Getting into Momo's apartment building after doing it the first time was child's play. He knew his way through now, and could navigate with an assuredness beyond any residents' suspicions. Even standing outside her door right now, with his pick concealed in his palm, no one would've given him a second glance. Although someone probably would've if they'd watched him slide his hotel lock jockey through the gap to undo the chain.
The lights and television were on, to everyone's surprise but his own, as he gently shut the door behind him. The long shadows of the night crept up the walls, scaling the corners, shrinking the space that felt so open during the day. He wanted to go down the hall to her living room and see her himself, up close. To see if she was as peaceful while she slept as he hoped. Aizawa didn't, though. Instead he stopped at her coat closet and opened the door; her purse was hanging inside. He reached in. Then hand went to his pocket, and he closed the door again. Left.
There was no traffic at this small hour and it didn't take long to reach Majestic's Agency. He'd spent the last two days accessing the public records available to determine the most viable point of entry, and the night before had made a trip to the contractor who handled building maintenance to check their records. There was a third floor window that had come off the tracks after an earthquake two months ago, but it was a custom job and the shipping date for a replacement wasn't slanted until February. With it being third floor and not accessing an escape ladder, it was his best shot. Getting to the third floor would've been easier if he still had his capture tape, but he made it work.
It was tempting to settle for the first office he passed, but he knew better. At this hour, he needed to be in Momo's itself to minimize any suspicion. He did, however, find Creati's name beside an extension button on an office telephone. And beside it was an office number. So, to her floor he went via the stairs and found her office locked — it was a common lock, though, and he had it bumped in seconds.
Aizawa closed the blinds before he lowered into her chair behind her desk. He surveyed the landscape while he waited for her computer to boot. She kept her space neat, filed stacked and organized, drawers locked. No personal mementos decorated her space. The screen finished loading and he gave it his full attention. It was, as he'd expected, the same system the Hero Commission had been using prior to his imprisonment. He could login, or he could do a secure bypass via the CAC reader. That required, however, a Hero common access card.
If only he had access to one, Aizawa mused, as he took Momo's commission-issued Hero CAC from his pocket and slid it into the circular reader that sat near the monitor base. The screen registered it and completed its boot.
All the specifics for the upcoming meeting between Shinji, Hanzo, and Shoji were laid out in neat, concise language that mirrored Momo's essay patterns from back at UA — the sidekick who the front desk transferred him to had taken thorough notes of everything he'd said. Where. When. Momo had a blueprint of the building, and Aizawa took great care to ingest her careful details. Camera and mic locations. There was another map that showed the building in correlation to the street; where she would be placing police and Hero units.
He couldn't help the pride commingling with his annoyance. She had a good eye for details and gaps; this was the level work he'd been doing when he began at UA, and he had more experience under his belt by then than she did now. She was careful of blind spots and coverage. He just had to be sure…Had to know for certain that she wasn't aware of the one singular flaw in her otherwise perfect plan.
It wasn't on the building's blueprints registered with the city — the World War II era tunnel that connected the restaurant to another place three buildings over. The other entrance to the tunnel was a meat market now, Satriale's. But the tunnel had originally been a hideout from Allied forces. Aizawa double checked Momo's itinerary; he'd have enough time to get in. Getting out, though, would be close. He'd need to be watching the trio like a hawk to know when to leave.
He didn't print anything; her computer would almost certainly log it if he did. So instead he took some pictures of the vitals on his phone before dipping out the way he came.
It wasn't quite dawn when Aizawa let himself back into Momo's apartment and slid her ID back into its sleeve. He nearly got back out, too, before his fingers paused on the knob. Tightness in his chest. He ought to check on her.
There was no halfway decent justification for why, but he didn't need one to satisfy his own conscience. His hand fell away and he put them in his pockets. His feet were quiet on the firm floors of her apartment while they carried him to the blue-hued glow of her living room. A muscle in his jaw flex when he saw she was streaming Godzilla v Destoroyah on her television.
And there she was, curled up on the sofa with her phone on the floor and her head on a throw pillow. Momo's lips were parted as she softly breathed. The steady rise and fall of her breasts. She'd gone to sleep with wet hair again and he could see the tangles and clumps. There were sallow hollows beneath her eyes — Aizawa wondered if this was the only place she slept even remotely this well. Then, with inexplicable resentment on the heels of the thought, he wondered if she felt safe on those rare occasions she spent the night at Todoroki's.
The meeting was only a couple days away now, and he wondered if she had the same instincts as her father: to know offers were only made if they would be accepted. If he did this, could she read between those lines to decode his aspiration and ambitions for her like one of her cryptograms. Would she sense his certainty?
He lowered himself to sit on the low table across from the sofa, hands folded under his chin. He needed to sort himself out — and he had to do it before he made another move. Before his hand nudged another piece on the game board. There were things he needed to admit to himself that hadn't been certain he was ready to, but it felt easier in her proximity.
She'd meant something to him back then. Hell, she'd meant a lot. How he'd gotten emotionally entangled with a teen girl, he still wasn't sure, but Aizawa knew it was so. Somewhere between debating if he should just kill her and meeting with her in the theater one last time, Yaoyorozu Momo had made herself unspeakably important. There. He'd confessed the easy bits. That wasn't so bad. The next train of thoughts, though, were far harder to steer.
She meant something to him and it wasn't something platonic. It was through his personal restraint and honor that he'd prevented things from turning romantic back then. Barely.
She had wanted things to be romantic. Fucking hell, he'd warned her even not to romanticize their situation and she had anyway. If he did this — if he reached out to her — he had to do it with the awareness that she might still feel that way.
Again, not so bad. Not as terrible as he'd expected the thoughts to be. The hard ones though were dead ahead. He ought just say it. Get it off his chest. That thing that had come over him in the cemetery, watching her from across the graves.
Yaoyorozu Momo was fucking beautiful.
Yeah. That one was more challenging to get past, and he didn't mean to exhale as loudly as he did, reaching up to drag his hands down his face — then froze to watch her, and make sure she didn't rouse.
She was beautiful, and he knew she wasn't the kid she'd been back then. Then, he'd made himself a list of excuses why he shouldn't dare lay a finger on her — and each reason was no longer a barrier. He had no more excuses for her or for himself.
If Yaoyorozu Momo was still into romanticizing things, what would he do?
Decide now, he told himself, before he went any fucking further. Before he whispered an invitation for her to join his syndicate. What. Would. He. Do?
He couldn't let her do it because of him. If he was the reason behind her choice, he'd have to withdraw the offer. Yakuza was not a lifestyle one entered into lightly; it was a commitment that could not easily be left behind. She had to want his syndicate because Hero life fucking sucks. Not for him.
Now, what if wanting him was what it'd take to make her leap the biggest hurdle: Todoroki Shoto. Was he willing to leverage any attraction she might still have to sway her away from the Number Three Pro Hero's arm?
Aizawa stayed silent, unmoving, as he scanned Momo's face again. Her long, dark lashes fluttering so slightly as she slept, and the peach-pink of her lips. The curve of her neck. She didn't have a blanket over her and her white camisole and shorts left little to the imagination. She was a bombshell, even so tired. If Momo was on the fence could he use her attraction to sever her ties to Todoroki? Was he willing to do what it took to get her between the sheets for a good dicking down?
No, he couldn't do it, he exhaled. Almost with some regret, because she was beautiful as fuck. He hadn't been able to do it back then and he couldn't do it now. If it were any other person then maybe. But not Momo. He couldn't be underhanded with her. She'd done so much to deserve his trust and he needed to uphold hers in return. If she joined him, though, she need to leave Todoroki behind. And then…He'd deal with that river, that leap, when he came to it.
Aizawa knew, too, he'd need to be careful of her scars. Maybe what had happened in the freezer had been years ago, but she lived with it every day. She didn't have the luxury of a rose-tinted world. Instead she looked at every dark corner like it was her personal monster.
Yaoyorozu Momo was like Salerno, beyond the Khost-Gardez Pass. That small peach orchard in the middle of the minefield, and only the local translators knew the safe path through. He had things for her to do in his syndicate, a place on his right where he could use her intellect and strategem without putting her in the line of fire. He knew already how to navigate his way throughout her.
With it, though, came the understanding that if he extended this invitation to her, it needed to be bulletproof. If she joined his syndicate and he was usurped, she needed to be invaluable. He could do that for her, so long as she knew where to draw the line between her loyalty to him and self-preservation. Her usefulness needed to be able to outlive his own.
Aizawa reached out a hand. Hesitated. Then brushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. Dawn was coming and he needed to leave before she woke. But he'd see her again soon. He hoped.
