Authors Note:

Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been stopping by the read the uploads.

I really appreciate it. ^_^

Chapter Ten: Freelance Job

Hawks sat on top of an abandoned warehouse. He hadn't felt like eating. He never did after a meeting with Madam President—but—he knew he had to consume some calories, and so, now he sat forcing himself to eat a chicken roll. It felt worse than eating ashy, burnt wood.

There had to be a way to make the meal more palatable. He sighed, glancing at his mobile phone beside him. Despite how careful he had been, The President had still picked up about Rilo. He could only hope the President had been cordial with the Bureau, and hadn't tipped them off. No—she wasn't that stupid. She'd been interested to see just how much he could fuck with another governmental agency, that sadistic part of her had been on full display. Perhaps she was curious herself about what was going on behind the closed doors of another administrative department that seemed just as secretive as her own agenda. He wouldn't have put it past her.

Well, at least All-Might hadn't been mentioned. If he could keep the focus on himself and even on Rilo, they'd still manage to scoot around the Commission. He just loathed that they were even in a position that they had to use themselves as bait.

His idea was a difficult one to pull off, recreating identities for people who didn't have them. It was a tactic he'd been taught as a spy, but he'd never used it on such a large scale. He wasn't even entirely sure if it was possible to re-assimilate—he'd tried it unsuccessfully before, but failure didn't mean the concept of fake identities didn't work. He was convinced it was possible to run parallel lives—indeed—he was convinced that was the only way he'd ever continue to function as a healthy individual. And now he was getting desperate enough to implement the concept on a grander scale. He was surprised Izuku's mother had even agreed to his scheme when he'd proposed it. That woman had a spine on her. There really was more than one type of hero in the world, though, he had a sinking suspicion her eagerness had been a little more to do with guilt over being unable to support her son, than anything else.

He sighed.

There was just something about mothers and their guilt that always gnawed at him.

Hawks glanced at his phone. His foot tapped with irritation.

He shouldn't call Rilo.

Not while on a Commission job—was that too obvious?

But—

It didn't really matter anymore, did it?

The President was aware, but she still didn't believe that he'd someday succeed in taking her out. His happiness made her happy—wasn't that what she'd said?

Alright then. He cracked his neck, breathing in deeply.

He'd keep working on lulling the unbearable woman into a false sense of security, until someday, her kingdom would crumble around her. If she was burning alive, he'd have doused her with an accelerant.

He sighed, tapping his phone to his forehead. "Okay. Okay. Reign in it, Hawks. She is still human, a monster yes, but still human. Let's not stoop to her level of hatred."

Hawks flipped up the phone, dialling.

Rilo's voice answered.

"Kiego."

He closed his eyes at his name. That's right. He wasn't Hawks, not to her.

"Hey, babe. So, as you probably gathered from my message, I'm not making it home tonight." He sipped his cola.

"I did gather that. Thanks for the message."

"I didn't want you to worry, but I also couldn't call until now. Things got a bit…ah…complicated."

"No, no, I understand. Thanks for ringing. You okay? You sound a little flat."

He sighed, looking out across the old shipping yard. It had taken him a bit of time to track down where the secret meeting place for the top brass of the Hearts and Minds Party was, but he'd eventually connected all the dots and found the abandoned warehouses along the pier. It felt more like a villain hideout than the meeting place for a slowly growing political movement, which felt a little sus, but this was a hit-job, not an information, intelligence gathering job.

"I'm…I'm on a…I'm on one of those jobs I can't really talk much about."

"The Commission." Rilo murmured. Oh, he could hear the animosity dripping in her tone. Seemed she had just as much distain for his handlers as he had for hers. Weren't they a cute couple.

"Yep."

"So, you're not okay."

"No." He studied the cola can idly. It was caffeine, yes, but it wasn't the same as coffee. "I'm not. They threatened you. I didn't appreciate it. I don't…I don't like the reminder that no matter how hard I try, I can't break free. They could rip my wings off, and I wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. They could put a gun to your head, and shoot you, and I'd end up in Tartarus for going rogue."

"You can't break free right now, Keigo." Rilo's voice was soft against his ear. He could see her in his mind, curled up on their bed, or the couch, teary eyed and trembling. It was loathsome that he couldn't hold her. "But you need to stay alive, you need to just toe the line, enough to keep them satisfised…you're going to figure it out. You'll find the key to the cage."

"Even if toeing the line means killing innocent people," he whispered, glancing over at the lights in a warehouse.

"Right now, you're the weapon, not the hand that strikes."

"That's very murky water, Lightbulb."

"Then that's what we'll swim in."

He breathed in deeply. "Rilo. I love you."

"Keigo, please come home."

"I will."

It was a vow.

0000

Hawks waited until he had seen all four of the targets enter the warehouse, before he made his move. Landing silently on the roof he slipped several feathers through gaps in the old metal ceiling, allowing the feathers to scope out the interior. They'd made the old warehouse into some sort of printing press for their pamphlets, but it also appeared to be a hub point for larger meetings. Someone had poured money into buying old computers, at least half a dozen of them, and set them all up. They seemed to be trying to establish some sort of ground base for their movement.

They didn't own the building, at least, their organization didn't, it was possible one of their founding members owned shares in the old dock. Someone had to have old money to be dabbling this seriously into politics. He didn't have time to dig that deeply into the job.

All four of his targets were standing around a small table, sharing drinks and meal, while lost in a debate about an up-and-coming rally. Hawks tuned the conversation out.

There was no surveillance. Their first mistake.

Their second mistake—

None of them had weapons. He'd have thought that being in such a weird, sketchy place as an old, abandoned warehouse, in a creepy ancient shipyard, would have kind of triggered someone's brain about having some sort of defence. Perhaps they'd thought the location was the defence?

But—he'd literally just had to find one of them to find all of them. He would have had a harder time hunting down an actual criminal.

He breathed in deeply.

Oh well. Maybe next time, they'd be better prepared.

He plucked two feathers, giving them a twirl. Madam President wanted this done in a particular fashion. She didn't want it as a quiet assassination, she wanted to make a statement. She wanted a massacre.

He switched off his mind, voiding out thoughts. Focusing through the roof, he activated fierce wings. Everything shattered. Metal, wood, glass cascaded around him. He landed amongst it all in a whirlwind of air, ripping one of the men apart in a twirl. The second he caught under a boot, slashing his blades downward, slicing off both arms, before detaching a head.

He stalked forward, tipping his head at the last two.

One started spluttering. "Oh my god, you're…you're…"

He slit the throat and they dropped, thumping to the ground.

"How…how could you…" the last woman backed away slowly.

"I don't own my life," he whispered. She slid off the feather-blade, collapsing at his feet. He took a final glance over the bloodied area and the four bodies now decorating it. Madam President had what she wanted.

Exhaustedly he moved, pausing only as his boot thumped against something and he slowly looked down, peering through his blood stained visor. Hawks frowned at the pile of red books that had tumbled out of a box upon being knocked over. They looked freshly printed. Tucking his feather blades under an arm, he picked up one of the books, smearing blood over its glossy pages.

"Meta Liberation War?" he murmured. His frown increased. Meta Humans. That was an old-arse term he'd only seen referenced in illegal texts some of the nicer Commission guards had smuggled him back during his four-by-four walled hell of a childhood. A term that sat right along side True Humans, and Holy Wars, and Upheavals.

He dragged his trembling hand through his hair. He didn't feel like thinking about any of this, so, he tucked the book away in a utility pouch and headed for the side door in the warehouse.

The dockyard was eerie and deserted. He staggered to the pier edge, flicking out the lighter from his utility belt, holding it to the bloodied feathers in his trembling hands. The pain was vivid, coiling up his spine as the flames engulfed the feathers. Did he deserve it, the agony?

In the end—was he any different from a villain. His life had been undesirable, detestable even, and he fought for the basic right to just feel Human.

He claimed he had no choice, that his life was not his own.

But what if he chose to end it—would those four be alive—no—

He watched the ash dust away in the breeze, out across the waters.

If it wasn't him, it would have been someone else. The Commission did not care who, or what, or how.

Rilo was right—

He was just a weapon.

To Madam President, he was naught but a very expensive piece of hardware.

He had to trust that while he lived, there was a chance to change it all—even if it meant climbing up a mountain of bodies—he would break free.

When all hope was lost—

He had to keep hoping.

00000

He couldn't remember the flight home. He knew he'd been aiming for his old apartment, so, why was he standing in the middle of—home—

Rilo stood in the darkness, aglow with her starlit shine, wearing one of his shirts, which literally did nothing.

"Keigo?"

He could hear the anxiety pitch her voice higher. He must have looked horrendous, and a small seed of shame budded in his stomach. He was pretty sure he still had blood on—everything.

"Keigo! Are you bleeding!" She leapt over the coffee table, grappling for him in a panic.

"Its not mine," he murmured.

He grimaced at her touch, and she flinched back. "I'm so sorry, you must be incredibly hypersensitive."

"I…" He didn't know what to say. His mind was blank.

"Keigo, I need to get your armour off." Rilo was speaking. He squinted at her through his dirtied visor. Right—his armour—

"Are you okay if I touch you? I won't if you're still to reactive, you can just sit on the couch for a while until you get your equilibrium back."

"I'll get it bloodied."

"I really don't care about the couch right now."

But a piece of him did. For some reason, it bothered him that someone else's blood would get on their couch. It'd be fine if it was his blood—but it wasn't—

"I'm fine," he whispered. He raised trembling hands, reaching for her, cupping her face and brushing at her round cheeks. His visor must have been dirty, he was losing his vision. Rilo reached up, pulling it off and he blinked, rubbing at his eyes.

"Shite." He gave a weak laugh. "I'm actually crying."

"Humans do that." Rilo started tugging off his jacket. "This was your last jacket, you know. Good thing we're seeing Best Jeanist on the weekend."

He breathed out as she ducked around behind him, applying pressure to the right spots in his armour to release each plate. She dropped each one. "Okay…there…that should be better."

It was. He could breathe again. Keigo dropped his head forward, dragging a shaky hand through his hair.

Rilo stroked his wings and he glanced around at her. The knot his stomach unwinding at her touches. Since their conversation the other week, she'd been so much braver and far less timid. It was a relief, to feel free in front of her. Hizashi was right, sometimes it was better to just talk things out.

"I'm not hurt, babe, really," he assured.

"Somehow, I don't believe you," she squinted at him, making the illuminated markings around her eyes dance.

"You going to check every inch of me?"

"If I have too."

He managed a smile.

"Well, I would drown you in the shower, but you still can't fit through the bathroom door."

He gave a weak laugh. "It's a really tiny door, Rilo."

Taking his hand she tracked their way across the apartment to settle him on the couch, where she brushed at his tacky hair with anxious hands.

"I'll be back in a moment. Don't move."

He couldn't have, even if he wanted to. His limbs were beginning to get to heavy with fatigue. Rilo glared back at him, pointing with a finger as she headed into the bathroom, and he heard the sound of water running. Soon she emerged, carrying a large basin and several towels. Easing the basin down on the coffee table she dragged the whole thing over to the couch. She started on his hands, scrubbing at the bloodied nails until each was clean, and slowly, she moved upward until she was carefully soaking his bloodied hair. He sat in silence, staring out at the sparkling city lights, wincing every so often as the brush she was using caught on a knot.

Finally she flicked away the last dirtied, wet towel and slipped off his lap. He almost whined at the absence of her reassuring pressure.

She held his cheeks. "Okay. I'm pretty sure I cleaned it all."

He slouched forward, curling his arms around her. She held him as he struggled against the tears and he buried himself deeper into the shirt she wore, clutching at her bare back.

"I'm sorry," Rilo murmured. "I can't take it away, Keigo. But I promise, I'll always be here to share it when you come home."

That was—

That was all he had ever wanted and all he had never needed.

0000

Keigo came awake slowly. He had no recollection of how he got into bed, and that was usually a very bad sign, but for some reason, he didn't find himself panicking. Unlike most occasions when he blacked out, he wasn't a bloodied mess, nor was he in Tsunagu's apartment, wrapped up in a nest of blankets.

He was just comfortably tucked up in the silken sheets he'd picked out, because he liked silk sheets. He rubbed at his eyes, peering out the sheer curtains to the tint of pink sunrise that dusted the studio apartment a pretty haze. He might not recall how he'd gotten into bed, but he certainly remembered returning home after his Commission job. He'd flown the whole way back without halt, at top speed, and hadn't been able to redirect himself from landing on the balcony. It had been so natural to immediately seek out the furnace that fuelled his engine.

The curtains shifted, drawing his attention. Rilo ducked through, still wearing one of his open backed shirts. Right—so—it wasn't that he was running short on clothing, it was that she was slowly stealing all of them. She'd have stolen his favourite comfort track pants if she could fit into them, he was sure of it. She was a little thief.

She eased down on the bed beside him, brushing at his hair. He closed his eyes, welcoming the gentle, soothing touch.

"Good morning." Her lips pressed tenderly to his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"So much better," he murmured. "Though, I presume that's because we snuggled all night."

"Might have snuggled a bit." She lifted a shoulder, smiling shily. "You were in a snuggly mood."

"I'm always in a snuggly mood."

She actually snorted at him. "That's going in my Hawks' Quote Book."

"Oie, be nice." He slapped her bare leg. "I am emotionally compromised."

Her arms snaked around his waist as she leant over him, her long silver hair dripping down like ink. He raised his hands, stringing his fingers through the soft, fluid like hair. Electricity crackled between his fingers, and he smiled at the sensation prickling down his arms. He'd never felt so energized, and yet, so inclined to just remain in one place.

"Emotionally compromised fiancés get pancakes." Rilo murmured through a kiss.

"Oh," he pulled back. "So that is pancakes I smell."

"Not just any pancakes." Rilo grinned. "Chocolate chip pancakes."

"You know, babe, if I wanted desert for breakfast, I'd just drag you back into bed." He brushed a hand lazily down her arm. Rilo bent closer, whispering, "Yeah, but I don't feel like having meat for breakfast."

She bounced up, blowing a kiss.

Oh—oh the little—

He ditched a pillow at her retreating arse and she laughed, skipping away. He dragged himself up, kicking away the sheets. Though Rilo worked in the kitchen, the grotesque wires plugged into her body followed her around seamlessly. She made the quirk abuse look so benign. Throwing on a pair of track pants and a shirt Keigo headed for the balcony, opening up the doors and stepping out into the crisp morning air. The sky was just beginning to lose the sunrise tint over the city, but it was still early dawn. They should have been well on their way to Musutafu by now for Rilo's treatment and Izuku's training date, but, it seemed they would be late.

Ah well—that was life—

"Keigo, coffee!" Rilo called out.

He gave the little bird seed feeder on the balcony a gentle push, watching it bob about playfully, the chimes attached to it twinkling softly.

"Coming." He dipped back inside, heading for the kitchen where Rilo busily worked.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, having to manoeuvre around the wires. "Thank you," he buried his head in the curve of her neck. "For last night."

"I love you, Keigo." Rilo gripped his arms. He felt her nails dig into his skin. "I know I can't share that part of your world with you…"

He closed his eyes. "I don't want you too."

"I know." She turned, facing him, holding his cheeks. "But I will always be here. I don't care what you do beyond our walls, just come home, Keigo, so I can tell you I love you."

He smiled.

"Kiego." She squeezed his face. "I know you're in a mood, but I am not making love to you while plugged into the powerplant."

"Oh, come on."

"No. Not risking a blackout."

"But it would be such an interesting experiment."

"Nope."

She wiggled out of his arms, slipping right out of the shirt she wore. He held it up and watched as she stood naked, glaring at him daringly.

"I did not do that on purpose, I swear."

He stepped away from her kick. Laughing as he threw the shirt back at her. "Stop stealing my clothes if you don't want me to take them back." He dragged out a chair from the kitchen counter, seating himself.

"You're the one who leaves them lying around everywhere."

"Oh, so you admit it's easier to just grab whatever is on the lying on the couch than to go to the drawers to get your own." He poured out a mug of coffee.

Rilo slid a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Fine, yes, that's true."

He grinned. "Ah, see, my laziness is not all bad."

"Do you want me to spray your clothes with my 'cute, cupcake scented' body spray, again?" She innocently grinned back.

He stared at her over the top of his coffee mug. She didn't blink.

"You didn't."

"Hm."

"Rilo."

"Hm. Maybe."

"Damnit. Rilo. I can't sneak around villains when I smell like a teenage drama queen."

"Oie, cute cupcake scent is not teenage drama queen scent, thank you very much!" She protested.

"Well, sorry. Like I can tell the difference." He scoffed.

"Are we due for another deodorant war?" Rilo squinted at him. "Cause, I'm pretty sure you lost the last one."

"That is because you played dirty and came at me naked."

"Oh, wait…wait…" She held a hand to her ear. "Oh, yes, that was your hypocrisy calling, you lost it somewhere between there being nothing is fair in love and war."

"Gosh, I love you."

"I mean, you could always try to come at me naked." Rilo shrugged.

"And get my privates sprayed to smell like cupcakes. No thanks. Hard pass."

"You'll never win."

"You're acting like I want to. I'm in it for the sex." He pointed a fork at her.

Rilo started slapping him with the spatula she held. "No, bad Hawks, bad."

Keigo grappled for her arm. "Do you want that on your arse, because I can arrange that."

"It's a hundred percent closer to your arse than mine, Keigo. Don't tempt fate." Rilo ducked under a wing, popping out the other side to sit herself down on the barstool beside him. She stole a piece of pancake from his plate, smiling.

Keigo poked her nose. "I am pretty sure fate is what I've been tempting since I was born."