Inko Midoriya was not, by nature, a calm person.
Even as a child, protected from the worst of the world as she was by her fire bomb of a best friend Mitsuki, she had come to find that everything, even the seemingly benign, worried her. School had been especially hard, with grades and the horrors of teenage society like lead weights dragging her down into the depths of anxiety but with the not insignificant aid of Mitsuki's confident warmth and Hisashi's serene disposition, she'd persevered: persevered long enough to carve a life out for herself amongst the chaos of heroes and villains. The same couldn't be said for everyone.
But still, frayed nerves were simply part and parcel of her everyday life, it was something she'd come to accept. It wasn't all bad though, the years and hard won lessons had granted her some temperance, to the point where even her husband's absence had been something she'd learnt to deal with, as tough as those first few months had been. She'd gotten used to it all. Distress and worry were never far from her mind, she knew, but a lifetime of them had softened the contours, leaving them more manageable.
Nothing in the world, however, no amount of being accustomed to the knife edge of unease could have prepared her for the nail shredding anxiety that came from being a mother to a boy like Izuku.
Her son, her dear sweet and kindhearted Izuku was a vigilante and it made her ill to think about the things he faced with no quirk to save him.
Mixed in with the worry was a pride so fierce it made her want to roar from the rooftops. Her son, the quirkless and timid child bullied for the simple dream of wanting to save others, was doing the best he could with what the gods had given him. He stood in firm defiance of evil with nothing but sheer grit and determination. She wanted to show everyone who he was, wanted to rub it in the faces of all those teachers and students that had labeled him as worthless, but she knew it was never to be. Izuku had chosen his path and unfortunately, it was one of secrecy.
She tried, lord knows she tried, but Inko had begun to suspect a long time ago that Izuku was afraid of the rejection he would face. He'd had his heart broken a thousand times over everyday, when the world he wanted so badly to fight for told him he wasn't good enough and she knew that mustering up the courage to just try would be hard enough. If he put himself forward, made himself a target as the world's first quirkless pro and was laughed at again, it'd tear his soul asunder.
Convincing him to try and become a pro was an uphill battle, for certain, but she would never give up, not until the world knew just as she did, that her son was a hero to his core. Until that day, she would keep his secret and of course, she would worry.
And she did just that.
In the dim quiet of the evening, Inko worried as she bustled about her small apartment, cleaning up the last dregs of clutter from Toshinoris visit. The gaunt man had left some time ago but in a rare moment of lethargy, perhaps brought about by the former pros' calming presence, Inko had allowed herself some respite and had given some use to her newly minted loveseat. The hours since had flown by, in the company of a good book and warm tea but she wouldn't be able to sleep through the night if the place were a state beyond its normal odds and ends.
And so back to work she went, her hyperactive brain filling in the gaps between washing cutlery and sweeping the floor with thoughts of her beloved son. Once she'd done all she could, she sat down, sighing in relief as the weight was taken off of her feet.
Unbidden, memories came to the forefront of her mind but they were pleasant, pulling her back to a simpler time, a happier one. Izuku, darting around their tiny apartment in his All Might onesie, searching room to room for her, his citizen in need. She chuckled softly, remembering the time he'd slipped on the hardwood floor and fell into a red, blue and green pile of limbs and smiles. She was so sure he would burst into tears but he'd just blinked, rubbing the slight bump on his head, and broke out into a cheek tearing grin.
Heroes get hurt all the time mom! They don't cry so I won't either!
Heroes get hurt all the time. Unfortunately for Inko, the same was true of vigilantes.
Almost without meaning to, Inko's eyes floated distractedly across the room taking in the gloom hidden features from her perch at the coffee table tucked away near the kitchen alcove. A comfortable but worn sofa dominated most of the hardwood floor space, squared a few feet opposite of an old TV set that murmured quietly against the silence. Just to her right, the balcony let in little light from outside but soft winds whistle faintly against the glass, sending a phantom thread of air through the slide doors and lifting the curtain in gentle puffs. She ignored all that though and settled firmly on her favourite part of the house.
A lifetime and a half worth of photographs dotted the cheery mauve walls, depicting her little family across the years. Izuku's cherub face dominated of course, bouncing from frame to frame like a stop motion movie: always smiling, always excited. Even after he had learned the truth. It was subtle but of course she noticed, what mother wouldn't? She could see the point in the gallery where he became more timid, more reserved like she had been, only worse. She could see the point at which his smile stopped reaching his eyes. Then the miracle happened.
She remembered well the day he'd come charging through the front door, rambling endlessly in the way that he did, regaling her in a tale of such absurdity that she'd checked his head for any bumps. Her Izuku, gifted the opportunity to enroll in the greatest school in the country by its greatest hero. Beyond that though, the air of profound disappointment that seemed to follow him was lifted, replaced wholesale by a fire that had honestly frightened her. She never could piece together the whole story of that day, but suffice to say Izuku was changed.
Her gaze drifted the shiny black wood of a picture frame in particular. In it, a nervous but excited Izuku looked out with a half sure smile, dressed to the nines in his UA uniform. His first day and yet, he looked as if he were born to wear it. Inko had been so proud. If she knew then the life he would soon lead, she might have snatched him away and fled abroad with him to her husband, never to return.
Her vision misted ever so slightly and she wiped furiously at the corners of her eyes with the back of her sleeves. She'd shed enough tears worrying about the past, she had to save some of them for the future.
The sharp rattle of keys fumbled against a lock pierced the quiet of the little apartment, cutting through the low hum of the television like a knife through butter. Brief flashes of men in hoods rattled Inko's senses but she calmed down once realizing that robbers probably wouldn't have a key to her front door. In fact, only two people did: herself and…
"Izuku!" Inko cried, breaking out into a face splitting smile as her son pushed the door open fully.
He met her smile with one of his own and in a blink they were hugging. Inko grasped at his clothing desperately, anchoring herself and making certain that he was real all at once. A line of tension, one she hadn't even noticed, released from her taut shoulders when she realized she could not feel the rigid edges of steel and body armor. He was only Izuku right now.
Inko pulled back and beamed up at her pride. "It's a little late, sweetie," she chuckled. That was putting it mildly, it was almost 2 am.
Izuku smiled sheepishly. "Hehe yeah, I was kind of expecting you to be asleep. What are you still awake for?" He asked.
Inko's smile faltered just a tad but she was sure Izuku noticed. He was a sharp boy and unusually perceptive when it came to others. She didn't want to tell him that she was awake worrying about him and had been near every night for nearly a decade. "Don't worry about me dear," she stroked his cheek with a tender hand, surreptitiously checking for any bruising. "Why don't you come in? You must be freezing."
He gave a hum of agreement while removing his shoes and staggered into the living room, the poor thing was asleep on his feet. Inko ran a practiced eye over his form, taking in the whole of his well-being and looking for the signs that had come to haunt her nightmares. What little exposed skin she could see was blessedly bare of damage and even in his exhaustion, Izuku didn't move as if he were injured. Inko gave a huff of thanks to whatever was listening as she took in hand the jacket her son shrugged from his wary shoulders.
The boy (Inko had a hard time admitting he was a grown man now) slumped bonelessly onto the couch and sighed deep as he closed his eyes. Absent-mindedly, he massaged both temples with one hand while fumbling for the TV remote with the other, turning up the volume of the news programme that Inko had been half watching.
Splashed across the screen was the smiling face of a waving Uravity sans costume, while the musings of the newscaster about what might have drawn the gravity heroine to Musutafu droned on over the image. The presence of the women wasn't half as interesting to Inko as the look on her son's face though. He stared at the screen with half dead eyes, as if the floating woman glared mocking daggers at him, and muted the broadcast: unblinking and in silence. Static shards of color, thrown from the screen like needles, washed over him, and his hand shook from the force with which he gripped the couch arm. When he'd entered, he'd look fatigued but no worse for wear than usual, certainly not outright disturbed like he did right now. Something about the broadcast had rattled him.
"Izuku…" Inko whispered, unwilling to startle him but desperate to bundle him up in a hug. "Would you mind making us some tea?" That was the only way to break him open when he got like this: by making him feel useful. She hadn't a clue what the cause was, but Inko knew her son well enough to know he was beating himself up over something.
As if released from a spell, her sweet boy jolted on the spot and blinked rapidly as he faced her. He gave a hesitant smile and Inko relaxed just a fraction when she noticed it reflected in his eyes. "Sure mom. Green?"
Inko nodded, grateful, and Izuku darted off, poignantly ignoring the silent motion of the television. Uravity was still front and center. She switched it off in a hurry, uncertain of her urgency.
The whines of a kettle being roused from slumber came from the kitchen, mingled tightly with the clatter of mugs, while Inko looked on in anxious worry. Izuku always looked tired, always looked on the verge of overwork but there was something else about him tonight, and whatever it was, Inko was certain that he would try to keep it to himself. He didn't like to bother others, she knew that. The problem was, he considered his own wellbeing as something of a secondary concern, while for Inko, it was as vital as air. She would have to handle this carefully. He had to decide to share on his own otherwise she would never get it out of him. He was stubborn like that.
With a caution refined through years of anxiety, she sat at the small dining table, laden with half read magazines and the forest green remains of her latest knitting project. Momentarily distracted, Inko smiled and pushed the bundles of yarn to one side. Izuku had asked her to stop making more clothes for Eri than she could possibly wear every time a new season rolled around, but he dutifully carried the gifts to the young girl everytime without complaint anyway. She was certain this time would be no different. She'd yet to meet the girl she'd all but adopted in person but they often spoke over video call whenever Izuku went to visit the orphanage and Inko was quick to adore her just as much as Izuku did.
The sound of mugs being filled with piping water brought Inko back to the present and she drew a sharp breath to firm her resolve, just in time for Izuku to ferry two steaming cups of sweet smelling green tea to the table and place one of them in front of her. She gave him a smile of thanks and sighed with content at the pleasant warmth that filled her from the first sip. Her son made good tea.
She observed him over the cup, running one more check for bruises or cuts and was happy to find none. So she studied his face instead. His brow was tense even as he appeared to be relaxing into the dining room chair and worry marked deep lines on his face. His eyes, devoid of their common cheer, swam with doubt and consternation. Usually, even when sitting still, he was always moving, fidgeting with whatever he could get his hands on or muttering to himself an endless stream of his internal monologue. Now, he barely twitched save for the bouncing of one leg and he stared into his tea like he owed it an apology.
"So what are you doing back home, sweetie?" Inko began, slowly.
Izuku turned to her, a vacantly lost sort of look to the edges of his big green eyes. It took him a few tries to get his words out but a touch of warmth came to his face when he did, as if he'd just been reminded of something that made him happy.
"I went to see Eri," he half smiled and Inko returned one in full.
"Oh? How is she getting on with school?" She asked. Eri was a sweet thing, much like Izuku had been at that age, though she suspected with a touch more mischief in her. Then again, Izuku wasn't exactly the poster child for following the rules himself.
"She's doing good. Great actually! She's made some friends in her class," the young man spoke, the pride and joy in his voice sung louder than his poor mood could silence. He wore a soft smile and a sparkle that Inko had not seen in some time filled his eyes. Eri meant the world to him.
"That's wonderful, dear," Inko smiled, warmly. "It's been a while since I've spoken to her. Call me the next time you go to see her?" She asked. It struck her as odd that Izuku hadn't called her tonight if he had in fact visited the young girl but she chalked it up to whatever was bothering him making him forgetful.
Izuku gave a nod and hummed his assent with delight, clearly happy to be talking about something and not having to think too much on whatever it was that was bothering him. "Sure thing mom, Eri will love that," he chirped, a tad too jovially. His words were bright but Inko could feel the desperation in them. She'd provided an opening in the conversation and now, like a spooked horse spotting a gap in the fence, he dived on it. "You know, she's really growing up fast! I couldn't believe it, she was almost chest high. I mean, I know I'm not exactly the tallest person out there but still," he rambled, little more on his mind than keeping the topic on his adopted sister. "And wow, she talks so easily now! It feels like just yesterday she wouldn't speak unless she had to and now she was telling me all about her day and how she's making lots of friends. I'm just so proud of her mom!"
Inko smiled, pleased to hear all about Eri. Concern for Izuku was taking up most of brain space though and his racing tone was worrying her. "Izuku," she said, softly.
But Izuku was on a roll.
"I hope things are going well for her at UA. I'll admit, part of me is glad she's not on the hero course. At least I know she's not gonna be on the front lines of danger, y'know? Not that I can really talk haha…"
"Izuku, sweetie."
On and on he went talking about this and that, anything to keep up the tirade. But slowly, painfully, inevitably, he began running out of things to say. Quiet, louder than any shouting filled the spaces between Izukus words as he became increasingly desperate until finally, the only words his panicked brain could muster tumbled from his mouth in fits and spurts, as the smile he tried so hard to hide behind faded from his lips. He looked haggard: hunted. Izuku stared down into the contents of his mug, chewing his lower lip ragged and Inko couldn't bear to watch her son struggle anymore. Even if it might be difficult for him, even if it might be the last thing in the world he would want to do, Inko decided she had no choice. She had to force the issue.
"Izuku? If there's something bothering you, you know you can always talk to me, right?" She spoke firm and clear, with more confidence than she was exactly feeling but she needed to cut in front of him before he started up again.
He gave her a tired smile but one filled with warmth. "I know, mom. Thank you," he mumbled.
Inko kept him fixed with her best motherly stare, the one that she often used when he was small and he'd come home with fresh bruises and a tear stained face but adamant he'd just fallen over. Gentle but firm. She didn't want him to clam up but she needed him to know that she knew something was off with him. "That includes right now."
Despite her soft words, the poor boy winced.
The soft glow from the kitchen, the only light warding off the gloom, cast Izuku's face in gentle shadow, adhering to the contours of his hollow eyes and sharp cheeks. He clearly hadn't been eating much but then again he'd been practically nothing but sinew since starting his nighttime escapades so it was hard to tell. His expression was locked in troubled thought, obviously considering his words carefully but knowing he'd have to say something to appease his mother. After a moment, he heaved a deep sigh and set his steaming mug on the dining table, cupping his hands around to warm them in the lingering heat. Again he lapsed into silence but this time it only lasted a few short seconds.
"Do you… do you think telling someone else the truth would be a bad idea? Someone other than Mei and Eri I mean," he asked. His voice was small, barely above a mumble but Inko had practiced ears.
She blinked slowly, not expecting such a question in the least. She didn't know much about his 'part time job', she never asked for the details on purpose, but even she knew that the fewer people in on the secret, the better. Then again, maybe it was a sign that he was thinking about her suggestion of trying for a license.
"Well sweetie, you've clearly given this some serious thought," she began slowly. And it was true. She recognised that look in his eye that spoke of endless rumination. Izuku had always had a tendency to act without thinking occasionally but for the most part he was a methodical boy. Once, she'd watched in amusement as he mulled over his choice of school shoes for the year. He'd settled on red high tops like always. "And if you really believe that you can trust this person then…no, I don't think it's a bad idea."
"Even if that person's a pro?"
Inko froze. She gawked openly at her son over the mug she held just shy of her face, barely able to process the words. A pro? Was he serious? She was aware of his day job at the agency so she knew the risks he faced just being near them, but this… it was down right crazy. "Izuku," she said, breathless. With shaky care, Inko lowered her tea to the table and clutched both hands to her chest. It was a nervous gesture, one she'd picked up before she could even put a name to her anxiety and it was apt here. "I…are you sure that's wise? Is it someone at your agency?"
The boy nodded grimly but held her eye. He was serious.
"Don't you think that might be a little dangerous Izuku? Even if you trust this person a lot, they have a duty to arrest people who break the law," Inko said in as steady a tone as she could muster. Izuku didn't say anything to convince her, he just nodded in a vague understanding and stared off into space, his taut features troubled. With no argument, Inko continued. "I can see this is hard on you sweetie and I know it's selfish of me to say this but…I don't want you putting yourself in danger by telling someone who might turn you in. Even if…even if you are technically a criminal," she said, wincing throughout. It wasn't easy for her to say those words but she knew it was even harder for Izuku to hear them.
Her boy just hummed softly, still staring at nothing but shadows and ghosts. Inko only noticed she was crying when she felt the first tear crest her jaw and run the length of her chin. She drew a ragged breath and grabbed the table edge to ground herself. Belatedly, she felt the soft brush of a knuckle collect a wave of tears as they escaped her and she looked up through misty eyes to see Izuku leaning across the table, his smile drowning in a sea of concern and guilt.
"S-sorry dear I-I was just being silly," Inko sniffled.
"No. You're not," he mumbled. "I know what… I do disappoints you mom. It disappoints me sometimes too. And I'm sorry to put you through this."
Inko laid a light hand atop his, her diminutive fingers dwarfed by his yet still lending strength as best she could. He'd been fidgeting, drumming scarred fingers against the table top in nervous jitters to go with his words. He stopped when she made contact and enveloped her, grabbing on like a man lost at sea. "You could never disappoint me Izuku, you'll always be a hero to me" Inko said, and a heart broke all over again at Izuku's almost imperceptible flinch. She shook it off, more focused on the task in front of her. "I'm just worried is all. It'd give your old mom a heart attack if I saw you in handcuffs," she gave a watery chuckle.
Izuku huffed a laugh himself. "You're not that old."
Inko patted his still tense hand softly. "And you're sweet for saying that. Still, my point stands. Are you certain this person, whoever they are, won't turn you in the second they find out?" She asked. The cold and logical part of her brain, soundly trumped as it was by love for her son, was chiding her, raving about how it was so wrong to encourage secrecy for something like this.
But she was his mother before all else, and so protecting him came first. Even if it seemed like keeping it bottled up was hurting him.
She just wanted to bundle him up and hide him away from the world like she did when he was small. It was painful to admit those days were long gone. Izuku could look after himself. Still, he would always be her sweet baby Izuku, the one who'd wear nothing but All Might onesies and waited so patiently for a quirk that never came. For that reason, she steeled her nerves and opened her mouth to tell him it was a bad idea to go around telling pros his secret.
Selfish yes, but she would take on any amount of sin to protect her angel.
Inko would never be happy with what Izuku did, not when it put him in so much danger, but she'd swore to herself years ago that she would always support him.
Slivers of a painful memory bit into Inko's mind. Her Izuku, so small and full of despair with tears streaming down his face yet still grinning ear to ear. That damn video of All Might, playing again and again and again, a backing track to her son's anguish.
Can I be a hero too?
I'm so sorry Izuku.
She'd failed him then, when he'd needed her support more than ever, even if it was only false hope. She'd failed him.
Never again.
"Izuku, I don't kn-"
And then a thought struck her. Why now?
As far as she was aware, he'd been under the mask for years now, with not quite a handful of people knowing his secret, so what had changed? Had this person come so close to the truth that Izuku thought it best to be the one to reveal the secret on his own terms rather than be caught? Mentally, Inko dismissed the idea. If that were true, Izuku wouldn't be nearly so torn about it. Perhaps he'd finally decided secrecy was no longer worth the hassle? Again that seemed unlikely, Izuku could be reckless at times but not with something like this.
Amidst her pondering, Inko only belatedly realised she'd not said a word since cutting herself off. Izuku stared at her quizzically, concern tugging at his features amongst the tension.
Stalling to collect her thoughts, she scanned the room, and just when she'd resigned herself to having nothing to say, something at the corner of her vision stuck in her mind, drawing back her gaze and tickling her brain with a faint hint of comprehension. Her eyes darted to the black void of the dormant television and a puzzle piece clicked into place.
Someone from his agency, he'd said.
So it was Uravity was it? Inko didn't know much about the gravity heroine beyond that she was an alumnus of UA and that she was considered quite promising. She'd heard tell of the young woman's exploits through the media and through Izuku's semi-frequent updates about his daytime work, but hadn't been able to piece much of her personality together, masked as it was by the veneer of a public front. Izuku must have thought highly of her if he was willing to share that part of his life, but knowing the identity of the woman whom her son believed had earnt his trust did little to explain to Inko the not so simple question of why.
Honestly, she hadn't seen the poor boy so upset by keeping his identity a secret since he'd had to keep it from Toshi-
Huh. That might explain it.
"This pro…you…care for them, don't you."
Izuku gave a tight grimace and Inko knew she'd been right on the money.
It made sense. Izuku's sudden crisis of conscience after all this time seemed a lot less out of left field if she considered his internal guilt over lying to those he held dear. He had a firm hold on it usually, but Inko knew that was because he kept himself distant from most. To her knowledge, only Eri and that engineer friend of his had slipped past his guard and they already knew about Jackrabbit anyway. She understood his apprehension, Uravity would be a whole different ball game.
Inko heaved a deep sigh, part of her wishing there was something a little stronger in her tea to help her find some good advice for her boy. This was certainly complicated.
On the one hand, Uravity represented danger. Inko didn't know the girl, didn't know whether the heroine's sense of duty would trump any loyalty she held for Izuku and what mother would be comfortable gambling her son's freedom on the morals of someone she'd never met? On the other hand though, Uravity also represented hope. Hope that Izuku might take a step towards the light, might one day take off the mask and pursue a legitimate license and show the world how much of a hero he was. Her darling son might finally breathe life into his dead dream and find happiness in a life of heroics on his own terms, one without the wanted poster.
Whatever she could be, one thing was for certain, Uraraka Ochako was important to Izuku.
Inko studied her son across the small table and then in one swift pull, finished the remains of her cooling green tea. She sighed and placed the mug back onto the table drawing Izuku's attention from where he'd been staring a hole into the wood top.
"This is your secret to share Izuku so I don't have an easy answer for you. But do you want my advice?" Inko asked. And when Izuku nodded eagerly, eyes going bright in anticipation, she smiled warmly and stood up. She took his hand as she rounded the table and placed her other on his cheek. "Sleep," she ordered.
Izuku gave her a tired look, halfway between exasperation and amusement, but smiled all the same. "I wouldn't exactly call that a groundbreaking idea, mom," he chuckled.
"From the things I've heard you get up to, it might very well be. Really Izuku, it's late and you look exhausted," Inko said, patting him gently on the cheek. "Whatever decision you decide on, it's not coming to you tonight, so get some rest and give your brain a chance to reset. Tomorrow, I'll make you a nice breakfast and you can walk me through your thoughts." She didn't wait for any arguments, she just dragged Izuku to his feet and directed him firmly but gently in the direction of his old bedroom. She heard him mumble some nonsense under his breath like ''m fine' but it was so half hearted she didn't pay any attention.
They had all day tomorrow to talk but right now Izuku needed rest: mind, body and soul.
She guided/marched him the short trip across the shadowy plane of the apartment and flipped the switch of his bedroom, illuminating the sparsely used space. All Mights 100 faces grinned back at her in the artificial light of the room, covering every spare piece of wall and shelf real estate, assaulting her eyes with a colour bomb of red, blue and blonde.
Inko gave a humorous chuckle as Izuku flopped soundlessly onto his still made bed, giving a mumbled good night as he fell. He was already snoring by the time he'd stopped bouncing. Apparently, he'd finally realized how exhausted he was.
Her brain on autopilot and in perpetual 'mother mode', Inko drifted alongside her slumbering son and adjusted his pillow, smoothing his messy green hair in vain as she went. A well of love and pride erupted inside of her as she stared down at his boyish face, softened further as it was by tender sleep. She dropped a gentle kiss just below his hairline.
"Sweet dreams, dear," she whispered into the night.
She got up to leave him to his slumber but paused in the door frame, her hesitant hand hovering near the light switch as myriad thoughts ran through her brain. Too many to process of course, they always were, but since the topic of them all was currently snoozing safe and sound for once, it seemed she might actually get a good night's rest herself.
With a contented hum, Inko flicked the light switch, once again burying the room in peaceful dark and made her way to her own bedroom, the weight of sleep compelling her to follow her son to the realm of unconsciousness. Slipping into bed, in near pitch black, she drifted off, Izuku's safety and proximity a potent lullaby for her usually wired brain.
Tomorrow, they would talk of serious things. Scary, unpleasant, nerve wracking things that made her jittery, but in those last full seconds of lucidity, Inko could imagine that all was well, that her son was a celebrated hero just like he deserved and that the rest of the world was as proud of him as she was.