Somehow, Izuku and Mina made it to his apartment without getting noticed. They slipped through the lobby and into the elevator without incident, the floors ticking off in comfortable, warm silence.
Mina was still reeling a little. This morning, she hadn't been ready to admit her feelings for Izuku, even to herself. Now, she was coming home to live with him. It should have been too much, too quickly-but it wasn't. It felt right.
The elevator dinged, and the door slid open. Mina's jaw dropped.
"Holy shit, Izuku," she heard herself say.
Izuku's apartment was the fanciest thing Mina had ever seen, all gleaming surfaces and beautiful windows. In contrast to the deep night just falling on the world outside, soft light fell on everything-the cozy furniture, the sleek kitchen, the million and one tiny displays of wealth Mina had no idea how to identify, so far they were from anything she had ever experienced. For the first time, she had real, concrete proof of just how far she was from Izuku, in wealth and power and all the rest of it. It felt like she'd never realized what being the Number One Hero meant before; now it was inescapable. A penthouse apartment in the most beautiful city in Japan, his face known by every man, woman, and child in the country-that was what it meant. And Mina didn't fit.
Izuku stepped out of the elevator and stood next to Mina, blushing a little at the look on her face. Embarrassed, he said, "Sorry it feels a little…impersonal. I don't spend much time here."
Mina wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Sure, it felt like she didn't belong, but that was because she definitely didn't belong. She replied, "I…forgot how rich you were, Izuku."
Izuku's blush deepened. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and was struggling to meet her eyes. "I…tend to forget, too," he admitted softly. "My mom and I grew up pretty poor, so I'm not used to stuff like this; I doubt I ever will be, honestly."
Mina snorted a little at that. "Well, you didn't grow up homeless, so you were better prepared than I am," she said.
Izuku winced. "Shit," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Mina, I didn't think about-"
Mina cut him off with a wave of her hand. "It's fine, Izuku," she said, forcing herself to let out a breath and relax. This was Izuku's home. It felt like his home, now that she could see past the splendor to see the touches he'd left here and there; the All Might posters on the walls, the gym in one corner, the spare hero costume flung haphazardly over the arm of a couch.
Izuku fell silent, letting Mina slowly creep forwards, deeper into the apartment. It was like she was dreaming…only she'd never thought of a place like this, even in her dreams. She was scared to touch anything, in case it would all prove to be an illusion, some hazy fantasy conjured by her mind.
At long last, though, Mina forced herself to believe it. This was real. This was happening. And if it was, that meant…
Remembering how dirty she still felt in this place, Mina turned to Izuku. "Do you mind if I take a shower?" she asked.
Izuku nodded, pointing down a hallway. "Bathroom is down there," he replied. "It should have spare towels and such. Yell if you need anything."
Mina nodded. "Cool," she said. "I'll be out in…an hour, maybe?"
Izuku raised an eyebrow. "An hour?" he repeated. "Well, the hot water should last that long, so…"
Mina grinned. "Hot water, you say?" she answered. "Well, better make it two hours then."
The look on Izuku's face as Mina turned and made her way towards the bathroom was priceless.
Mina's shower may not have ended up taking as long as she said it would, but the effect it had on her was undeniable. She felt so much better, it was unreal. Sure, she'd done her best to keep clean in the Depths-but that meant little with how desperate things had been. She'd been lucky to bathe once a week. Now, though, she felt clean. Gloriously, unbelievably clean. It had been so long since she'd felt this way.
After drying off with an unfairly fluffy towel and dressing in her underclothes-a tight, long-sleeved black shirt and black leggings; she left her cloak and mask off, hanging them on a convenient hook in the hallway-Mina stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, sighing luxuriously as she unwound. It was incredible what a good shower could do to get rid of her anxiety.
Mina made her way out to where Izuku was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. She couldn't help but press a kiss to his temple as she slipped around it to join him, enjoying the flush that spread across his face as she cuddled up to him.
"I'm pretty sure that shower just made me love you three times as much as I already did," Mina told him.
"It was that good?" Izuku asked, looking confused.
Mina nodded, a smile spreading easily and happily across her face. "Trust me," she replied, "I feel like a new woman."
Izuku chuckled. "I sure hope not," he joked. "I like you just fine the way you are."
Mina flushed, then decided that that joke had earned Izuku a deep kiss on the lips. The magazine slipped from his hands as Mina pushed her way into his arms, tilting his head back from the force of her kiss. Izuku's arms circled her, drawing her in as the kiss deepened, grew more heated, became…something.
Mina pulled away from the kiss, panting hard. Izuku looked stunned, his skin flushed red with exertion. The sound of their breath filled the air, and Mina was suddenly aware of the heat that seemed to be flooding every inch of her body. She was in his lap, in significantly less clothing than she usually wore around him. She wasn't naked, far from it…but her shirt and leggings were tight. And she could feel his body pressing against hers, and she could see where this was going. Judging by the uncertain but distinctly hungry look in Izuku's eyes, he knew it too.
Mina wanted it. She wanted it more than she'd even realized before-but now, in a place so safe, so warm, so distinctly part of Izuku, she could barely resist the wave of desire rising inside her. But to do it…she'd have to expose herself. All of herself. Was she really ready to do that?
Every time Izuku called her beautiful, every time he admired the way she looked, Mina's mind rebelled. She hadn't shown him everything yet. She couldn't. Maybe he liked her face because it was different, because it was unique, but there was no way he would like her body for the same reasons.
Mina's breath caught in her throat as Izuku's hands rose up to find her hips, holding her like she was something worth holding, like she deserved to be loved and treated like she was precious. She didn't. She had no right to any of this. She thought of those hands slipping under her clothes, of baring the pink, acid-washed skin she was so ashamed of…and she was so terrified she went rigid. It was instinct that did it, not fear. She hated herself for that reaction, for being too scared to enjoy it-and she did enjoy it, enjoy it immensely.
Izuku felt her tension right away, and instantly pulled back. Mina nearly sobbed as she lost the warmth of his touch.
"What's wrong, Mina?" Izuku asked, his voice tender and kind.
Mina hung her head, struggling to meet his gaze. "I…I'm not sure about this," she admitted.
"About what?" Izuku prompted, bringing up a hand to brush along the side of her cheek. She could see the look in his eyes; he was nervous, scared, even, but not for himself. He was scared for her.
Mina took a deep breath, steadying herself. She wasn't scared. She wasn't. She could trust Izuku. She didn't need to wear armor around him. She was already showing more of herself around him than she did around anyone else. What was a little more?
Softly, she said, "I think we both know where this is going, Izuku."
Izuku blinked in surprise. Embarrassed, he responded, "I-I mean, yeah, I think so, but…are you sure?"
Mina snorted. Her smile returned, just as mischievous as always, albeit with a tinge of something more tense. "Izuku," she said, "You are the hottest man in Japan by a country mile. I'm very fucking sure I'm okay with it."
Izuku blushed. "I'm plain," he muttered.
Who he was trying to convince, Mina wasn't sure. What she was sure of was that she really wanted him. She was surprised by just how intensely she was feeling it, yeah, but she wasn't about to complain. She'd never really had a chance to relax and explore with someone she trusted before-never had somebody she thought of in that way before. And now that she did, she was very tempted.
And yet…the same old fears were holding her back.
Meanwhile, Izuku was having his own worries. He been enjoying where things were heading, of course, but sex honestly just hadn't crossed his mind. If they ended up going that way, he would have loved it-he loved Mina, and if she was up for it, he was-but he'd survive if it didn't. The thought of her being afraid, though, scared of herself and her own body…that he wanted to help with. He wished he knew how.
"Mina, we do not have to have sex," Izuku told her, putting as much emphasis as he could into his words. "You-you don't owe me anything or shit like that. If you're uncomfortable, we're going to stop. You know that, right?"
"I do," Mina said, smiling warmly. Bless this boy and his considerate, kind heart. "But that's the thing, Izuku. I want this. I want you."
Izuku nodded, but something in his eyes was distant, skeptical. "Mina…you're shaking," he observed quietly.
Mina looked down. Sure enough, she was trembling, little shivers running through her body and across her skin. She breathed deeply, trying to force herself to still. It didn't work very well.
"For fuck's sake," she hissed. "Izuku, this is just nerves. I'm fine, I promise. Just…a part of me is scared, yeah, but a part of me is always scared. I usually just ignore it."
"Do you mind if I ask what scares you about it?" Izuku asked. Mina nodded, hesitating as she tried to find the words to explain it.
At last, she began, "Izuku, you…you're one of maybe five people in the whole world who knows what my face looks like. And if we do this, you will be the only person who has ever seen me. All of me. You'll be the one person in the world who knows what I look like, completely."
Mina exhaled loudly, feeling herself tremble before she mustered the strength to continue. Gesturing at herself, she said, "You and I both know that I'm incredibly recognizable. Once you saw my face, you would never be able to miss me in a crowd again. And if you see my body, my whole body, I'll never be able to hide from you again. Do you understand why that scares that part of me so much? Once I do this…there's no going back."
Izuku nodded slowly. "I understand," he told her. "And "I promise I won't betray that trust. I'll always remember what you're giving me-and I'll honor it."
Mina smiled. "I know you will, Izuku," she replied. "And that's why I don't care if that part of me is worried. The rest of me isn't. I know, somewhere in my heart, that I can trust you. I can trust you with my body, my heart, everything. I love you so much because I can trust you, because you're the first person I've ever met who I know will treat me with respect and love. And I don't even know how I know that…but I do. So yes, Izuku; even though it scares me, I trust you…and I want to have sex with you."
Izuku blinked in surprise, as any man would in his place; he was genuinely touched, and his heart felt like it would burst from love. He stroked Mina's cheek, rubbing his thumb along the scar under her eye.
Mina smiled wide, though her eyes were wet with tears. She whispered, "I fucking love you, Izuku."
And with that, she kissed him, hungry and heated. Izuku groaned underneath her, and Mina growled against his lips. The sound seemed to trigger something in Izuku, because he met her with equal fire, blowing her fear away. There was no need for it here. Not in his arms, in his home.
Panting desperately, Mina broke the kiss, sitting up straight in Izuku's lap. He looked up at her with wide, wild eyes-looked at her like she was some sort of goddess. The power in that gaze was making lightning hum in Mina's veins.
Her trademark smirk spread across her face as she took in every detail of the man rendered speechless just from the sight of her. Her hands gripped the hem of her shirt.
"Here goes nothing," she thought.
"You know, Izuku," she drawled, "My skin is pink all over. Would you like to see?"
If he'd been capable of words at that point, Izuku would have responded eagerly. Instead, he had to settle for more physical forms of agreement.
Before long, Mina and Izuku were lost in each other, the world outside falling away, forgotten.
Neither of them noticed the distant flash of a tiny camera.
In the end, it wasn't hard for Tsu to find the place the medics had set up a field hospital. She just followed the shouting.
Unlike so many other places Tsu had seen, though, that shouting was only partially cries of pain. A larger part was people calling for assistance, healers yelling orders, shouts to clear the path for a stretcher…all the different sounds of a place of healing finding itself swamped by some disaster, but handling the tide of those in need as quickly and efficiently as it possibly could.
Nobody stopped Tsu as she walked into the open tent. It was odd, seeing injured men and women laying on cots laid out in an orderly grid beneath nothing more than a tarp, but then, buildings functioned differently down here; without any need to protect from wind or rain, and with the shockingly consistent temperatures in the great cave systems, the need for sturdy, enclosed spaces was greatly diminished. Many groups in the Depths never bothered building them at all.
Despite her words to Mezou and Fumikage, Tsu wasn't really sure what she was looking for. She wasn't unfamiliar with bandaging wounds and the like-everyone learned a little bit of that in the Depths out of necessity, and Tsu had become more or less the de facto healer for the people near where she and Mezou lived-but the sheer variety and severity of injuries here was overwhelming. Broken bones, burns, deep cuts, countless esoteric injuries from the quirk battles raging in the streets of the upper caverns…
Clearly, the war with the Tunnel Rats was not the easy, relatively bloodless victory the Outcasts had achieved over the Claws. Judging by the small but inescapable number of motionless figures covered by sheets lying in one corner, it was quite the opposite.
Eventually, Tsu's aimless wandering through the tent drew her towards the apparent nexus of the whirlwind of motion and activity that filled the field hospital. She turned a corner, curious who had created such an organized, effective hospital in a place like this.
She found Ibara standing by the bedside of a young-looking man with skin the color of…well, an abovegrounder would have called it "the color of the sky," but Tsu had never seen the sky. To her, it was just…blue, a blue so soft and deep she could feel something deep in her soul relax, like the feeling of coming home. It didn't last, of course-nothing so good could last, not in a place like this.
Ibara barely glanced up as Tsu approached. She was intent on the bandage she was wrapping tightly around a deep, painful-looking gash in the man's arm. Only when the bandage had been fully applied did she step back, brushing off the man's thankful words, and notice Tsu standing awkwardly by the foot of the cot.
Ibara's face was unreadable as she sized Tsu up. Clearly, the woman was too focused to be concerned too much about who Tsu was or that she was friends with Fumikage, because Ibara curtly asked, "Are you here to help?"
Tsu hesitated for a second. Why had she come here? To give Mezou and Fumikage the space to have the conversation they so desperately needed to have, yes…but why had she found herself here?
Perhaps her husband had gotten to her. The first sign of people in need, and Tsu charged towards it without even having to think.
"Yes," Tsu answered at last, nodding briefly.
Something flashed across Ibara's face. It might have been a smile. But this hospital, so full of pain and need, was no place for smiles, and Ibara's expression became grim and businesslike all over again.
"Then follow me," she told Tsu. "I need someone to help me the wounded here."
Tsu did so without complaint as Ibara headed towards the next cot in the line. Soon, Tsu was helping hold the patients steady as Ibara wrapped or set their wounds. Before long, she and Ibara developed a rhythm, going from patient to patient, time becoming meaningless as they worked. Tsu let herself take refuge in the necessary, difficult work; it was a good distraction from the maddening chaos of the day's revelations. Here, she didn't have to worry about Fumikage's return from the dead, or the way Mezou seemed so shaken by it, or…Mina.
As they worked, Tsu found herself studying Ibara closely. She couldn't help it; the woman felt oddly out of place next to those she was treating, and yet she greeted them so familiarly and warmly that Tsu couldn't figure out why she stood out. She was one of Fumikage's lieutenants, yes…but that was just as confusing to Tsu as the rest of it. Kuroiro and Kamakiri had been cold, supremely talented killers, and clearly fanatically loyal to Fumikage. They made sense. But why Ibara?
It was hard to get a read on what exactly Ibara's quirk was, or how it worked, but the tiny hints Tsu got were…intimidating. Ibara's thick vine-hair was up in a tight bun, clearly restrained to keep from getting in the way in the frenetic environment of the field hospital. But every so often, without as much as a look of concentration on Ibara's part, it began to move, languidly but precisely. She used it to grab tools or supplies from clear across the tent with ease, gesture while conversing with the other healers who came to her for advice or directions, even to gently but firmly restrain an agonized woman's thrashing. Whatever her quirk was, Ibara was powerful. So why did she remain here, behind the front lines, where her quirk was seemingly of little use?
Tsu kept her questions to herself, at least until they came upon a cot that held a slight man with the head and wings of a housefly. Even without human expressions, the man was glaring at them, red compound eyes never blinking as Ibara splinted his broken leg. Looking up, Tsu realized that the man was handcuffed to a metal staple embedded in the ground at the head of the cot.
As they walked away from the imprisoned man, Tsu asked, "What was up with him? He seemed angry that you were helping."
Ibara shrugged. "I can't blame him," she answered. "He is a prisoner, and I imagine being captured earlier today wasn't very pleasant."
Tsu's eyes widened. "He's a Tunnel Rat?" she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.
Ibara nodded.
Tsu was shocked. Whenever groups this large clashed, their members always fought to the death; if you were wounded and fell into the hands of your enemies, that was as sure a death sentence as it could be. Each group had medics and the like for their own members-if they were lucky-but enemies were not given the same luxury. Even if they weren't slaughtered out of hand, they wouldn't receive medical treatment, either, and groups rarely had use for prisoners down here, anyway.
But in this, as in so many things, the Outcasts seemed to be different.
"Why do you bother treating them?" Tsu asked as they walked through the hospital. The fly-man had been the last cot in the row, and now Ibara seemed to be heading somewhere else, away from the main rooms filled with wounded.
Ibara turned her head to shoot Tsu a surprisingly scathing look. "Why wouldn't I?" the vine-haired woman shot back, looking unimpressed.
Tsu replied, "It's not going to make them stop hating you. Surely you'd rather treat your own troops than waste resources on your enemies?"
Ibara shook her head. "So many people have asked me that," she said, sounding frustrated. "Some far less kindly than you. My answer is always the same: what makes them my enemies?"
Tsu blinked. "The fact that you attacked them," she pointed out dryly.
Ibara shook her head. "No," she said. "They brought that on themselves. But regardless, I don't consider the Tunnel Rats-or any of the gangs-my enemies. Not like that. Not as someone who doesn't deserve to be saved."
"Why not?" Tsu asked. By now, they'd reached a small area behind one of the main tents in the field hospital; there was nothing much here but a few chairs and a large barrel of water, clearly meant for drinking. Ibara collapsed into one of the chairs with a relieved sigh; Tsu sat down as well, still facing the other woman.
Meeting Tsu's gaze easily, Ibara answered, "I don't believe anybody is undeserving of my help. They didn't choose to become my enemies; in most cases, they didn't choose to fight against me or the Outcasts. And even if they did choose…why should they die because they made the wrong choice?"
Tsu shifted uncomfortably. She had no answers to those questions, and she wondered at the part of her that nodded along with Ibara's words.
After a moment, Ibara added, "Besides, you're wrong. They don't hate me."
Tsu raised an eyebrow. She pointed out, "That man you helped sure looked like he did."
Ibara shook her head. "He's not angry, he's terrified," she told Tsu. "He fought in a war today, watched his city burn down around him. Then he got hurt, and then he got captured and dragged down to the Outcasts' base. He expects us to kill him, and he's trying to be defiant. But we aren't going to kill him, and you'd be surprised how quickly realizing that makes someone gentle and agreeable."
Tsu must have looked skeptical. She certainly felt skeptical. And yet…she couldn't voice the scattered protests in her head. Something about them felt…laughable, as though Ibara's very demeanor disproved them.
Ibara, seeming to sense Tsu's hesitation, continued, "You know how I know?"
"How?" Tsu asked.
Ibara's smile was as self-satisfied and proud as a healer's life could allow. "That first man you watched me help? The one with blue skin? He was a Tunnel Rat, too. He got captured yesterday, and he's already cooperative. Hell, he's asked about joining us."
Tsu's shocked, disbelieving stare made Ibara laugh as soon as it appeared. "Seriously," she said, answering Tsu's unspoken question. "You'd be surprised how often it happens. Some of them switch sides out of self-interest, naturally, but others…others do it because they see what we're building here, and it speaks to them. Many in the gangs have little love for them; the moment they see an alternative, they're eager to leave. It's shocking, what showing a little kindness to people who have never felt it before in their lives does."
Tsu couldn't help but nod at that. She'd seen that very principle at work, with Fumikage, with Mezou, with Mina. It seemed Fumikage had kept a few lessons from his past. Tsu wasn't sure whether that thought eased her discomfort or made it worse.
Slowly, cautiously, Tsu told Ibara, "I have to admit, I wasn't expecting someone like you to be a part of…"
"A group of violent revolutionaries?" Ibara asked, crossing her arms across her chest. She looked amused.
Tsu winced. Weakly, she said, "I was trying to find a more…fitting term for finding a long-lost friend at the head of an army."
"And failing, it seems," Ibara noted.
Tsu sighed. At least Ibara didn't seem annoyed. "And failing," she confirmed, her voice soft.
Ibara chuckled, soft and dry. "It's not a terribly inaccurate description, honestly," she said. "We're not another gang, or a group seeking to conquer for the sake of conquering. If that's what the Outcasts were, I wouldn't be a part of them."'
"I believe you," Tsu replied. "Though…you don't really seem the type to be part of a revolution, let alone a violent one."
Ibara shook her head. "You say that like there's such a thing as a non-violent revolution," she snorted. Her expression was darker than Tsu had seen before, and for a moment, the image of the peaceful healer shook, revealing something scarier beneath it. Tsu didn't get a good look at what it was before it disappeared again.
"If you really think that, why are you a part of the Outcasts?" Tsu asked, genuinely curious.
Ibara raised an eyebrow. Before she could speak, though, another healer-a thin young man with spiky antlers on his head-came around the corner. He said, "Ah, there you are. The patients you brought in earlier are asking for you."
Ibara sighed. "I'll go deal with them," she promised. The man nodded, then turned and left. Ibara rose to her feet, gesturing for Tsu to follow her.
"Come with me," she said. "We can continue this conversation while we deal with them. Besides, it's probably a good idea to have you there to keep your, ah, large friend from reacting poorly."
Tsu nodded. If Kugo woke up surrounded by Outcasts, he'd probably get pretty nervous, And things tended to break when Kugo got nervous.
They hadn't gotten very far when Ibara dryly said, "You're assuming quite a lot of things, you know. About me, and about the Outcasts. How much do you actually know about me?"
Tsu…hesitated. And then considered. At last, she softly admitted,"Not much, honestly. Fumi mentioned your, ah, background, but-"
Ibara rolled her eyes. "Please," she interrupted, "there's no need to tiptoe around it. I grew up in a brothel. Call it whatever you want. I'm not offended by it. I knew my mother was a whore long before I properly understood what that word even meant."
Ibara's matter-of-fact tone threw Tsu off; her words made Tsu wince. As they stepped through the flap of a smaller tent into a room that held just three beds. In one, Kugo's massive, unconscious bulk had been arranged in as comfortable a way as could be managed. In another, Kuroiro rested, heavily bandaged and sleeping normally. The third bed was empty.
Ibara huffed with irritation when it became clear Kamakiri wasn't in the room. "I swear," she said, "That man is ridiculous. He got beaten half to death, and then he leaves before I can even tell him off for it!"
Tsu couldn't help the dry snort that erupted from her nostrils at that. It sounded like Mezou and Kamakiri had a few things in common, then. As amusing as it was, though, it failed to distract her from the disturbed thoughts running through her head.
After a moment, she asked, "Do you…mind if I ask a question?"
Ibara raised an eyebrow, half-turning as she checked Kuroiro's bandages. "Go ahead," she said eventually.
"How did the daughter of a prostitute become a top lieutenant in the Outcasts, anyway?" Tsu wondered.
Ibara sighed. "It's…a long story," she said evasively.
Tsu met her eyes. "Try me," she said evenly. "If you want to, that is."
Ibara hesitated for a second. One of her vines roused itself from her bun, snaking across the room to grab a roll of bandages. When they reached her hands, she began re-binding one of Kuroiro's jagged cuts.
Then, she began to speak.
"Like I said," she began, "my mother worked in a brothel in one of the upper caverns. In Claw territory. She…she never told me this for sure, but I'm nearly certain I was a product of one of her…clients. At the very least, she never spoke of my father. And I wasn't eager to ask."
Tsu said nothing. She could see the weight on Ibara's shoulders shift-she was more than willing to tell her story, share her burdens. And Tsu had long since mastered helping people share the weight of their pasts.
When Tsu nodded in understanding, Ibara's expression softened slightly. She continued, "That…that was how I grew up. Around whores and gangsters, under the feet of hard, broken men and beaten-down women. Sometimes literally. It…it was a bad place, and I knew it. That's where I learned to treat injuries-it was how I helped earn my keep, especially during the times when my mother couldn't work."
Tsu had always been better at controlling her emotions than most people she knew. She didn't feel less strongly, she just felt…slower. More gradually. That let her head off the words she would have liked to say in response to Ibara's story, replacing them with a simple, diplomatic observation: "That sounds…difficult."
Ibara chuckled, dark and without any humor. Then, she shook her head. "That's the thing," she said, eyes distant and faintly angry, "It wasn't. I mean, I won't pretend it was an easy life, but…it wasn't hard, either. Not compared to the lives of so many people down here. I had a roof over my head, food on my plate every day…a parent who loved me. I don't know how she loved me, but she did, more than life itself. Sure, I was forever being shooed away whenever my mother had a visitor, but I survived. I'm forever grateful for that."
Something about Ibara being grateful for the hell her life had been made Tsu feel a deep-seated, earth-scorching rage, like acid eating at her bones. Fighting down the urge to break something, she said, "Still. A brothel is no place to raise a child."
"Of course not," Ibara scoffed. "But what else was my mother to do? Let me starve on the streets?"
Tsu…froze. Weakly, she tried to speak, saying, "I…"
As she completed the final wrap of Kuroiro's bandage, Ibara shook her head, and Tsu fell quiet. But Ibara's gesture wasn't aimed at her. "That's the crux of it, isn't it?" she whispered, half amused, half darkened by some unknowable grief, "I know how my upbringing has shaped me-know it intimately. I carry the scars of it. And I hate it. I hate what I lost, what I learned too soon, what I never learned. And yet…I know, in my heart of hearts, that if I was in my mother's place, I would do what she did without hesitation. But then…but then I can't hate her."
The darkness in Ibara's voice unnerved Tsu-because of how familiar it was. "So, you feel…conflicted?" she cautiously summarized.
Ibara snorted. "You have no idea," she told Tsu. "For years, I hated my mother. For what our lives were like, what she did. And you know what she said, every time I raged, every time I called her horrible things? She said, "You'll understand one day."
Tsu said nothing.
There was a chair by Kuroiro's bedside. Ibara sat in it, hands drawn tightly, clinging to her shoulders as if trying to stay warm. "Of course, that didn't help," she continued. "How could it help? I thought she was telling me that one day I would be as hopeless as she was. That one day I'd do what she did. And I couldn't do that. I couldn't."
"What changed, then?" Tsu asked. "You're not in that place anymore."
Ibara looked at her, and Tsu saw the tears she was holding back. As if in a dream, Ibara's hand went to her throat, at a point where the neckline of her plain white clothing dipped a little, revealing a worn bronze crucifix dangling on a simple chain.
"Nothing changed," Ibara said darkly. "Nothing ever changes. You spend your whole life thinking you're alone, thinking nobody loves you…and then you lose the people who do, and then you really are alone."
Tsu could read a thousand words in each line of Ibara's face, hear her heartbreak like a song. She knew, then, that she could push no further. This was the end of the road.
So she changed the subject. She asked, "How did you find the Outcasts?"
Ibara took a deep breath, visibly gathering herself. At last, she looked up at Tsu.
"After…after, I left the brothel," she said in a shaky, hollow voice. Tsu didn't need to ask what "after" referred to. "I was no longer welcome. I no longer wanted to be welcome. So…I roamed. Healed. Went wherever I felt I was needed. I helped, I saved, I protected. I did all the things my mother never got a chance to. And then, one day, I found a place where a warlord had attacked the Outcasts. I didn't think. I didn't need to think. I found a cavern littered with the bodies of the dead and injured…and I healed. Gathered them together, treated those I could…mourned those I couldn't. That's where Tokoyami found me."
The way Ibara said Fumikage's name unnerved Tsu even more. It wasn't worship, exactly; it sounded like Ibara had once worshiped him, and learned not to. She put a weight on his name that went beyond respect, but was tinged heavily by something Tsu couldn't name. That scared her.
"For a second, I wondered if he was going to attack me," Ibara recounted. "He's terrifying when he wants to be, wrapped up in mist and shadow. But instead, he just asked me what I was doing. When I told him, he offered me a place in the Outcasts on the spot. When he told me what it was, I accepted-on one condition."
"What condition?" Tsu asked.
"That I would help everyone who came to me, whether they were friend or foe," Ibara replied. "And Tokoyami agreed. So…that's what I do. I help all who need it. I heal. I save, in my way. Tokoyami, Kuroiro, Kamakiri…they save in theirs. They save us all, save the future-but I save the now. The people who need help…I give it, in the only way I know."
Tsu couldn't help but nod along in agreement. Hell, she didn't just agree with Ibara-she understood where the other woman was coming from, more deeply than Ibara could know. It seemed she and Tsu reacted the same way when faced with the cruel world that had scarred and shaped them-with kindness.
Still…the way she spoke of Fumikage sat poorly with Tsu. Softly, she said, "You really do have a lot of faith in Fumikage, don't you?"
Ibara's hand went to the crucifix around her neck again, almost absentmindedly. "We all have to have faith in something," she replied. "Some people put their faith in a higher power. I…did that, once. On some level, I still do. But…but I don't need to, not as long as Tokoyami is around. I can have faith in people thanks to him."
Tsu was silent. What could she possibly say to that?
Ibara sighed, rising to her feet. She had to do rounds again, it seemed. More people needed her.
"You wanted to know how the daughter of a prostitute became a leader in the Outcasts," she said, meeting Tsu's eyes. "Well, it's simple: I am here because this is where I am needed. I'll fight if I have to-Lord knows I'm more than capable of it-but that isn't what's going to change things. They're going to change because of kindness. That, I know, better than anything else."
With that, Ibara left, sweeping out of the tent and back into the madness of the field hospital. Tsu was left alone with her thoughts for a long, dark moment. Then, she rose as well.
She had people who needed her, too.
Two days after he and Tsu had arrived in Homeland, Mezou was no closer to describing the place than the first time he'd laid eyes on it.
It was everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd ever dreamed of-a city where mutants could be free. Free from fear, from hate, from the world that pressed down and down on them, crushing them until they could no longer breathe. And yet…he couldn't let himself enjoy it. It was too miraculous, too impossible. There had to be a catch.
If there was, Mezou hadn't found it yet. The city was shockingly well-run for the Depths. The Outcasts kept the peace and protected Homeland, but they didn't treat it like their personal fiefdom. Plenty of people who lived in Homeland avoided or even actively disliked the Outcasts, and they showed those people no disdain, didn't even harass them at all. The place…worked. Not perfectly and not always, of course, but compared to the rest of the Depths, it was a utopia.
There was one problem, though. The people who supported the Outcasts, not to mention the Outcasts themselves, adored Fumikage. The man could barely walk through his own city without being swamped by admirers. And that awe-borderline worship, really-wasn't confined to him. It spread to everyone associated with him; his lieutenants, mostly, but also Mezou and Tsu.
Mezou hated it. He hated the way people stepped aside for him on the streets, staring like they'd seen something special. He hated the respectful nods and admiring looks he got from members of the Outcasts. He especially hated the way that nobody seemed to realize how fucking weird it was that they were showing such respect to a man who had been bitterly fighting them just a few days before.
The desire to get away from the people looking at him like some sort of hero was what had led Mezou here, to a small ledge in the wall of the cavern that contained Homeland. There was a little trail that led up to it from the cave floor, if you knew where to look for it; the view was a great chance for Mezou to think, and to be alone for a little while. Sadly, that didn't last.
From behind Mezou, a hissing, rasping voice said, "Most of the newbies act like you do."
Mezou didn't jump; he barely even shifted. The only reaction he gave was a tentacle that snaked back over his shoulder, the eyeball on the end revealing who had spoken. Without turning his head, he asked, "Oh? How am I acting?"
Kamakiri, looking surprisingly spry for a man who had been nearly beaten to death a few days before, strode up beside Mezou, eyes locked on the city that sprawled out below the ledge they stood on. The sound of music floated up, alongside the ever-present roar of the waterfalls. A guitar, strumming haphazardly and off-key. Beautiful.
"When they first get here, people always look around like they think it's a dream," Kamakiri said in his curt, blunt way. "They wonder how we could have built a place like this, when all the world seems to hate us."
Mezou grunted. "I already went through that stage," he admitted. "Now, I'm just…admiring it. Though there's one thing I still don't understand."
Kamakiri raised an eyebrow, and Mezou was suddenly struck by the madness of this moment. He stood atop a ledge overlooking a city built by mutants, for mutants, alongside a man who he had fought to the death less than a week ago. They were having a civil conversation. Hell, Kamakiri didn't even seem to bear a grudge; if anything, he seemed to respect Mezou far more than he had just before they'd tried to kill each other.
Madness. All of this, madness.
"Well, I ain't a tour guide," Kamakiri joked, "But maybe I can help. What's bothering you?"
Mezou turned to look at the shorter man. "You are," he replied. "What your role is in…all of this."
He gestured outwards, at the city where no city should have existed, at a world more peaceful and hopeful than any that he'd ever seen, at the family Mezou thought he had lost forever.
Kamakiri said nothing, though he made an amused sound in the back of his throat. Mezou continued, "The others, they make sense to me. Fumi is the leader. Ibara is the healer. Kuroiro is the enforcer. Others are builders and fighters and scavengers. You, though…I can't make sense of you. What are you?"
At last, Kamakiri snorted. "Isn't it obvious?" he replied. "I'm the killer. The knife in the dark, for when the others can't get their hands dirty. When people try to threaten us, try to tear down what we've built here…I'm there. And one way or another, they aren't a threat to us once I'm done with them."
Mezou's eyes narrowed. "Was Kugo a threat to you?" he asked evenly. Too evenly.
Kamakiri smiled, lazy and amused like a predator that was sated for the moment-but not forever. "Yes," he answered curtly. "All the old guard are threats to us-the frightened men and women determined to keep their grip on power, clinging to whatever slice of the pie they've managed to steal and kill for. They fear change, and that's what we are. We're going to tear them all down, and they know it. But they can't run forever."
Something in Kamakiri's voice chilled Mezou to the bone. He fought back a shiver as Kamakiri looked him straight in the eye.
"I was a slave to one of those men, once," Kamakiri told him. "I was his tool, his living weapon. He took me from the street, just another urchin among thousands, and he told me to call him Father. Then he taught me to kill the people he told me to kill."
Mezou refused to flinch. He had heard too many horror stories to be fazed by a new one, and some part of him felt that he owed it to Kamakiri to listen without flinching. There was a flash of something that might have been surprise and respect in Kamakiri's eyes when Mezou didn't even react.
"For years, that was my life," Kamakiri continued. "Father was a warlord in the lower tunnels. Every time a challenger came to his fortress, Father looked at me, and said, "Kill them." And I did, every time. It was what I did. I didn't think, I barely cared about anything at all. I was just a living, breathing weapon. And I hated Father, hated what he'd turned me into, especially when he turned me against the people in his own settlement who spoke out against him. But for all that…I still did what he told me to do. I couldn't imagine a world where I didn't follow his orders. And then…and then Fumikage came."
Kamakiri shifted, his eyes growing more distant, his voice softer. There was hero-worship in his eyes now, the same look so many others in the city got when Fumikage was mentioned. In Kamakiri, though, that light was sharp, sharp like his blades. This wasn't admiration, Mezou realized-it was fanaticism.
"The day my life began, really began, was the day Fumikage came to Father's fortress," Kamakiri said. "He stood in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by Father's men, and wasn't afraid at all. He looked Father in the eye, and told him that he intended to change things in the Depths. He said he was going to make this world better, and Father could either get on board or be swept aside. He spoke of things I could barely understand. He said that we could be free, that we didn't have to be afraid, that we could be more than filthy gutter rats. He told us that we could see the sun, and all we had to do was work with him. All we had to do was trust him. But Father laughed in his face. He…he called Fumikage a fool, told him that nothing he could do could ever change the world. Then he turned to me and said, "Kill him."
Kamakiri's words hung in the air like smoke. Mezou could almost see the scene-Fumikage standing tall in the dark, unafraid, undaunted, eyes boring into the warlord's as a shadow with sharp blades and empty eyes moved in a blur. Too fast to stop, too fast to dodge.
"Fumikage...he didn't say a word," Kamakiri whispered, and Mezou could feel the awe that dripped from his voice, even now, years later. "He didn't even flinch. He just met my eyes, and I understood. He put his life in my hands, willingly and freely. Fumikage…he accepted whatever I chose to do. For the first time ever, I could choose. He gave me that choice. I…I didn't know how to choose, before that day. But I did. I ran towards the light, towards the sun, towards the promise that life could be more than death and darkness. He never saw it coming. When Father's blood ran down my blades, that was when I knew I was free."
Kamakiri fell silent after that, and Mezou didn't know what to say. He believed Kamakiri's story, every word of it. Maybe another man wouldn't have, but Mezou knew Fumikage Tokoyami better than anyone else alive, and he knew in his bones that Fumi would do just that. To look into the eyes of someone that had known only death and get them to believe that there was an alternative…it was a gift Fumikage and Fumikage alone had. Mezou knew that firsthand.
Kamakiri let out a long, deep breath, and turned one last time to meet Mezou's eyes. In a voice that burned, he said, "Fumikage is the reason I'm free. I choose to be a part of the better world he's trying to build. That's my cause. I go where he tells me to go, do what he tells me to do…kills who he tells me to kill. All for a world where nobody else goes through what I did."
Mezou frowned. "That…doesn't sound like you're free," he replied. "Not to me, at least."
Kamakiri chuckled, dark and faint. His eyes glowed in the dim light, his teeth flashing as he bared them.
"That's what freedom is, for people like us," he said. "Freedom to choose our masters. We'll never have power ourselves…so we have to find people we trust to wield it. And I trust Fumikage-trust him with my life. As far as I'm concerned, it's his to spend. I know he'll spend it well. That's all I care about."
With that, Kamakiri turned, stalking away down the trail that led back to the city. Mezou didn't follow. He stayed there, alone with his thoughts, wondering why the conversation had left him chilled to the very core of his soul.