Recovery
I've got this shake in my legs, shaking the thoughts from my head, but who put these waves in the door? I crack and out I pour.
Mr Loverman by Ricket
Fire never hurt her, but that would've been better to know before she was tied up to the pole with it burning underneath it. The warmth licks at her skin, feeling more like a familiar friend than a threat. In an odd way, it feels like family. As if it's trying to rejoin with the inner flame that beckons from inside of her chest. It still burns away her clothing, but she can't bring herself to feel embarrassed. Not when there's a crowd of people around her calling for her death, exclamations of witch and demon yelling throughout the air.
She's not worried about being burned alive anymore, but with the growing unrest and anger among the people, her fear has shifted. She can imagine the men running into their houses for their firearms. She had thought that the witch burnings had ended a century ago by now, but she should have known better. This town was secluded and within the mountains, old fashioned. At the time, she thought it would bring a sense of familiarity and comfort, but she forgot that with old fashioned towns can come an old fashioned way of thinking - of execution, of fear mongering.
When the fires burn away the ropes tying her, she runs. Barefoot and naked into the surrounding woods. She can hear them chase after her, hunting dogs being released, and by the time she loses them, she feels her body on the edge of giving up underneath her. Against a tree, and feeling relatively secure, she loses herself to the growing darkness.
When she wakes up, she almost expects to wake up in a log cabin with the smell of cigars, the memory still lingering in her mind as she comes to her senses. Her heart twists knowing that it's just her mind replaying things that are long gone. That she's not going to be greeted by a gruff, but kind man who couldn't find it himself to let her die out in the woods alone nor is she going to relive the moment where her life changed; back then, she never imagined that man would become her husband for the next few centuries. That she would live the closest to a normal life as she could have imagined.
Instead, it is all blinding fluorescent lights and chemicals. The familiar smell of a clean hospital. The ache of her body starts to set in and at the very least, she knows that she didn't die this time. She can breathe a bit easier and the fact that she's not coughing blood lets her know that she at least had enough time left with her quirk to start healing the worst of the injuries. Considering the extent that it feels like, she doubts she'll be able to use her quirk for a while just to let the flames die down a bit before fanning it again. Maybe a few weeks just to be safe. The last thing she would want to do after surviving all this is to self combust.
"Oh good, it seems you're awake."
She has to strain her neck to see the nurse. Recovery Girl. She hasn't seen the older woman often, but isn't sure if this means she's still on UA grounds or not. As if sensing the question, Recovery Girl smiles.
"You're at the hospital, dear, but Nezu requested that I oversee and help the staff here with you and Eraserhead considering UA has both of your past medical files."
Florence almost winces considering that her past medical file is fabricated, and rather plain - considering that they can't exactly fake surgeries or broken bones, anything that could be checked. But Nezu sprinkled in a few things here and there - childhood minor injuries that won't show on any scan and such. At the very least, he kept her allergies the same so as to not risk any premature deaths. She already died once by anaphylaxis, she'd rather not repeat it nor would she like to die by infection again either. Thank the heavens for modern medicine.
"Thankfully, it seems your quirk has taken care of the worst of it," Recovery Girl continues, "I used my own to help heal what I could, but you'll still be rather sore and stiff for the next few weeks. Bruised as well, externally and internally, that can take some time. I'd suggest bedrest and care, but I doubt that you'll obey the nurse's orders."
Florence offers a genuine, tired smile at the mildly repremending look that gets sent her way as she starts to sit up. Her body protests the motion, but it's nothing that she won't be able to get through. Despite the way Recovery Girl protests, Florence stands, already heading toward the pile of clothes that she can only assume was left by Nezu.
"What about the kids? Are they all okay? And Eraserhead?"
Recovery Girl sighs, "I wish you all would be as concerned about your own health as others. All the students remained unharmed and are doing just fine, albeit from some emotional trauma. Eraserhead's injuries are more severe. He'll live, but as of right now, he has yet to wake up. I have to wait until he regains some strength to use my quirk to help speed up the process."
Florence looks over the clothes Nezu gave her. Not her favorite, by any means, but it will do and it's comfortable enough. The fabric will be soft enough to not irritate her bruising. If her changing during the conversation bothers Recovery Girl, she doesn't say. The older woman does turn away to at least give her some privacy, but she imagines that the nurse is used to situations like these.
"Nezu had a request for you when you woke up," the woman states, "As his staff, I am obligated to pass it on, but as a nurse, I can't say I'm thrilled that he can't find someone else to do it so you can rest. But Eraserhead will need some clothes from his apartment, something comfortable, as well as help getting back home if he is discharged today. Unfortunately, it seems Nezu has taken this opportunity to hold a staff meeting and the hospital has been - enthusiastic - about my extra help today, so I'm afraid I'll be too busy as well."
She can only imagine the chaos that his staff meeting is causing. Knowing Nezu, she imagines that he has quite the plan to recover from this - and the upcoming media storm. She knows the rodent has been wanting to implement dorms among the students for a while now, she wonders if he'll take this a chance to finally do it or if he is going to wait.
Recovery Girl hands her a slip of paper with an unknown address, "Eraserhead's apartment. Nezu has made it clear that there is an extra key under the mat. The things that the principal knows…."
She trails off, shaking her head as Florence takes the paper, accepting the request even if she knows Aizawa may not be thrilled for her to be the one to help. She imagines that the man doesn't give out his address so easily and for it to be passed on without his permission, she just hopes that he will understand the circumstances.
When Aizawa wakes up, he can barely see. The bandages around his head obscure the corners of his vision and the blinding hospital lights make it hard for his vision to adjust. His body aches, but he imagines that the extent of his injuries would be worse if Talbot hadn't managed to get the Nomu off of him in time. It hurts to think too hard, but he can hear that villain's suspicious words about her still ring in his ears before he swallows it down. Even we couldn't find out much about you, Phoenix. It makes me wonder if you're hiding something - or if you are just not a good hero. He knows that the latter isn't true. Being an underground hero may hide them from the fame, but Talbot has at least proven her worth as a pro, being better than most he's seen just in that fight alone. Not to mention what she's been teaching the kids.
For now, he'll continue as if it was just a villain trying to get into his head, but he'd be lying if he doesn't plan on keeping a closer eye on the professor. A shame really, he tries to take a deep breath in but his lungs constrict, out of all the tolerable staff members, Talbot was pretty high on that list.
When his eyes finish adjusting, he can see Talbot standing in the room, a bundle of clothes in her arms. She doesn't look as battered as he expected, but she is clearly dressed for comfort in looser sweatpants and a flowing, linen shirt. She offers a tired smile when she catches his eye. The most important question is on his lips as he tries to sit up in the bed, his body protesting.
"The kids are okay," she immediately reassures him, rushing to the bedside to help aid him as he attempts to stand, "No one was severely injured, but Nezu has all the staff members busy so he gave me your information to pick up some things for you. The doctor said that you can be discharged as soon as you wake up, so I'll make sure that you get back there safely."
She's invading his personal space, but he doesn't protest considering he could use the extra hand. When he turns to look at her, her eyes startling close, allowing him to see the different shades of green that swirl around her pupil, full of nothing but sincerity. Her hand on his back as she lets him put his weight on her to steady himself enough to stand.
"I'm sorry." Her voice is so genuine that he pushes back any doubts - for now - and a part of him feels guilty that he had them in the first place. Her eyes just look into his with a raw intensity with an honesty that most people lack. If she really is hiding something, then he can't judge to any conclusions that whatever it is is bad just based on a villain's hearsay. "I know that you'd rather have a friend here."
Aizawa's body creaks, his body shaking as he struggles to keep his balance. Florence doesn't falter in holding his weight and if the fact that the only thing he is wearing is his underwear (thankfully) and a hospital gown bothers her, it doesn't show.
"You -"
He knows that his students got out in as good shape as they did because he wasn't the only one pushing them to their limits, making them think things through. He thinks about their fight, catching the way she immediately wanted to jump to the students' aid when they got separated, the genuine worry in her eyes. Florence has shown that she's willing to do whatever it takes for the kids. That she cares about his class just as much as he does. But the way she looks at him makes him falter at the idea that it's only the kids she cares about. When he thinks about the fight, they both looked out for each other, worked together with an ease many pros struggle to do, and not for one second did he doubt the idea that she'd have his back. With a realization, he notices that he does trust her.
"Aren't you?"
Florence falters, he can feel her grip on him slip before she immediately catches herself. There's a glimpse of something in her expression - and for a moment, he could've sworn that she looked sad, as if the idea of being friends pained her - before she recovers, giving him an easy smile as she helps him sit down on the edge of the bed.
"Thank you, Aizawa."
Florence's smile reaches her eyes in a way that crinkles their edges, for a moment, making her look older than she is. He's not sure how much she plans on helping him get dressed - he could do it himself, but he admits that it would be a bit of a struggle. But Florence doesn't seem to have any plans of leaving soon, instead immediately grabbing the clothes she brought.
"We'll get you standing and I'll position the pants for you to step into. If you lean on me to steady yourself, I'll work the trousers up underneath the gown. The shirt is the only button-up I could find, so it may not be the most comfortable, but it will be a lot easier for your injuries."
Aizawa listens to her instructions as she lists them off in such a way that feels familiar, as if she's done this type of thing before. He's glad she's going to try to preserve his modesty as much as she can. When they get positioned, he starts to lean forward on her, lightly as he can, but she just gently pushes on his back to encourage him to put all his weight on her. He lets out a sharp breath, but listens.
He's a bit taller than her, by at least four to five inches, and when he leans forward, he has to crouch down, putting his head just at her shoulder. He tries to keep as much distance as he can, but Florence closes it immediately to work. He tries to keep his mind occupied, not wanting to think about the way she shuffles his pants up his legs or the close proximity of her body to his. In a way, it feels oddly intimate - enough so to make him feel a sense of embarrassment. He's not a blind man, nor a stupid one, and knows that Florence is attractive. It doesn't help that he can smell burnt ashes still clingy to her skin from when she used her quirk, in a way reminding him more of a comforting camp fire. At least the trousers are an elastic band with no buttons or zippers for her to pull together.
Her arms wrap around him to untie the hospital gown. He can feel her fingernails lightly scrape against his back, making his breath hitch. More than ever, he can feel just how warm she feels. A side effect of her quirk maybe? He flinches when she finally finishes undoing the knots and slips the gown off his arms as she takes a step back. She looks at him, brows furrowed with a bit of an amused smile.
"Do you have enough balance for me to get the shirt for you?"
He nods and leans back, but the distance between them now feels colder as she turns away to ready his shirt. Her own rises up in the back in the process and now that he can look at her more properly, he can see the faint lines of tattoos showing through the thin fabric as well as the dark purple shade of bruises. He flinches that she's clearly more injured than he first thought and that she still stood steady while holding his weight.
"How bad is it?"
She turns around, shirt unbuttoned in her hands, and he gestures toward her torso. She flushes for a moment as she starts to help him slide his arms into the sleeves.
"My quirk took care of the worst of it. Some internal and external bruising, but at least the punctured lung is gone."
He wonders what about a fire quirk could do something like that, but the question dies in his throat as Florence starts to button up the shirt without prompting, not allowing him the chance to do so himself. She's careful of the bandages that wrap around him, but he can still feel her fingertips graze against skin as she focuses on the small details. He avoids looking down at her.
"I grabbed the first pair of slippers I could see," Florence decides to fill in the gap of silence that has grown between them. "I'm sorry that Nezu gave away your information, but I didn't go rummaging. I - I also don't have a car, so I'm afraid we'll just have to grab a taxi for the trip home."
Said trip home has to be the most awkward trip of his life and he knows that once Present Mic hears about all of this that he will never hear the end of it.