Dabi winced as Mama dabbed powdered foundation over a bruise above his brow she'd sworn she wouldn't give. Not because of a false sense of maternal guilt. The meeting was today and Greyhound wanted to keep all marks of her unique affection out of sight. With any luck out of mind as well: It was better the buyers didn't know he was damaged goods.
Dabi should stop calling them that. Himself that. Accidentally voicing those thoughts aloud were what gave him the bruise in the first place; they were wicked and he wanted to be good. Needed to be.
"These pricks are actually sending a car. Living the high life, eh, Flea? Chauffeurs, what next, champagne and tasteful porn on entry? I should work with the Yakuza more often," Greyhound snorted. Dabi chose not to say anything. Mama was sober, which meant she preferred quiet and was less likely to punish him for not answering unanswerable questions.
"Well, they won't notice if they don't look too closely at you. I think you're plain enough that won't be an issue, love. Hairbrush."
Dabi passed her a comb with several missing teeth, and Mama didn't hesitate to yank mercilessly at mats that hadn't been touched in months. He was wearing a blue dress the likes of which he'd never seen in his life, and white stockings that scratched at his ankles uncomfortably.
"You had to inherit your father's hair, didn't you?" Greyhound growled, and Dabi forced himself not to stiffen in fear. Showing discomfort only provoked her further. Luckily, this was a unique day, and she moved on. Dabi supposed something good had to come out of the circumstances.
Mama finished plaiting his dark hair with a bow, and a stranger stared back at Dabi out of the mirror. He felt nearly pretty, like the time Sara made him a bracelet and told him he looked like a princess.
"Let's hope your betrothed finds you less hideous than I do," Greyhound smirked, and patted Dabi to get up from his stool. Fat Jimbo loped in from the hall and the doorframe captured him like a Picasso painting. Every time Dabi tried to read through the book of art he'd hidden beneath floorboards upstairs, he needed to skip the cubism.
"They're here," the villain announced, his own wisps of hair combed over his scalp in a way that made him look like an egg with chicken feathers still clinging to its shell.
"Now, what are the rules?" Greyhound asked, hand resting on Dabi's shoulder in a way nobody spying through windows would suspect was threatening.
"Don't speak unless spoken to. No smart comments. Don't mention Trigger and tell people I'm 7. Don't let anyone touch me except The Bosses son."
"We wish, Flea, we wish. The wretch is just trash he picked up off the street, but you never know... he might be your prince charming, and he's certainly the best business deal I've ever scrounged up," Greyhound chuckled. Dabi couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of hope, in spite of his mother's sarcasm. This could be his way out. He'd worn the single picture book about a princess rescued from a witches tower down to its glue bones.
The car ride was quiet. Mama chose to focus her attention on unnerving the Chauffeur, who she clearly didn't believe had hurried to open their car door quickly enough. Dabi focussed on attempting to stretch his legs down to touch the floor. Once through hearty security, they were lead through a maze of a complex to emerge into a room overlooking enormous gardens, with a stately looking gentleman perched on one of several couches.
"Greyhound, it is a pleasure to meet someone whose reputation precedes them so strongly. Please, take a seat," He said smoothly, and Dabi liked the way his eyes crinkled with smile lines. He also liked the potentially double sided compliment. This was going to be interesting, if not fun.
"The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for sending a car," Mama replied, her voice sinking into syrupy insincerity. The arctic haired gentleman waved his hand in elegant dismissal, and Dabi noticed a bulky signet ring on his right pinky finger. He had money. A lot of it.
"Now, is this Banker's girl? Come forward, child."
Dabi shuffled forwards, after glancing to Greyhound for her nod of approval. This was the first time her face hadn't soured at the mention of Dabi's father and he imagined it took all of her willpower.
"Mmm, small for her age. She has his wide brow. Does she share his memory?"
"The same if not better. She enjoys any challenges thrown at her in regards to paperwork; if you need a database that's non-traceable Maeve is perfect. She can also alter animal and plant tissue, from my side. If your organisation needs a healer, there's no one better."
"Similar to Kai. Come in, boy," the man ordered, and a youth Dabi hadn't noticed loitering in one of the doorways entered. He was tall and thin, and Dabi knew immediately that he was handsome even though the boy was wearing a face mask. Shrewd golden eyes shone below cropped black hair that still glistened from a shower.
"How old is he?" Greyhound asked, giving him a critical eye over that contained none of the reserved compassion the gentleman had shown Dabi.
"I'm 14," the boy replied, before his superior could speak. He cooly met Greyhound's gaze and Dabi would have felt elation at the show of disrespect if it weren't him who'd pay for it later.
Dabi was 4. Kai was more than 3 times his age, practically a man.
"Is he sick?" Greyhound asked, dismissing Kai's response. His age didn't matter, really. It was symbolic in a way, the merging of an upstart crime family with one as old as the foundations of their city.
"No, just aware of sickness," The older man answered.
"Kai, why don't you show Maeve around the grounds? We have much to discuss, I'm sure," he continued, and Greyhound settled herself lithely onto a couch opposite him.
"C'mon," Kai muttered, and Dabi followed him out of the room on the tail end of Greyhound's bargaining.
"He seems like a good kid, but he doesn't share your blood. Why not one of your future grandchildren?"
"The Shie Hassaikai are joined in brotherhood. Kai is just as much my son as those I sired."
The adult's voices were blocked as they turned into the corridor. It was only then that Dabi's potential husband looked down at him, and the look on his face made Dabi's tiny stomach turn over. He couldn't describe it, it was a mixture of revulsion masking uncertain interest.
"His son, right," Kai said bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. Dabi wasn't sure whether Kai resented the man or hated how much he idolised him. They walked in uncomfortable silence.
"This is my room," the boy finally murmured, and Dabi felt a lump in his throat. So this was what a kid's bedroom looked like. He expected Kai to continue on his tour, but he gestured for Dabi to follow him in and closed the door.
"How old are you, really? Don't say 7, that's bullshit," Kai growled, turning on Dabi and clenching his fists.
"I am, really. I'm just small for my age because of my quirk," Dabi managed, stopping himself trembling.
"3? You look like a fucking toddler," Kai spat, and Dabi didn't have the courage to reply.
"I guess I should thank you, The Boss wants to wait until you're 18 so I won't need to worry about touching anyone until I'm in my 30s," the boy decided, and Dabi felt a cold wave wash over him. Kai's face twisted with so much fear and disgust at the mention of human contact it was almost pitiful to watch even behind a mask.
"Wh- What's your quirk?" Dabi asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. Instead of answering, Kai picked his way over to a rubbish bin.
"I can change filth into something cleaner," he announced, showing the contents of the bin. It was full of the corpses of small birds, rats, and bugs, that had been twisted into neat balls practically beyond recognition. Their tiny bodies had been merged with what looked like antiseptic tablets.
"We've been having pest problems," he explained, searching Dabi's face carefully. If he'd wanted to get a reaction, Kai was disappointed. Dabi was poring all of his focus into the fact the boy's mask was inside out.
"Some day, I want to get rid of disease. Germs, filth, it's all the same. You need to get your hands dirty before they can be properly clean."
"I can heal people," Dabi admitted, hoping that might spark a bond.
"Can you heal them of quirks?"
"I- I don't know, I've never tried."
"All of our problems stem from our quirks, I think. They're the worst disease. The only way to be properly clean is to rip them out like weeds. You can help me," Kai decided, adjusting his mask. Dabi pinned his mind on the inside out fabric like it was his only lifeline, because at least Kai made mistakes. Greyhound never did.
"I'm supposed to find you pretty, aren't I?" He asked, looking at Dabi in disgust.
Dabi didn't allow himself to cry until they were in the car back to the safe house. Greyhound observed him with an expression of removed distaste.
"God, self pity is the ugliest emotion. It makes me sick. I'm pretty disappointed as well, you know. The Boss is sending a pretty clear message by only pairing you up with one of his lackeys, after everything your father did for him as well. Chin up, smile. Happiness is as much of an act as love. If you can't be loved at least be a clown. You've got the makeup for it-"
Dabi jolted awake on something smooth and cold. Not his bed, not Maeve's couch. He spread his hands out over a stainless steel workbench and considered the possibility Maeve had decided to go to a laboratory for her pregnancy test.
So, she'd known Overhaul, who apparently had been just as much of a prized pig then as he was now. That latest vision had been a treasure trove of information for the league in their dealings with the Shie Hassaikai. It was also the first time he'd met Maeve's elusive mother in the depths of her memories, and gave a glimpse into the girl's mentality now. Those final words her mother had spoken had almost become an imprint on the girl's psyche, and he imagined Greyhound used them so often Maeve couldn't help herself repeating them in every day life.
Shuffling and panting from behind Dabi distracted him from his thoughts and he twisted around to a sight that made the few remaining hairs on his arms stand up.
"Can you pass me a knife?" Maeve asked, her voice shaking. She was huddled on the floor in a white dress that billowed out over the concrete below her, tugging on thin cords tied around her ankles. Her hands were bare. A generous lump was forming on her forehead, there were clear wounds on her neck, and the girl's movements were incredibly slow, as if her body wasn't cooperating with her mind.
"Who has you?" Dabi asked, swiping a carving knife from several racks and slicing through the girl's restraints in a heartbeat. Now he'd actually looked around their space, it was clear they were in the back kitchen to a restaurant. No identifying features. A small group then. Probably disorganised, which could work with or against them.
"No time. I need you to remember something, it's important," Maeve winced, gingerly palpating her stomach. It was then, crouching next to her, that a small, ugly object squatting on the ground caught his eye. A handgun. It was a different make than Maeve's.
"There's a website called PREDON, okay? P-R-E-D-O-N. The password for my account is 20 characters," The girl wheezed, screwing her face up in pain as she felt what looked like her lower ribs.
"What happened to your eyes?" Was all Dabi could ask, staring at them closely.
"Coloured contacts. Focus," Maeve snapped, newly brown eyes flashing in the dark. She pulled herself to her feet, with effort, and used his shoulder for support. The girl continued talking as she shuffled in a beeline across the room, her dress dragging behind her. Maeve's bodysuit merely looked like white tights underneath.
"No spaces. Begins with lowercase n. Colon. Caret. Not the vegetable, the pointy hat in writing. 7. Lowercase b. Uppercase R. Lowercase z, then g. Then 3. Uppercase V. Got that?" She enunciated, her voice clear and calm as she picked up a pen and turned to Dabi, who'd followed her across the room. The girl grabbed his hand and turned it palm up, so that her cool fingers were pressed against its leathery, stapled back. She repeated her words and added the second half of the password, writing them on his palm, and it finally made sense what she was trying to do.
"What's on the website? Your research?"
From her despairing expression, he'd guessed exactly right. Maeve was writing her last will and testament on the mauled hand of a villain.
"I'm not remembering this," he said quietly, looking at the random assortment of characters she'd scribbled in barely legible penmanship. Dabi looked back to meet the eyes he far preferred as blue, which were clearly trying to hold back tears.
"I'm not remembering it, do that yourself," he repeated, and with a determined thumb rubbed her writing so that he couldn't read it if he tried.
"I at least want a nobel prize in my death, asshole," Maeve complained, but her voice was thin. Dabi knew the information probably progressed current medical practices several decades and would save countless lives, which left a nobel prize pale in comparison. That hung in the balance, and he planned to use the knowledge as the most powerful leverage he could to save hers.
"Where are you?" He asked, voice even raspier than usual. Maeve had started shaking, and he couldn't tell whether it was trembling or shivering. Dabi managed to stay calm. This was going to be the most delicate negotiation of their young lives.
"There's no time. I don't know why I'm still alive, they should've shot me already," Maeve shrugged, the acceptance of her own death giving her a bizarre new sense of calm.
"There's nothing to lose in telling me. You're either dead or I help you, I can be there in two minutes..."
Dabi hated that something inside him broke at the look on her face. He hated this stupid kitchen, those ridiculous contact lenses hiding her eyes, the world. Most of all, he hated that Maeve's expression was calm and understanding regardless of her shaking. Perhaps a bit sad.
That she'd rather die than risk the league capturing her a second time.
"The kid who was supposed to shoot me is certainly taking his sweet time," Maeve grumbled, pulling herself up to sit on the work bench.
"Which group are they?" Dabi asked, hoping that would give a clue regarding her whereabouts.
"Some idiots wanting to get in with the Yakuza. I managed to get on the phone to negotiate with the mafia boss, but he was immune to my immeasurable charms. I'm not pregnant, by the way, so no reason to mourn for my loss," Maeve snorted. Dabi shook off his floor length coat and put it around the girl's shoulders to try controlling shivers racking her body. It stank of burnt flesh and who knew what else, so her not making a move to push it off was of even greater concern than the shaking.
"If I hear anyone talking about that fucking pregnancy one more time I'm going to incinerate them," Dabi replied vehemently.
"Uh huh. If you ever come across someone called Overhaul in your villainous escapades, make him into a nice roast turkey for me," Maeve stuttered, speech becoming oddly slurred. Her shivering hadn't improved with his coat and Dabi narrowed his eyes at the doctor.
"That was a joke, by the way, please don't kill anyone on my behalf," she continued, mistaking his expression for murderous intent. Fair enough. Dabi interrupted Maeve's next words to gently grasp the girl's delicate chin and raise her face towards the light, so he could see her features more clearly.
"Your lips are blue," Dabi noticed, also taking in how (even more) abnormally pale she'd become except for gradually reddening nose and ears. Her chin was so cold against his fingers it felt like dipping his hands in ice water.
"It's cold in here," Maeve dismissed, knocking his hand away.
"It's one of the hottest days of the year."
"I think your thermostat is just fucked, Mr Space Heater," the girl snorted, and Dabi raised an eyebrow at her. She'd started shivering so violently he was worried she'd fall off the table.
"Wait. Are those..." Maeve trailed off, pointing towards the back of the kitchen. Dabi turned and exhaled sharply through his nose. A line of what looked like chest freezers lined that wall, which would have been inconspicuous in any other situation.
"He hates blood," the girl muttered to herself, and hopped down to rush over and pull one open out of the wall. It extended outwards like a foreboding, air sealed draw, and Maeve gave it a swift kick that hollowly reverberated around the room.
"That coward. That idiotic fucking coward," she cried, staring down at a frozen compartment large enough to hold three of her.
"Please, God, let me not wake up," Maeve pleaded, with equal parts rage and fear. Dabi tried to imagine regaining consciousness in a bed of ice, scrabbling desperately in your own frozen coffin.
"Will it be lack of oxygen or cold?" Dabi asked, examining the airtight seals.
"Drowning. My bodysuit has thermoregulation, it will heat the ice causing it to melt. As soon as the water reaches my face I'm done. Finch will be waiting much less than he was expecting to have a gore free corpse," the girl decided, regaining her composure slightly knowing death wasn't going to be excessively prolonged or painful.
"I'll be sleeping with the fishes in every sense by the end of tonight," Maeve continued dryly, opening another freezer to show some tuna that must be twice her weight. The girl gave that one a kick as well for good measure.
"Nope, retracting that statement. Don't say it," she warned, and he cut off an automatic dirty comment.
It was at that exact moment Dabi knew she couldn't die.
"Tell me where you are and the league won't take you. I'll leave you to be picked up by heroes," He blurted out, pushing the freezer between them closed. Maeve was turning blue and looked like some kind of mythical creature sculpted from ice.
"Why? I'm not pregnant, it doesn't matter to you," Maeve asked, genuinely confused. Dabi hated her for asking the very questions he was berating himself with. Her shivering was distracting him so badly he could barely think straight, and the girl inched towards him in a way that was incredibly odd. Until he realised he was by far the most potent source of heat in the room.
"I never cared about the pregnancy you fucking idiot. I'm not stupid enough to give up on potential resources. Let me help you, Maeve."
"How can I trust you?" Maeve asked, clearly shaken by his first use of her actual name. Her speech was so slurred he could barely make out her words any more.
"I swear on my memories of my mother. Good enough for you, you little shit?"
Maeve had stopped shivering. She just stared at him blankly with wide brown eyes, and he became afraid her brain had short-circuited due to hypothermia.
"C'mere," he continued, opening his arms, and felt utterly ridiculous. Maeve continued eyeing him with a weary expression.
"You're going to pass out soon and I still need information. Just do it," Dabi ground out through his teeth. Maeve stayed swaying on her feet for a few moments, before dragging the few steps over to the villain and letting him reluctantly wrap his arms around her.
***
The cold had reached Maeve's bones in a matter of minutes. Checking her radial pulse showed her heart rate was just high enough to compensate against shock, for now. She'd become so numb to the world that when the girl thought to herself she'd reached advanced hypothermia, she didn't feel any particular emotion. Perhaps relief, because if Maeve needed to face the fact she was spending her final moments with a jerky limbed villain one more time she'd stick her head in the ice and have a conversation with one of the fish instead.
He was talking to her. Something about his mother. Then holding out his arms, almost for a hug, and Maeve would be darned if that wasn't the funniest thing she'd ever seen. Clearly the hallucinations had started. Out of curiosity for where her mind could possibly be taking this, Maeve closed the distance between them and let him engulf her in heat and the smell of woodsmoke.
He wasn't a hallucination.
Only when pressed against such an intense source of warmth did she fully realise its previous absence, and sank into the calefaction like a hot bath. Maeve quickly began shivering again, and buried her face in Dabi's chest, wrapping her arms around his torso and splaying scarred palms on his back like he was her own bonfire. Without the flames. There was an embarrassing desperation in the way she tried to force herself against him to absorb every scrap of warmth he could offer. Maeve was so frozen that any repugnance was shoved into a recess of her mind she could process if she survived and her brain was thawed.
In return, the villain stiffly slid his hands underneath his own coat and ran them up and down Maeve's back. They were essentially enormous heating pads that could easily encircle her waist between them. Or break her neck, she reminded herself, regaining some degree of sense.
"I didn't ask for any of this. I just wanted to do cancer research with a smidge of school nursing on the side and I've been made into the damsel in distress by dangerous individuals consistently since the start of the year," she moaned, the sound muffled by his tattered shirt.
"You think I'm dangerous?" Dabi asked, his tone implying he was quite flattered. Maeve couldn't see his pleased expression, thank the lord himself.
"Drama Queen might be a better word for it. You're not coming to Fukuoka, you'll make too much of a ruckus," Maeve grumbled, wrinkling her nose at a charcoal like odour that was unfortunately now very familiar. 'Ruckus' was code for burning the entire block down, attracting all heroes in the area, and murdering anyone who intervened with his mission.
"Fukuoka huh? Heroes don't have warping, unless you have a secret second to Kurogiri up your sleeve. How long do you have tops? 10 minutes?"
"I'd say six or seven before I go underwater," Maeve corrected, changing the side of her face pressed against him for equal thawing. She felt the scarred man tense against her, his hands pausing their hesitant exploration of her shoulder blades.
"There isn't time. No heroes in that area would be fast enough, especially at this time of night."
Maeve closed her eyes and in that instant she knew what she had to do. This had to be the lowest point of her entire life. More humiliating than learning digital rectal exams at 9-years-old and asking how everyone else in the class practised at home, or falling asleep on the train, being robbed, and needing to call Aizawa from random locations with stranger's phones about five different times.
"You're too lazy for a password, but how about a phone number?" Maeve asked, utterly disgusted with herself for requiring use of a combination of numbers she'd never wanted to memorise in the first place. The personal contacts of different pro heroes was something Best Jeanist had forced her to read through every year, 'just in case.' God, she hated him, why couldn't he just let her freeze to death with her dignity intact?
"Whose?"
"A hero who should get here in time, if he doesn't get distracted by his reflection in windows or shallow pools."
"Give me the number," Dabi replied, disentangling from her to pull the girl by the arm across the room. Maeve felt the absence of his body heat like a physical blow. He bent down to pick up the unused gun from the floor.
"He's never going to let me forget this. Ever."
"Number," Dabi snapped, checking the cartridge with succinct, practised movements.
Maeve gave him the number and her address. Dabi brought the gun to his head and took several shaky breaths, reciting the combination back to her. He closed cerulean eyes and the staples in his face stretched as he struggled to maintain a neutral expression. They stayed there for a few eternal moments, before the villain wrapped an arm around Maeve again, pulling her against him so tightly her ribs screamed in pain. This time around, she wasn't entirely sure whether it was to warm her up or seek the strength from human contact required to pull the trigger.