A/N: Written for a prompt Sevi007 sent me over on tumblr. This fic is set in an ageswap AU, wherein Inko is Izuku's adopted daughter and charge. I'd recommend reading more on the AU on my tumblr blacknovelist55, but that's really all you need to know for this fic in particular.

Also, if you're curious about the AU, or if you want to send in a prompt for me, feel free to drop by my tumblr and ask! It would surely make my day.

Sometimes, Deku couldn't help but remember.

Scrubbing at the dishes in the sink just a little bit harder, Izuku forced himself to turn away from the clock and the calendar hanging beneath it, ignoring the date that seared itself into his head and the inside of his eyelids. There was nothing special about it, really - today was friday, just another day of the month, another day in a year. Maybe kids would be going out with their parents or their friends, basking in the warm sunlight of the picturesque weather and spending time with their families; maybe adults would come home to a warm house full of the smell of home cooked meals and children rushing to greet them. None of that really mattered to Midoriya though - he had everything he could have dreamed for already, after all.

Instead, he told himself to push all of that aside and focus. Focus on cleaning out the sink stacked high next to him, on the phone calls he needed to make over the weekend, on tidying up the papers haphazardly sitting on the kitchen and living room tables, because school would be letting out any moment now and Inko would be on her way home-

Ceramic cracked in his hands, soapy water splattering across the countertops. Izuku took a deep breath, tried forcing the tension out of his jaw and shoulders, and sighed.

So much for all that.

Sweeping the debris onto what was left of the platter he shuffled across the kitchen, tossing the mangled sponge he had been using into the garbage. He stood there for a moment, teeth clenched and mind lost in thought as he stared at the spiderweb cracks of the plate. The white powder coating the floral pattern and the tips of his fingers brought back memories of wooden cabinets caked in pale plaster, the feeling of pulling open the dark brown doors to uncover the dishes stacked there, miraculously intact and framed by the glittering shards of the glasses that had shared the space with them. One of few things he could salvage from a life she'd never have a chance to live anymore.

I…

The distant jiggle of a lock brought him out of his thoughts as the front door clicked open and a girl's voice called out; "Dad, I'm home!"

The plate clattered into the can as Izuku whipped around, and instinctively moving towards the foyer before pausing. For a moment his eyes locked onto a single photograph, black wooden borders encasing the image of a young man and woman holding a preciously wrapped bundle of blankets. The bright smiles visible on their faces left him pressing his lips together, throat tight and tears threatening to prick his eyes at the reminder he left hanging there. The two people she should've grown up knowing and now, would never have the chance to meet.

I'm sorry.

Then he gathered himself, took a deep breath to let the stress on his face ease away, and passed through the kitchen archway. "Welcome home, Inko! How was school today?"

Midoriya Inko is a lot of things.

She's young, a few weeks past being exactly twelve years old. She's got hair almost the same shade as Izuku's (something dark that glints green in the light) and it's amusing how many people mistake her for his biological daughter on a regular basis. Her quirk comes from her birth parents (they were nice people, she can feel it in her heart) and it only has enough strength to pull small objects towards her as fast or as slow as she wants, but that's okay because she's never really wanted to go into the big world of pro heroics like her dad.

And she is perceptive - she can tell from where she sits at the coffee table, doing homework, that there's something bothering her dad tonight. She isn't worried, because she knows that his job is hard on some days and he should be better by tomorrow, but the fact that he's very clearly thinking at the couch rather than in his office like he usually does is a change in pace.

Her dad doesn't like worrying people, especially not her, but Inko worries about him anyway.

Inko is halfway through her math homework when Izuku looks up from the papers he was pretending to read. "Inko," he says, "has anyone ever given you trouble over your parents?"

"Of course not," she replies. "I would've told you if they had, you know that."

"I do." Izuku smiles at her but it's tired, lined in a guilt she finds all too familiar on his face, and immediately she leaves her work behind to take up the spot next to him. "But you know me, your old man just likes to worry sometimes."

"You're not that old, dad." Her response is automatic but heartfelt before she blinks, refocusing on him. "…Is something wrong? Did… something happen? Is everything okay?"

"Huh- oh, no, nothing happened! I'm sorry if I worried you-" 'I'm always worried about you, dad'- "but I was just thinking about today is all."

She has nothing to say to that (what is there to say? It's not like she doesn't know), and Izuku's smile wavers, drops off his face entirely as he looks away. "…I'm sorry, Inko."

Impulsively, she takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, and he squeezes back. "Why?"

"Because it's my fault you don't have the chance to meet your own mom and dad. You'll spend your life never having known your parents because of me. I'm so sorry, Inko."

Silence like glass settles around them, a cold stillness only broken by the warmth from their hands in each other's. His eyes are locked on the painting on the far wall, tracing the still figures of the warm portrait background and taking in one of few things he had managed to save from the rubble.

"That's not entirely true, you know."

Inko shatters it as she squeezes his hand again and shuffles closer, and when Izuku finally looks back he's startled to see tears in the corners of her eyes and the tension in face. "I do know my parents," she says, "especially the one sitting here with me right now. He's the best parent I ever could have asked for, and he's the only parent I've needed so far." Inko gave his arm a light smack with her free hand, hiccuping. "So, stop apologizing for something you couldn't have changed, dad. Stop apologizing for something that isn't your fault."

Izuku doesn't need more than a second before he's pulling her close again, the quiet guilt on the tip of his tongue fading away. His throat is entirely too tight and he can't see through the water in his eyes but he takes her in and lets her cry and hopes she can feel exactly what her words mean to him.

"I love you so much, Inko." His voice breaks when he speaks. "Always."

"Me too, dad," Inko whispers back. "I love you too."

Izuku strolled into the kitchen, eyes darting across the assignments in his hand. For a time it's nothing but the sound of porcelain against stone countertop as he pulled a bottle of juice from the fridge, and when he turned around he found himself looking straight at a familiar portrait.

He smiled.

"Good morning," he said, setting his papers on the table and sitting across from the picture frame. "It's been some time, hasn't it? Inko's gone to school right now, but let me tell you - we have one incredible daughter on our hands, don't we…"