The train ride took a couple of hours. Shoto wasn't the type to get bored so the journey only gave him time to think – about a lot of things.
By the time he reached his stop, though, nothing that had passed Shoto's mind en route seemed to matter anymore. He took a cab from the train station, which was another thirty minutes of travel, before he arrived at his final destination.
The house was small. Quaint. Already there were flowers blooming in the front garden.
Shoto instantly felt at ease. For one of the few times in his life he actually felt at home, albeit so suddenly, in a place he'd never even seen before.
Still, Shoto was just a smidge jittery as he walked up the cobble stones towards the front door. He gave the door two strong, solid knocks, and waited.
There was a faint flurry of footsteps inside of the house before the entrance opened. Shoto felt a rush of emotions all at once. Immense fondness – and some residual guilt – for the person who'd responded. And then, somewhat strangely, he was hit with a burst of affection for Bashira, who'd unwittingly played a huge part in making the moment possible.
The woman who'd answer the door smiled demurely, yet her intentions were monumental. Shoto gushed, feeling like a little kid again.
"Hi, Mom," Shoto said, containing the turmoil he felt inside. "It's nice to see you."
Shoto had left early on Saturday morning. Bashira had woken up as soon as she'd heard him shuffling in the next room but stayed in bed when he came in to get his clothes. As soon as he was gone, she'd felt like a little kid that had played sick whose parents had finally taken off for work.
She'd been home alone her entire first week in Musutafu, but at the time she hadn't felt completely comfortable in her surroundings or free to roam around at will. Now Bashira felt little awkwardness about jumping out of bed, leaving the blankets a mess, and wandering around in her ragged sleepwear.
Obviously Bashira was well familiar with the house on the whole, yet despite cleaning and decorating she'd never really taken the time to work the place in. After rummaging in the kitchen and making some instant oatmeal Bashira went into the sitting room, plopped herself on the couch, and turned on the TV for the very first time.
It felt a little strange, but otherwise being alone and knowing that Shoto wasn't coming back any time soon gave Bashira a bizarre sense of freedom. Maybe it was sad that such a simple thing put her at ease but Bashira didn't bother to dwell on it. She just enjoyed her morning lounging freely, eating off her lap, and relishing in the simplicity of morning sitcoms.
Shoto and his mother didn't have an easy relationship. Rei had been Shoto's pillar as a child. In light of his father's abuse, it was Rei who had always pulled him back together. It was Rei who'd reminded him of what it meant to be a Hero, and who assured him that he could be whatever kind of man he wanted to be. No matter how much Endeavor broke Shoto down just to force him back up, it was Rei who had really made him stronger all those years ago.
It had taken Midoriya and some of his classmates to jog his memory, but Shoto really did have more to thank his mother for than the country's Number One Hero. As simple of a goal as it seemed, seeing Rei outside of the hospital was a greater accomplishment than any Hero standing to Shoto.
His mother prepared tea for the two of them, and then they settled down and sipped in silence. The little bit of tension was unavoidable, but Rei did better than Shoto with smoothing it over.
"Forgive me for being so forward with this," she started, stirring the contents of her cup, "but I'll admit I've been thinking so much of that girl, Bashira. How is she, Shoto?"
Shoto wasn't exactly surprised – not by his mother thinking of his wife, or the fact that she'd brought it up so soon. The conversation was as natural as anything in their unconventional family structure.
"She's fine," Shoto relayed. "She's adjusting as well as I could hope her to." Shoto glanced up at his mother and, reading her expression, realized she would need more details to reassure her. "We keep our distance mostly, but she met my class a couple of days ago and got along with them well. I don't think anyone needs to worry about her."
Rei smiled softly, looking down and stroking the rim of her mug. "You two seem so much younger than your father and I were… I hope you take advantage of your time to grow together. I know it's all still new now, but you can't truly be happy if you pursue your own paths without considering your commitment to each other."
Shoto was reminded of Recovery Girl's advice and wondered why the matter kept coming up at all. Was he doing something wrong? Why did it seem like everyone expected him to be less impacted than Bashira? She wasn't the only one who'd been forced into something so vile.
"It wasn't a commitment either one of us made willingly," Shoto countered.
Rei's smile wasn't affected. "True, but you both still made it. For your own reasons. So the most good can only come from doing your best."
Shoto chose not to comment further and instead stewed. He wasn't the sort of person to play victim, but Shoto was vaguely irritated by the lack of sympathy that his mother – of all people – was showing him. It was only natural for her (and any woman, for that matter) to feel more connection to Bashira's plight, but it wasn't as if Shoto hadn't been equally pinned down. Why wasn't his mother angry? Had she always accepted a Quirk Marriage as an inevitable for him? Maybe Shoto was never fully meant to be his own person after all. Everyone had a plan for him.
Rei noticed the pinch in her youngest's brow and reached out, grasping his hand in hers.
"You're not your father, Shoto," Rei said. Shoto wasn't sure if he was just imagining it but he could only feel Rei looking into his right eye... his grey eye. "You've always known right from wrong, and you're becoming a man that I'm so proud to call my son. I wish I could have spent more of that journey with you…" Rei's grip tightened as she gathered her words, "…but I was alone, for so long, torn away from everything and everyone that had ever made me myself. It broke me down. As much as I loved all of you kids I just couldn't..."
Shoto watched his mother struggle. Obviously he knew that her life had been far from comfortable. His father had been symbol of savagery to their entire family. He'd just never really considered that much outside of Enji'd treatment had contributed to Rei's mental health.
"I know everything, Shoto," Rei revealed, her voice taking on a hush. "I know that you and your father arranged all of this. I know the only reason that I was released from the hospital was because you agreed to your father's demands. It's because of that... that I can't help but think of Bashira as someone precious to me, too. I know it's too much to ask of you now, but one day I hope... I hope you'll look at her as someone..."
Shoto flipped his hand around so that his palm was up, cupping Rei's. He pressed his fingers against hers, telling her that she didn't need to say any more. Even if he only had a budding idea of what she'd been getting at it was enough food for thought for him to delve into some other time, on his own. He only wanted Rei to be happy: then and always.
Rei's eyes were shining with a thin layer of unshed tears, but her smile was bigger and more genuine than ever. She let go of her mug and pushed those fingers under Shoto's, so that his hand was wrapped up in both of hers. His one fist was almost bigger than both of her hands. It triggered a surreal sort of flashback to when he'd been small enough to tuck himself into his mother's chest as he cried. He hadn't felt any comparable comfort since.
"My Shoto," Rei exhaled. "My kind, resilient Shoto. This world is a better place with a Hero like you protecting it."
Shoto's lips curled up at the corners. He didn't feel too much like a Hero yet, but as long as his mother was both free and safe, living her own life for one of the first times in her life, Shoto could breathe easier. She was his everything, and he would do anything for her.
A mother and her child's love was ultimate.
Bashira somehow spent the entire day on the couch, with snacks, watching TV she was barely even interested in and munching on too much food with too little nutritional value.
By dinner time, Bashira really didn't want to leave the house. She didn't want to get dressed, or brush her teeth, or even eat a full meal. So regardless of the spite-induced decision she'd made the day before about getting chummy with Shoto's friends, Bashira ultimately stayed home and enjoyed a lazy day to herself.
There was some part of her that felt guilty about ignoring her school work. Plus she really didn't need to be munching all day and should have exercised. U.A. students were mostly all stuck on campus so there must have been plenty of social opportunities on weekends. Yet as much as Bashira wanted to make the best of her situation, she was well aware that she wasn't a true part of the blossoming Hero world.
It wasn't like Bashira had had any plans for her future before everything had taken its bizarre turn. But back then it had still seemed like she had the world at her fingertips. She could have decided to do anything. Now she felt labeled, restricted, destined to be little beyond a celebrity's wife and the bearer of his pride-and-joys.
Quirk Marriages might not have been common but they were obviously accepted enough in the Pro Hero reality. The trouble was that had never been Bashira's reality. None of what she'd been thrown into was normal to her.
Everything about Shoto's life at U.A. was surreal. Back home Bashira had classmates she'd known further back than her memory even went, but she still didn't consider any of them real confidants. Shoto had only known his class a couple of years and it seemed like he held them all at the highest regard. Maybe that made sense for Heroes, though; it could literally mean life or death for them to have each other's backs implicitly.
Bashira's grandparents were the most important people to her. They'd had their ups and downs, but even a dysfunctional family was still family.
With that thought, by Sunday morning, it was Bashira's parents who she most wanted to speak to. Maybe her dad first? He'd be the more likely of the two to answer his phone. Did he even know where she was? What had happened?
Bashira only had a fleeting thought of her mom. She decided against having any kind of heart-to-heart with the other woman almost instantly.
From her cocooned positon on the couch, Bashira fished out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, found her dad's name, but hooked her finger over the edge of her case cover, hesitating.
What if no one had told him what had happened to her? He'd be hurt, best case. Angry worst case.
But if he did know, wouldn't he have reached out to her?
Why hadn't anyone reached out to her?
Bashira tried not to fall into a pit of self-pity. She hadn't told any of her friends back home the truth about why she was moving. And she'd hardly thought it was her place to tell her mom and dad what her grandparents had decided to do with her.
Her grandparents should have been the ones to tell her parents. Maybe they had told her mom, their daughter, and her mom just hadn't cared enough to react. Maybe they just hadn't told her dad, who they still blamed for tainting their precious heiress.
Bashira's thumb moved to hover over he dad's name. Something held her back from pressing it, still.
In the midst of her grappling thoughts, a knock came to the door. Bashira didn't register it right away until a second round of pounding. Then she instinctively glanced to the nearest clock – how was it already 11:00 AM?! – before she flung herself off the couch and made for the entry way.
It was during the short walk to the door that Bashira tried to flatten out her PJ's, make a mental tally of where and how much rubbish she'd left lying around, and hope beyond hope that whoever was knocking at the door was someone she didn't know who didn't want to come in.
No such luck, as usual. It was half of the girls from Class 3-A.