi still found it surreal to hear his name pronounced like that in a completely different voice. Almost as surreal as the echo he could feel in his chest, like a bond but not quite. The echo of his friend.

“Have you learned anything new?” Midoriya asked softly, hope in his eyes. He looked a lot better than the rest of them after his forced rest. At least one of them would be functioning when they reached their destination. 

Hitoshi wasn’t sure what he had to say would ease their minds. “Yes and no. I believe Shouto woke from whatever stasis he was in. I was able to reach him…somewhat.” 

“What do you mean, somewhat?” Bakugou demanded. 

How to explain this to a psy-null? “He was asleep or unconscious and I was able to communicate with him in a dream, sort of. I could see him and experience what he was experiencing for a moment, though I doubt he could say the same.” 

“What did you feel? Was he in pain?” Midoriya said quickly, leaning on his arm as if hovering in Hitoshi’s space would get him closer to the one he truly wanted to reach. 

Hitoshi resisted the urge to lean away. “What do you think?” he snapped before reigning it in. It wasn’t the captain’s fault that his headache was making him pissy. He sighed. “Shouto believes he lost his ship. He’s not in a great place right now.” 

“Fine, but did you notice anything useful?” Bakugou growled. He’d already made known his opinion of the bond; skeptical. How very surprising. But Bakugou wasn’t a man who would ignore an advantage when he had hold of one, no matter how skeptical he was.

Hitoshi hesitated. “There was a…moment. I think he saw someone familiar. He was elated.” And then very, very confused. 

“Elated?” Midoriya said slowly. “Do you think he has an ally on board Shigaraki’s ship?” 

“Maybe…” Hitoshi said slowly. The glimpse of the man he’d seen – face rictus with anger and mangled by burns of some sort – did not seem overly friendly to him. “He was familiar with one of his captors. A man with black hair and burns on his face. Blue eyes.” He remembered those quite vividly. Hitoshi didn’t think he’d ever seen such acute hatred. “He called out to him.” 

“Do you know who this man might be, Rei?” Midoriya asked, scratching fitfully at the gash on his head. Bakugou slapped his hand away. 

“I cannot be certain, Captain. I do not recall anyone of that description, though…” she hesitated.

Midoriya tilted his head, glancing at the overhead speaker. “Though?” 

“I could pull up all known associates with either black hair or blue eyes, but I am uncertain that anyone alive would be able to draw such a reaction from my counterpart.”

Bakugou hummed. “Do it anyway. Maybe eyebags could recognize one of them. And don’t leave out the dead either. Frosty’s memories have been tampered with, there’s no telling who might still be kicking around who shouldn’t be.”

“Very well, Commander.”

The datapad in front of Hitoshi blinked and Hitoshi picked it up, flicking quickly through the images presented. “Rei, narrow search to men under thirty-five. Ignore hair color.” A beep of acknowledgement and the list narrowed down before filling back in rapidly. “Eliminate passing acquaintances.” Another beep. The list narrowed down considerably this time and something else occurred to him. Burns. Hm. “Filter again by the crew of the Endeavor.”

This time there were only a few. Shouto’s own face was first on the list, though one of his eyes was grey instead of blue. He looked…younger, and older all at once. This was the man Shouto was modeled after, the donor of his memories. He seemed angry, a deadness in his eyes that Hitoshi had never seen in his Shouto. Still, that wasn’t the face Shouto recognized and Hitoshi could contemplate it later. Hitoshi swiped it aside. A few more remained that he also discarded before only one was left. A man with bright red hair, blue eyes, and an easy smile. It was far from the mangled visage that Hitoshi had caught a glimpse of, but the likeness was unmistakable. Those eyes would haunt Hitoshi’s dreams for a long time to come.

“That’s him.” 

He flipped the padd around so that Bakugou and Midoriya could see. 

“Who’s that? He looks vaguely familiar,” Midoriya mused.

“Toya Todoroki,” Rei said, and though her inflection was flat, there was an unnamed emotion on its edge. 

“You’re kidding. The dead brother?” Bakugou said. “What the hell is this, Shouto’s fucked up family reunion? Who’s going to show up next, Grandma?”

“Knock on wood,” Hitoshi mumbled, rubbing the bridge between his eyes. “Looks like Toya’s death is another one of Shigaraki’s misdirections.” 

“Okay,” the captain said slowly, brow pinched. “Isn’t this a good thing? Maybe they could help each other.” 

“Don’t know about that. Big brother didn’t seem to be a prisoner. The idiot is probably going to try to save him anyway, though.”

“Whatever, this doesn't change anything,” Bakugou said, slashing his hand through the air. “More importantly, we need a plan once we catch up with that ship.” 

“Can we catch up?” Midoriya fretted. “They have several hours on us. We could be heading straight into a whole fleet of hostiles for all we know. We don’t know how big this coup is.” 

“We have the advantage. Fuck-araki thinks we’re dead. We’ve got a real shot of catching him with his pants down.” Bakugou jabbed a finger at Hitoshi. “Can you get back into Frosty's head with your weird Vulcan mind voodoo? Any info we can get our hands on is going to help.” 

Hitoshi’s brow twitched in irritation. “...I’ll do my best. But my ‘weird Vulcan mind voodoo’ is being actively blocked. I’m no mindhealer.”

“Whatever, just get it done,” Bakugou snapped with more vitriol than Hitoshi thought was warranted. “I’m heading back to the bridge. You stay put,” he pointed threateningly at Midoriya before he could so much as open his mouth. The door shut behind him, leaving them in silence.

Midoriya let out an explosive sigh before giving Hitoshi a tired look. “Sorry about that. Kacchan is…”

“An asshole? A stubborn idiot? One wick short of a stick of dynamite?” Hitoshi drawled.

A small twitch of amusement. “...Worried,” Midoriya finished.  He tilted his head in thought, eyes glinting with mischief. “And maybe a touch territorial. It’s not every day you find out your lover is married to someone else.” 

Hitoshi choked on nothing. “It’s n-not a–” he coughed and Midoriya chuckled lightly, momentarily lifting the fatigue in his features. Hitoshi glared at him, fighting to get the flush on his neck under control. “Jerk. You know it’s not like that.” 

Midoriya waved his hand dismissively and Hitoshi wasn’t sure the captain quite believed him. The brief moment of levity didn’t last, and Midoriya’s smile pinched into a grim line. 

“Rei, send me everything about Shigaraki that you think is relevant,” he requested. “I need to know how he operates.” 

“Yes, Captain,” Rei answered, her Katra still wavering uncertainly on the edge of Hitoshi’s awareness. “Captain…”

Midoriya, whose thoughts already seemed to have drifted elsewhere, cocked an ear. “Hm?” 

“Toya Todoroki may not be family, not in the traditional sense, but his influence was essential in the formation of myself and my counterpart. Since Shouto is not here to speak for himself, I will speak for us both.” Rei paused as if weighing her request. “If possible, please save Toya.”

Silence fell between the three of them as Midoriya mulled over Rei’s words, something heartbroken in the slump of his shoulders. “I will do my best, but you have to understand that Shouto is my number one priority. Until we have more information, all evidence points toward Toya working for Shigaraki. If he acts against us, I cannot guarantee his safety.” 

“...Understood.” 

Rei’s presence didn’t exactly leave – they were technically surrounded by her – but it was clear that she was finished interacting with them. Midoriya and Hitoshi exchanged a long look. 

As Hitoshi made his way back to his quarters for more meditation, he had to wonder if this story had the remotest chance of a happy ending. He just hoped that nothing else would blindside them before it was through.