Chapter 19 Heart, Check

When they found the Aizawas, Shota had already lost consciousness. His body curled around where Eri sat, as though a protective crescent moon arched over a pulsing star. Eri had called the teacher's lounge from her father's phone, as labeled by the recent calls' board like he taught her. The most recent call: that same green-haired hero she spoke to in the alley. Her name was Emi…

All Might picked up with his usual "Young Shota Aizawa! You never call at this hour! Well, you never call me unless it's for business—but I'll take it!" Instead of a groan or occupant silence, Eri's voice mingled through the other line, punctuated by the slurs of rainfall. She told him the situation. In minutes, the U.A. staff appeared at the park to find Eri sitting there, holding her father's head in her lap. All Might recognized the stained blood on Shota's face to know that he had been reversed to his U.S.J. injuries. So, the Symbol of Peace activated his Quirk and carried Shota back to school, cocooned by the blue cape. Though Rewind took care of most of his injuries and put him in the same state as when he had originally found Eri, his scans showed remnant hairline fractures and intense bruising. So, Recovery Girl went immediately to work, using as much of his stamina as his lupus would allow and then some. A fever proved far better than a whatever other damage Rewind had caused.

And Eri—Present Mic came to her side and draped his jacket over her shivering shoulders. He took her to the A.B.C. to change out of her drenched clothes—rainwater and her father's blood. But when he asked if she was okay, he was shocked. Despite being highly feverish, having hurt (but then, healed) her father, and a few pounds skinnier since she ran away, she smiled softly and nodded. Even as she sat by her father's side after Recovery Girl's healing, she smiled and talked to him. She slept next to him for a long time.

Minutes after she awoke from that nap, her father's waking words were a croaky: "Ow, fuck." She charged him five dollars for it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Twenty-five more dollars.

Recovery Girl gave Shota an earful for his recklessness, and then another one for the eye-roll he tossed her way. But after all the bickering and lecturing, she offered a plethora of compliments and praise for his parenting and love for Eri, petting his still-damp hair gently and telling him how much he had grown since he was a U.A. student. His dry answer to her: "It was only rational." To that comment, she whacked his thigh with her syringe cane until he retracted (after much arguing) his statement.

Upon dispatch, the two Aizawas snored the day and night away at the A.B.C., battling fevers—and flare-ups for Shota—in Shota's double bed. Sheeran—Shota's Dad, and Eri's Poppi—came by the complex to provide food and medicine for the two, and napped on the couch before a whispering TV downstairs. Eri fit between her father's side and arm all too perfectly, just like before. This time, she nestled closer to his warmth and did not move an inch. In her sleep, she smiled. In Shota's sleep, he cried. It was gratitude, relief, and belonging. It was a thawing of the gray heart; a cooing that calmed every sob; a kiss to a scar forged by multiple stories. Change. Breath. Truth and security welcomed into the definition of love.

And she felt every moment of it. He felt every moment of it.

They both did.

##

By the next week, the Aizawas stood on the seagull-happy docks of the port city of Longdon, Tokushima—where bay and marsh met forest and farmland. The place with a li'l bit of everything, as the locals said. Eri smiled widely and gasped excitedly when she heard strangers chatting, all of them with the same accent as her daddy. Though some were more slurred than others, others neater, like Shota's. She gave a larger reaction when she saw on the town's welcoming sign:

Home of the pro-hero, Eraserhead!

The yellow calligraphic font with a thick black trim was bordered by flowers, coins, and newspaper cut-outs of the U.S.J. incident, depicting the pro-hero and U.A. teacher's standalone sacrifice to save a class of twenty freshmen from a flurry of villains. There were other cut-outs from his past six years as a pro-hero, but the majority was of the U.S.J. onslaught. One edition from Okinawa labeled him "a hero's hero!" and was taped in the center of the newspaper implosion, with that line highlighted and circled.

Equally surprised to see all the decorations and dedications, Shota's stomach plummeted. A bright red blush spread across his nose. "That's bloody dramatic," he muttered to himself. When his bottom jaw jutted out in his habitual manner of pouting, Eri raced toward it, begging for a family selfie by it. Normally, hating pictures and especially selfies, Shota caved. Seems this was the year to kill all of his old habits. Deep down, though, he welcomed some change. Why not? In the picture, no one would guess how nauseously he scowled at the sight of the sign and decorations. It was just another proud-as-hell new dad beaming with his high-beaming daughter.

But as soon as the picture developed, his expression returned to his usual bored sag. "Happy?" he deadpanned, showing Eri on his phone.

"Uh-huh!" She poked the screen where her father's nose was. "You actually look happy, not just constipated!"

"Brilliant." With an amused smirk, he messed up Eri's hair a bit. Eri giggled and pawed at his hand. "We're not sticking around here."

When Shota turned to watch the harbor of his childhood, shoving his hands in his pockets and closing his eyes against the salty winds that once comforted him, Eri snuck back to the welcome sign. She tore a page from her Dumbo picture book—where Jumbo has Dumbo wrapped up in her trunk—and used one of the public tacks to pin it by the "a hero's hero!" cut-out. By the two elephants, she wrote in a purple marker:

The best dady evar. An anchor with a butterfly on its chain ring beside the message.

Before her father could see and advise her not to litter, she ran back to Shota's side, almost bumping into his leg. When he looked at her, she pointed to the marketplace stalls with seafood kabobs. Shota laughed when she bounced up and down, and up and down, making her backpack rattle. He held out his hand to her, a calm smile on his face as the sun came out of cloudy slumber. "Ready, baby girl?"

Heart…

She slipped her hand in his, where it belonged. "Let's go, Daddy!"

…check.

~the end~

(Written September 2018; completed Father's Day 2019; edited 2019-2020. Here's to all the fathers and daughters, and to my one and only Captain Daddy)

Author's Note! Thank you all for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following! I appreciate you all.

This is the 1st story of a series! Next story will be called: RISE. My version of Shota Aizawa's, a.k.a. Eraserhead, childhood and ascension to underground pro-(anti)hero/U.A. teacher! Keep those eyes open for it! Thanks for reading! Au revoir for now!