Chapter Text
Hawks pulled out his phone, glancing at the time.
This was it. He crouched, perched atop one of the tallest buildings in the area; partially opening his wings to allow the wind to rush over and between his feathers. The flurry of input flooded his brain, for a blissful moment washing away the lingering and ever-building mountain of stress and nerves and dark foreboding.
But it didn’t last. Never did. Soon enough, the moment was gone; his mind sorting through the sensations and filing them away as peripheral background noise.
Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he rose and leaned out over the edge of the building. Wind caught at him, tugging at his hair, dancing around his feathers. The chill cut through him, his current clothing not designed for protection against the wind.
It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d normally choose, his hero costume being much more comfortable and better suited for flight. But today, he wasn’t Hawks. Or, well, he was Hawks but not ‘Pro Hero Hawks’. Not officially anyway. Not that it really mattered since he was always Hawks, rendering it a meaningless distinction.
He fell from the ledge. Nictating membrane automatically blinking shut against the rushing air as he hurtled downwards, rapidly gaining speed. Air screamed past his ears, buffeting his feathers. Drowning out everything else. For those few seconds, there was, once more, nothing but the wind.
All too soon, the end approached.
Crimson wing flared, catching the air with enough time to swoop away from the concrete below, back up into the sky, the toes of his sneakers narrowly missing scraping the sidewalk. The resistance jolted almost painfully through his muscles but it was a satisfying, welcome distraction from the nausea and stress clawing away at his stomach.
He knew what he had to do but. Right now. Now he was here. Weightless. Flying. He tipped his wings as he climbed a bit higher, gliding towards his destination. A simple, yet classy apartment building. It somehow blended with the rest of the city despite the air of refinement that surrounded it.
Upon his approach, he reluctantly angled towards the ground. Drifting until his feet touched the concrete sidewalk. Gravity once more taking hold of him. Weighing on his shoulders ever heavier as he walked.
The city street was silent. Most people at work and vehicles herded away around convenient construction zones. Few potential witnesses.
The nausea roiled in his stomach. He hadn’t actually eaten yet, he absently noted. He’d been so busy trying to distract himself he’d just… Forgotten. Not that food sounded appetizing presently.
His stomach gurgled. A sharp pang that did little for the cloudy jumble of his head.
He needed to focus.
This had to be clean.
He couldn’t mess this up.
He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
No one could afford for him to make mistakes at this point.
He’d messed up with the High-End nomu. He should have known Endeavor would be too prominent, that Dabi would be upset and purposely throw a wrench in everything.
So now. He needed a body. Prove that he was all in for the League of Villains.
For real.
Not just anyone either. A hero from the top 10.
At least Dabi didn’t give a target. Hawks didn’t know if he could have handled that. But, of course, he would have. It’s for the good and peace of society. To keep everyone safe.
The Commission had said any means necessary. The top priority was to get in with the League so they could take them all out in one fell swoop. Prevent as much harm as possible. Naturally, some sacrifices had to be made.
It was... Logical.
It was fine.
It was not fine.
He was a hero. He protected people.
He was going to kill someone.
He took a slow, stuttering breath, and held it a long minute before releasing it.
He didn’t feel any better.
But. This was necessary. He’d dirty his hands so no one else had to. He could handle this. He was trained to handle this. Other heroes wouldn’t be able to do it. He had to.
Nevertheless, bitterness sat heavy on his tongue. Wishing things could be different was selfish. It was his job to do what others couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Shouldn’t have to do. This was the best of the available options.
Best Jeanist would never be able to return to active duty at full capacity. His injuries had been too severe for that. Losing a lung wasn’t something you could just shrug off. And yet he still intended to go back to work. It was almost admirable if not for how selfish it was. Using his popularity to stay so high in the charts despite being unable to work. And intending to continue working when he would be a continual danger to himself if he pushed himself too far which would only put more work on the heroes around him. Any failure on his part would fall on the shoulders of the rest of the heroes, only further damaging the public faith as it had already wavered from All Might’s retirement.
They couldn’t risk that. The safety of the public was the number one priority. Above all else.
If the man had only retired when asked... No. It was best he still held his position. It would make him a better option for presenting to Dabi. What better show of proof he was all in for the League than killing off the number three hero? Dabi likely wouldn’t have accepted a retired top 10 hero.
And given his now permanent disability, it would only be a minimal impact to the heroes. This was the best possible outcome for Best Jeanist. A sacrifice to take down the League once and for all. Ultimately protecting everyone.
A noble way to go.
Hawks breathed. He’d make it quick. As painless as he could. Maybe he didn’t like Best Jeanist and how nosy and holier than thou he was but. He did his job. He was well-liked by the public and did efficient work. Making it as quick and painless as possible was the least he could do in return.
If he did this right, maybe the man wouldn’t even know what was happening.
He swallowed, forcibly unclenching his hands. Rounded off talons still catching at the seams of his gloves, a constant irritation.
He’d need to relax. If he was on edge going in, Best Jeanist was going to notice something was wrong and make this all the harder. The large duffle bag shifted where it was hidden at the center of his back under his jacket. The flattened bag pressed against the soft feathers of his mantle, rumpling them uncomfortably from their normal, sleekness.
But nothing to be done about that. It was only temporary. In less than an hour it would be...
He finally neared the entry to the building he tamped down everything. Summoning up the mask he always wore, he plastered a lazy, somewhat bored grin across his face. There would be no records of this the Commission had informed him but... Could never be too careful.
He pushed the buzzer by the door. After a brief ringing, a voice answered, “Yes?”
Hawks put on his most laidback voice, “Hey, I’ve got a meeting with Jeansy?”
His eyes wandered as he waited. The area was well kept, a small, carefully tended flowerbed along the edge of the building, though nothing was sprouting given the season. Perfectly clean, not even a scrap of discarded plastic or old cigarette butt marred the area. Was it just normally that well maintained? Or did Best Jeanist insist on such standards? It wouldn’t have surprised him given the man's perfectionism.
There was a long pause, likely confused, finally broken by a sigh crackled through the speaker. “Oh, Best Jeanist. Of course.” A short rustling noise. “I take it he’s expecting you?”
“Yeah, scheduled it last week.” Easy, casual.
The distorted clicking of keys.
“Oh, yes, Hawks. I see you, 2 pm, right on time. I’ll let him know.”
The line disconnected as the door buzzed, swinging open to allow him entry.
Stepping through the door into the simple, cream and blue lobby he ambled over to the front desk. The receptionist looked up as he entered, black hair tied neatly back. It was a face he’d seen in passing before, though they’d never actually spoken. She looked tired though carefully covered with makeup. A slight smudge of concealer betrayed the dark circles she was covering up.
She was already speaking into a black phone. A couple of smudged fingerprints lingered on it but it still looked nearly brand new. “-sir, Hawks is here for your meeting.”
The desk was almost perfectly clean. A couple folders neatly tucked to the side. A little teal cup held an assortment of pencils, pens, sharpies, and highlighters. One pen had been put in upside down.
“Yes, I’ll, send him right up, sir.” Hanging up she looked back to Hawks, “You can head right up, penthouse, top floor.” A few strands of dark hair drifted around her face as she moved.
He didn’t
even
know her name
.
“Cool, thanks!” he chirped as he swiveled to the elevator with an easy, two-fingered wave.
Her smile slipped momentarily, and his feathers picked up the faintest whispered, “Good luck.”
His gut clenched but he gave no acknowledgment. The words, though technically meant for him, weren’t ones he was supposed to hear. The constant niggling sense of foreboding increased, weighing heavily on his shoulders but he didn’t so much as twitch. Mask firmly in place despite there being no one to see.
The elevator doors slid shut behind him. The soft noise somehow reminiscent of a cage door clanging shut with the snick of a lock. Despite being spacious and well-lit, the elevator was suffocating. Claustrophobic.
Well, this was it. No going back now.
The folded documents in his pocket, the flimsy excuse for this meeting should he need them, were made of stone. The papers were legit, official documents for retirement or returning to active duty, but his story was weak and wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny. Why would Hawks be the one with the documents? It’d make more sense if it was one of the Commission agents. Maybe Hawks could be some kind of backup, which also wouldn’t make sense, but why just Hawks?
He shakily exhaled, eyes slipping shut.
Stay away from business if possible until he had the opportunity to...
The nausea made a resurgence. He swallowed it back, mouth sour.
He could do this.
He had to do this.
It was fine.
It was fine.