Izuku barely registered the trip home. His mind was whirling, and he felt too tired and drained to even be angry.

As soon as he got to his apartment, Izuku dropped his bag by the door and barely had enough energy to collapse into a chair in his kitchen. Groaning lightly, he buried his face in his hands and squeezed his eyes tightly, turning the day's events over in his mind.

Izuku didn't know why he had told Rumi that he was quirkless. It wasn't like he went around telling everyone he met; most of his colleagues assumed he just didn't need his quirk to do what he did, so he didn't feel the need to show it off. Hell, they were even sort of right.

Izuku was proud of how far he'd gotten, how high he'd risen despite it all. He was a hero doctor at the most prestigious hospital in the country; he made a real difference where he was, helped people just like he'd always wanted to. Every hero he helped return to action meant more lives saved, more good done, in a roundabout way, because of him. In some ways, Izuku had helped save more people as a hero doctor than he would have as a hero.

But even with all that success, with all the things he'd achieved, God, did it burn to remember how he'd been as a child, all hope and bright eyes and wanting to be a hero.

Izuku couldn't really say exactly when that dream had soured, curdling like spoiled milk. He'd never been bullied, exactly; there were more quirkless people in his generation than there were in the most recent one, so he hadn't even been the only quirkless kid in his middle or high school. But there hadn't needed to be a single dramatic moment, or anyone to tell him outright that he would never amount to anything. The assumption had always been there, baked into the dismissive, pitying looks he got from teachers and peers; the stronger a classmate's quirk, the more haughty they became as they grew older and it became clearer and clearer just how useless Izuku was.

The only reason he had never been truly bullied was because there was never any point; what would the bullies gain from proving that they were better than someone who didn't even have a quirk? There had always been a line, a barrier around Izuku that reminded him how much better everyone else was, thanks to the genetic lottery that had left him as worthless as dirt.

Izuku had been adrift, alone, helpless as other, stronger people around him chose their paths. Nobody had ever told him, "You can believe in yourself," so he hadn't, and slowly, Izuku had stopped truly believing that he could become a hero. His dream had become a fantasy, then a childish fancy he looked back at and cursed for how stupid and naive he'd been.

And then, long after he'd stopped imagining himself in a costume and a smile like All Might's, when he was still adrift and purposeless in life, he'd been given another opportunity by fate, one that might have revived his spirits. He had charged at it, given it everything he could...and it had cost him the little hope he'd had, in return for nothing at all. All it had done was prove, once and for all, that someone as useless as he was could never bring other people hope.

And then, one day when he'd hit rock bottom, when there seemed to be no point anymore, something inside him had rebelled, had declared, "Fuck that."

Izuku had picked himself up off the ground, built his own future the way he saw it, been given a second chance and wrung every little bit of success and satisfaction out of it. Nobody could ever say again that he was useless, or helpless.

Izuku hadn't even really planned on being a hero doctor; for the longest time, anything related to heroes had been too painful to look at, a reminder of what could have been in another universe. But then, fate had turned again, and Izuku had found himself in possession of skills few possessed and many needed, especially heroes.

Izuku had realized then that you didn't need to be a hero to save the heroes.

And Izuku knew he was no hero; forget being quirkless, he was rude, spiteful, and at times a downright asshole to his patients, a bad idea for any doctor. That didn't even include the heaping platter of emotional issues Izuku probably had, but hey, a childhood of being ignored, pitied, and basically treated like he didn't exist would do that to you.

Despite all that, though, Izuku was still determined to be the best at what he did, and the smiles of the people who he helped get their futures back always made everything else pale in comparison. Even with the shit he'd gone through to get here, Izuku still found it in himself to smile and be happy when he watched his patients take those first, halting steps, plastic and metal wobbling, then holding steady as they grew more confident, more hopeful.

Somehow, Izuku's thoughts curved back to the topic that had managed to make him so introspective in the first place: the Number Five Hero herself.

Why had he told Rumi he was quirkless?

Izuku had never slipped up like that before, never risked seeing that dismissive, superior look in the eyes of one of his patients. Izuku had always managed to keep himself under control, used his acid tongue to crack the built-up layers of pity and grief his patients always managed to build around their hearts. Izuku had made an art of it, been proud of his ability to make even the angriest of heroes wilt under the force of his personality.

And then Rumi had somehow managed to crack his shields, found a way to drag things out of him that Izuku almost never told anyone. That scared Izuku, made him wonder what might slip out next.

For whatever reason, Rumi was his weakness. Something about her just made it impossible for Izuku to stay neutral, to stop caring. Every time he saw her wavering, about to tip over the cliff into despair once again, Izuku felt determined to bring her back; every time she was riding high, Izuku gloried in the spark in Rumi's eyes, the burning intensity that she was so admired for.

Izuku didn't know what she thought of him now; he knew that Rumi had a reputation for being dismissive and refusing to deal with anyone she didn't see as an equal. Rumi's respect was earned, and Izuku wasn't sure that a quirkless man could ever earn the respect of someone as powerful as her.

Izuku pounded the table once as a surge of fierce emotion shot through him. Dammit, he hadn't gotten to where he was by being a coward, or by running away! He had a job to do, for fuck's sake, and who cared if Rumi might want nothing to do with him? He was going to make sure she healed, returned to being the hero he knew she was and could be again. Who gave a fuck what she thought about it?

Izuku clenched his fist, and made a promise to himself.

"Tomorrow," he decided, "I'm going to face her again. It doesn't matter what she says or what she thinks, I'm not going to leave her to suffer alone again. Ever."

The next day, Rumi's guilt hit her like a sledgehammer from the moment she woke up. Memories of the day before filled her mind, and she felt her ears laying flat against her head as she wished she'd never pushed Izuku.

"I didn't have any right to pry like that," she thought to herself, finally appreciating just how far she'd pushed him yesterday.

Honestly, Rumi was amazed at how well Izuku had managed to control himself, all things considered. If she'd had to deal with something like that, Rumi wasn't sure if she could have resisted the urge to punt the other person through a wall.

Of course, Rumi had no idea how Izuku was taking it. For all she knew, he might be quitting her case, and she would never see him again.

For a moment, she tried to be happy about that, tried to feel like she had succeeded like she had when she'd driven off all the other doctors. Rumi tried to imagine what her new isolation would feel like.

She failed miserably, at all of them.

Slowly, the realization crept over Rumi that she didn't want to chase Izuku off anymore, even when she still doubted his promises about the future. Even if her faith in herself was still shaken, even if she still thought she would spend the rest of her life a miserable husk of what she'd once been, Izuku had managed to convince her to give recovery a shot. He'd given her something strong enough to start rebuilding her confidence, some sort of spark again.

Despite everything, Rumi owed Izuku for that. Honestly, she couldn't even bring herself to be mad that he hadn't told her anything about himself-why did she deserve to know?

The old Rumi, if she'd found out Izuku was quirkless, would never have looked twice at him. That Rumi believed that she was the strongest around, and that only people who were also strong were worth giving the time of day. Once, she'd believed that the only kind of strength that mattered was the kind that let you crush your enemies into the dirt.

This new Rumi...didn't quite know what she believed yet, but she did know a few things for sure.

First, that her old belief in physical strength above everything else had been what led her into that fucking basement; it was what had cost her everything.

Second, that Izuku may have been quirkless, may have been physically weak, but he was still one of the strongest people Rumi had ever met. Something about his drive, his spirit, the way he never backed down from any challenge...it was inspiring to watch, and it made Rumi recognize that Izuku being quirkless didn't mean a damn thing for his ability to be a doctor.

Third, physical strength would never be able to help her now; the only thing that Rumi could think of that might make her able to rebuild herself was the kind of inner strength that Izuku had, that Rumi had once thought that she had. If she was going to do this, Rumi knew, the only way it would work is if she had someone as stubborn as Izuku by her side-and there was nobody as stubborn as Izuku, except Izuku.

But why would Izuku ever want to deal with her again? She was a bitter, angry, lonely amputee who got most of her entertainment from harassing people just trying to do their jobs; would Izuku decide that helping her was more trouble than it was worth?

Rumi didn't have too much hope, not when she'd been so pushy with him, but maybe-

"Psssst! Hey, Miruko, how's it going?" a familiar voice suddenly whispered from the doorway.

Rumi's ears flew up to pinpoint the sound as she jumped in shock. "Hawks? What the hell do you want this time?" she demanded, her retrospection vanishing as it was replaced by irritation.

Rumi's fellow patient, still wrapped up in bandages and looking irreverent as always, said, "Hey, what's got you so cranky?"

"I-" Rumi began, only to cut herself off as she wondered whether or not to actually tell Hawks about what had happened.

God, was she seriously about to talk about her feelings like some sort of wuss?

Rumi took a deep breath, then exhaled in a long sigh. "My doctor and I had an argument yesterday," she admitted.

As he walked into her room, Hawks replied, "Isn't that just par for the course with the Hero Wrangler? That man's pricklier than a goddamn cactus."

Swallowing her hollow laugh, Rumi answered, "I mean, yeah, sort of. But this fight...it was pretty bad?"

"Bad how?" Hawks asked as he dropped into the chair by Rumi's bed.

"As in, I made him storm out of the room and I haven't seen him since," Remi explained.

Hawks blinked once, then settled his arms on his knees, leaning forwards. He repeated, "You pissed off the Hero Wrangler enough to make him storm out on you? That's awfully impressive, Miruko."

"I feel like shit about it, actually," Rumi told him, "I shouldn't have said some of the things I did."

"Well, this is just a day of firsts, isn't it?" Hawks chuckled in response, "the Hero Wrangler getting angry enough to storm out on a patient, and Miruko actually admitting when she's in the wrong?"

Rumi couldn't help but roll her eyes. Even then, she only felt a little less shitty. She continued, "The thing is, I'm really worried that he's gonna drop my case."

Hawks nodded and replied, "I guess that makes sense. For all the shit he gives people, that guy's probably the best hero doc in the business."

"Yeah," Rumi agreed, "he's the first person who's actually made me think that I might actually come back from all of this."

Hawks' gaze suddenly as he met Rumi eye-to-eye. He suggested, "So tell him that. If you apologize, he'll probably let the whole thing go."

Rumi hesitated; she couldn't see Izuku forgiving her so easily, but…

"Do you really think he would, just like that?" she wondered.

Hawks snorted. "I have no fucking clue," he admitted, "but it's probably worth a shot."

Rumi...has no reason to disagree, especially when she hoped so desperately that Hawks was right. Even still, she knew that Izuku had no reason to believe she had changed.

She decided, "If Izuku is willing to come back, I'll apologize. Maybe that'll be enough."

Out loud, Rumi said, "Thanks, Hawks."

"No problem," the winged hero replied, "now, I have an idea."

Rumi raised an eyebrow. She asked, "Oh? What idea?"

Hawks grinned widely and pointed to the wheelchair still sitting beside Rumi where Izuku had left it the day before.

"Things have been going too slow around here," Hawks told her, "you wanna go for a joyride around the hospital?"

Rumi felt an answering grin form on her face, as her heart filled with excitement at finally getting the chance to really escape this fucking room.

"Why yes, yes I do," she drawled.

Five minutes later, Rumi and Hawks were racing down the hallways of the hero wing, laughing crazily. Hawks was running as fast as his mostly-healed body would let him, managing a more than respectable speed that let Rumi, sitting in the wheelchair she'd once hated, laugh crazily as she gripped the armrest with her hand.

They dodged and weaved around dumbstruck nurses and shouting doctors, some of whom tried to chase them, and none of whom could possibly catch up with the two top heroes as they sprinted through the white, clean building.

Over the whistle of the wheels and the shouts of the staff, Hawks called, "Well, Miruko, isn't this better than sitting in bed all day?"

"It sure is!" Rumi laughed as they took a corner at thirty miles an hour.

Honestly, this was the most alive Rumi had felt in weeks. She'd forgotten how much fun it was to move so fast that one slip-up would make you crash into something, how the adrenaline rushing through her veins made the world slow down to a crawl.

They turned down another hallway, picking up speed as they raced down the length of it in seconds. When a figure stepped into sight at the end of the hallway, though, both Rumi and her partner in crime realized that they were screwed.

Hawks desperately slammed on the brakes (or rather, pressed his feet against the ground hard enough to make the tires of the wheelchair squeal), and Rumi clung desperately to the chair as they came to a jerky, spiraling stop, inches from the unsmiling, green-haired figure.

Both heroes looked up in terror as Izuku Midoriya drawled, "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Rumi noticed a twitch in Izuku's upper lip as he fought to maintain the glowering expression that seemed so effective against Hawks.

Sternly, Izuku asked, "Keigo, what did I tell you the last time we talked?"

With his eyes still downcast, Hawks muttered, "You said that you would tie me to the bed the next time I snuck out of my room."

"And what did you do?" Izuku prompted, sounding like the world's most terrifying disappointed mother lecturing a particularly naughty child.

"I snuck out of my room," Hawks sighed as Rumi watched with growing amusement that mingled with the pit of fear in her gut.

Izuku nodded and said, "So, you'd better get back to your room before I break out the good rope."

Hawks blinked in surprise. When Izuku didn't immediately haul him away, he asked, "Wait, you mean you aren't-"

"I will, if you don't get your ass in bed right now," Izuku interrupted, "but really, I'd like to talk to Rumi right now. Alone."

Rumi gulped and her ears drooped as she heard Izuku's words. Hawks nodded, and raced away as quickly as he could. As he passed Rumi, Hawks mouthed, "Good luck."

Rumi just ignored him, stuck in her wheelchair with Izuku standing in front of her.

Rumi forced herself to look up at him. Izuku's eyes weren't quite as hard or angry as she'd expected, although he didn't quite seem as easygoing as he'd looked the first day they'd met.

Rumi began, "Izuku, I know I fucked up yesterday, but-"

Izuku held up a hand, and Rumi quickly fell silent. He replied, "Look, we don't have to talk about it. It slipped out in a heated moment, it's not that big a deal."

"It is," Rumi countered.

Izuku fell silent, and Rumi could see his shoulders droop, although she didn't know why. He raised his head to face her again, and the defiance burning in his eyes took her breath away.

"Rumi, I don't care what you think-" he snapped, but it was Rumi's turn to interrupt.

She cut in, "Look, I know I pushed too far yesterday, alright? I'm sorry."

Izuku fell silent, which Rumi took as her opportunity to continue, "I'm sorry for forcing you to say something you probably have your reasons for not talking about. I shouldn't have pried like that."

"You shouldn't have," Izuku agreed, his voice flat, but no longer angry. Rumi felt like that was a victory.

Then, she added, "I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but I just wanted to say...that I don't think any less of you for not having a quirk. You're still the most stubborn, annoying guy I know."

"Wow, you actually made that sound like a compliment," Izuku snorted.

"Coming from me, it is," Rumi responded, raw and honest.

Izuku held her gaze for a long second, as though judging her honesty; Rumi didn't blame him. Eventually, Izuku sighed, "Well, at least you didn't call me a worthless piece of shit."

"People actually said that?" Rumi asked, shocked.

"Sure they did," Izuku replied with a shrug, "I'm quirkless, Rumi. They might even have been right."

If the bitterness that crept into Izuku's voice wasn't there on purpose, he didn't acknowledge it, and Rumi didn't mention it.

But she did tell him, "Take it from someone who is useless, Izuku; you're definitely not. Hell, aren't you supposed to be the "best prosthetic designer in Japan?"

Izuku shook his head, a gesture at odds with the tiny, beaming smile on his face. It was the most genuine smile Rumi had seen on his face, and it lit up the hallway like the sun. She wondered why he didn't smile more, if just a tiny grin from him was so bright.

Fondly, he said, "You've got a point there, Rumi. Not about being useless, but hey, we could sit here swapping self-doubt all day if we wanted to."

"Probably," Rumi agreed, "and for the record...I think you would have made a great hero."

Instantly, Izuku's face changed. His mostly-controlled face wavered, wobbled, and for a moment, seemed to crack, revealing genuine surprise and joy behind it. He took a deep breath before he asked, in a voice trembling with more tentative hope and genuine emotion than Rumi had ever heard from him, "D-do you really mean that?"

Rumi nodded, a soft smile on her face as she answered, "Sure. If you've got the stubbornness to deal with my self-doubting ass, you can deal with anything. You've got spirit, Izuku, and that's what matters most at the end of the day."

Izuku smiled brightly then, and Rumi thought she would be blinded by it. Her heart leapt once, twice, three times as Izuku chuckled softly, a gentle, ringing sound that pealed high and happy like a bell.

Still speaking on autopilot, Rumi added, "Hell, you would have been a better hero than I was."

Izuku stopped laughing, and the look he fixed on Rumi was full of worry and concern. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Well, you've got all your limbs, for one," Rumi cracked, doing her best to keep the bitterness out of her own voice. She gestured with her arm stump, pointing at Izuku's own arm with fingers she didn't have anymore.

Izuku didn't laugh, and for a second, Rumi wondered if she'd gone too far again. Then, he smiled softly, and told her, "Let's get you back, Rumi."

"Okay," Rumi agreed, leaning back in the wheelchair as Izuku spun it around and began to push her back down the hall she'd so recently sped down.

As they reached her room, Rumi heard Izuku mutter, "Thank you, Rumi."

"Thank you," she countered. Rumi didn't add, "For not walking away," but she was pretty sure Izuku heard it anyway.

Dismissing her own gratitude, Izuku insisted, "Seriously, Rumi, I think I might have needed that."

Rumi's smile got wider once again; it was the first time she really thought that she might have fixed her mistake.

"Anytime, Doc," she replied, making Izuku chuckle again.

"I suppose we're stuck with each other," he mused out loud, "which means no more joyrides, missy."

"Or what?" she asked sweetly, falling back into the surprisingly familiar rhythm of their banter that she hadn't realized she missed so badly.

"Or else," Izuku told her firmly.

In that same singsong voice, Rumi gasped, "Is that a threat, Izuku?"

"No," he corrected, "it's a promise."

Rumi laughed, and mock-sighed, "Fine, no more joyrides."

The tension between them wasn't gone, and it probably wouldn't be for a while, but now Rumi knew Izuku wasn't going to give up on her so easily, and Izuku knew that Rumi didn't care if he was quirkless or not.

For now, maybe that was enough to make the future look just a little bit brighter.