Hi there!

Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than the previous ones, it was proving a bit tricky for me to pin down and my Microsoft Word has been really bitchy lately. But that said, let's dive in!

Enjoy!

Sunlight gently beamed into a light, airy room. Youmu Tanaka hazily blinked awake, smacking her lips once. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue felt like a furry sponge in her mouth. She could distantly hear beeping and the murmur of voices, the hurried gait of footsteps. As she roused herself further, fragmented thoughts began to click into place.

That's right, I was...

Youmu's cheeks reddened faintly as she recalled two things - specifically, Aizawa had seen that she wore an old peach nightie to bed and secondly, he had literally carried her down several flights of stairs. In his arms, no less. Youmu hadn't had any physical contact with a man in almost a year, give or take, and that wasn't exactly how she'd imagined breaking that streak.

Well, he'd be in trouble if I died on his watch. She thought to herself, sitting up, regretting it as the room swam before her. A familiar sensation that she had hoped to leave behind. A Pro letting a reformed sinner expire? The scandal. Besides, he'd probably lose a big juicy bonus too.

Satisfied she had Aizawa's motives explained, Youmu combed her fingers through her tangled waves, scrunching up her nose. She probably looked a terrible sight, god knows what she'd been like when Aizawa first brought her in here. Youmu's eyes roved about the room, grateful that she was alone while she'd been thrashing with pain and probably having tubes and needles inserted into her body, or whatever it was they did. Everything that had happened the whole time she was here was a hazy blur to her that she remembered in tangled fragments that she had no wish to comb over. Her eyes noticed the empty windowsill and a peculiar sensation of melancholy washed over her, leaving her cold. It wasn't that she expected any - who on earth would give her some? - but didn't sick people usually get cards or flowers?

She scoffed to herself, settling back against the pillows.

Oh well. Like she said, she wasn't expecting anything.

A nurse with her hair scraped back into a bun came trotting into the room, interrupting Youmu's maudlin musings. The rotund woman looked cheerful, like today was just the best day of her entire life. The abrupt appearance of such sudden joy did not endear her to Youmu, who could only sit and watch her moving around with such ease.

"You gave us quite a scare back then, Youmu-chan!" she proclaimed, as if Youmu had done so merely to be mischievous. "It's a good thing your friend came in when he did with you."

Friend? That's a laugh.

"What happened?" Youmu asked, resting her hands in her lap. She was in no mood to play coy.

"You had poison in your system." the nurse told her, checking the little chart at the foot of the bed. "Not a truly dangerous amount, mind you, but enough to make you very sick, as I'm sure you can testify. Aizawa-san said that he came to check up on you yesterday morning and you were suffering quite a bit."

Youmu suspected as much, but there was admittedly something vindicating about knowing her suspicions were correct. She pursed her lips slightly as she imagined the smug look on Yamamoto's face as she watched her drink that spiked water. She had been stupid to think she could really walk out of prison without some kind of twisted farewell, but she supposed relief tended to make you let your guard down.

"What kind of poison?" she asked, her hands gripping the blankets covering her.

"Your symptoms were in line with arsenic poisoning," the nurse replied, almost offhandedly as she was concentrating on scribbling something down. "You responded well to the treatment, but Doctor Osu wants to keep you here for another couple of days for observation. But it seems like you're over the worst of it!"

Youmu sank back against the pillow, aware she'd sat up straight, as if that make hearing the information easier. At the very least, Karin would be disappointed to know her suffering had been thwarted by the Pro hero she seemed to have so quickly taken against.

Arsenic? Didn't know you had it in you, Yamamoto. Where did you even go about getting your hands on such a thing?

"Try to get some rest, Youmu-chan." the nurse told her, oblivious to Youmu's more cynical thought process. The woman reached out, smoothing some of her hair out of her face. "You're in good hands."

It took a lot of Youmu's self-control not to smack the offending hand away, but instead she merely offered her a sugary-sweet little smile that didn't match the look in her eyes at all.

I'm Homewrecker. Youmu wanted to tell her. Wouldn't be so eager to save me if you knew that, would you?

"Of course," she said, instead.

As the nurse bustled out, satisfied that Youmu wasn't going to perish just yet, Youmu sank back against the cushions and closed her eyes...but something flickered just as she did and she sat bolt upright, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Youmu forced herself to take a deep breath, her eyes pinned to the doorway.

Just for a moment there, she thought she'd seen a man standing there, watching her. She stared at the empty rectangle of space for a few moments more, not trusting herself to blink. Nothing happened.

Youmu slowly peeled back the covers, moving as silently across the room as she could, even though her legs trembled as if they did not want to bear her weight. She shut the door, knowing some Doctor or nurse would come by and open it again soon, but she needed it to be closed right now. Her breathing slowed after she heard the satisfying click, then she hurried back to bed. Like an animal dragged from hibernation too early, she climbed in and tugged the blankets over her head, curling up into a tight ball, something she had not done since she was very small.

Go to sleep. she told herself. Just go to sleep. You didn't see anything.

How she wished she knew that for sure.

Technically, this wasn't part of his duties.

But what else was he supposed to do? Aizawa knew full well that the girl had no family and her former 'friends' were either in jail or sequestered away in other anonymous places like she was. They were highly unlikely to be stopping by with flowers.

So he was the only person who knew or cared she was in hospital and as much a brat as she was, Tanaka didn't deserve to be poisoned and left with no-one to check up on her wellbeing, lying in a hospital bed and knowing she would receive no visitors. Aizawa may have insisted on remaining professional, but there was a peculiar twang in his chest that he was bemused to realise was pity.

Some would argue that someone like Tanaka didn't deserve any - she did the crimes of her own free will, she manipulated others to get what she wanted, all with a smile and toss of her hair. But people don't learn to do things like that by chance. Aizawa had been a Pro long enough to know that many people ended up in a life of crime out of desperation. Information on Tanaka's life before was vague, but if she had indeed grown up in an orphanage and never been officially adopted by anyone, then was it such a surprise she had grown bitter? Not that it excused a love-inducing rampage, of course, but he could at least understand it.

When you had no-one in the world who cared about you, why should you care about anyone in return?

Aizawa grunted and rubbed his jaw. He was bringing Tanaka a change of clothes for when she was discharged, since all she had with her was that little peach-coloured nightshirt and the blanket. He'd also grabbed her make-up bag, since he knew that she wouldn't be able to rest properly until she'd done herself up to a standard she deemed 'acceptable'. He wouldn't pretend to understand her thinking behind it, but he had a theory it was not just vanity for Tanaka, but also a matter of control. Her looks were one of the few weapons a woman in her situation had, so perhaps being able to decide how she looked was one of the few times she felt control over anything - except when she used her Quirk, of course.

But somehow he found himself staring as he passed the hospital giftshop, eyeing the cards and the 'Get Well Soon' balloons with their trailing ribbons. Weren't you supposed to give sick people some sort of gift?

Tch.

Of course, when Aizawa got to Youmu's room, she was already sitting up in bed, a tray of food lying untouched on a table beside her. Though she'd obviously managed to talk a nurse into getting her a hairbrush so her hair looked presentable, she couldn't hide that she still looked rather pale and wan. Yet without the make-up he couldn't help but notice she looked younger, more vulnerable, less like Homewrecker and more like Youmu Tanaka.

Whoever she really was.

He put the overnight bag of her stuff gingerly on the end of her bed. Then, without comment, the bag of oranges and chocolate he'd bought at the giftshop. He stood back, arms folded.

"Karin Yamamoto has been arrested," he drawled, cutting straight to the chase instead of wasting time with pleasantries. "Turns out she's got a history of 'keeping prisoners in line' with her Quirk."

"Wait, what?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? Surely it can't have only been Yamamoto…the woman was always pretty dumb."

Still, Karin Yamamoto was definitely the type who would carry out the instructions from someone else without thinking about what that might mean otherwise. Youmu recalled a prisoner who had been in the cell next to her - a serial arsonist called Sparkler - who had mysteriously fallen into a coma. Sparkler had some sort of mental issue, she wasn't a bad sort but she was prone to random fits of temper. She'd bet anything that it was for the same reason.

"Well, she was likely acting on someone else's orders, but her Quirk is to produce a certain type of poison that functions similarly to Arsenic, though it seems it's nowhere near as potent, given your recovery time and how quickly the treatment went." Aizawa said, thinking of the rush of satisfaction he had gotten from dragging that information out into the light, getting to the bottom of that little poisoning circle. It reminded him of why he did Underground work in the first place, aside from his natural aversion to the spotlight - he liked showing people like them that there was no point in fleeing into the darkness to hide from what they'd done - he'd still find them.

"You'll be glad to know that she and everyone else involved they'll be getting their just desserts," he said.

Youmu looked down at the oranges and the chocolate like Aizawa was playing a trick on her, and any moment they would explode or turn into a nest of rats or something. When they did no such thing, she blinked, looking somehow lost for a moment. Raising her eyes to the dark-haired man before her, Youmu cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Aizawa-san," she said, after a slightly awkward pause. "Thank you."

Aizawa gave a small huff - she seemed bemused by the offering of food, but he supposed she wasn't used to the least amount of courtesy…unless she used her Quirk to get it. He didn't bother to comment on it, instead latching on to the important subject.

"They've taken her in for questioning," he said, voice calm, almost disinterested. "I'm sure they'll find the ones issuing her with the instructions. It turns out there have been several unexplained deaths in the prison, written off as drug overdoses. Their mistake was poisoning you after you'd left with a suspicious bastard like me around."

He gave her the faintest hint of his Totoro-esque grin.

"Don't worry about thanking me, Tanaka. Just keep going to your appointments and let me do my job. Tch, your make-ups in the bag as well. You kept complaining about not wearing any when I brought you in."

Youmu blinked. Did she? She didn't recall doing such a thing.

"All the same," she said, doggedly, leaning forward to snatch up her make-up bag and took out her compact mirror, checking her face. Hmph - to say she'd been poisoned, she didn't look too terrible. According to another nurse, her lips had gone blue by the time they got around to putting her on a drip. "You could have just left me there, I probably would have survived. I'm told it wasn't a fatal amount…"

At that moment, the Doctor swept in, white coat flaring and Aizawa and Youmu both found themselves straightening up as they awaited whatever news he had.

"Well, Tanaka-san, you're certainly tougher than you look. The treatments have worked well and you're well on your way to recovery. You need to take it easy for the next couple of days, drink plenty of liquid and don't go too fancy with any food, stick to bland foods."

Youmu pointedly ignored Aizawa, though she was sure he was hiding a smirk beneath his scarf at the notion of her cooking anything 'fancy'. As if he was a gourmet, himself. The man looked like he mainlined caffeine straight into his system.

"So, am I free to go?" she asked, not even trying to keep the relief out of her voice at escaping the stink of the hospital, the constant shrill beeping of machinery. Not to mention all the sick people.

"As soon as you're discharged, you can go. Sign out at the front desk."

Aizawa watched him sweep importantly out of the room, then glanced at Youmu, who was chewing her lip.

"I'll wait for you in the lobby," he told her, pulling out his phone, figuring she'd be a bit too fresh in her recovery to be walking home. "Don't take too long getting changed."

Youmu made a vague noise of assent, rooting through the bag of clothes as Aizawa left. He'd clearly just grabbed the first clean items of clothing he could find - the colours didn't even go together. A faintly amused smile tugged at her lips as she imagined Aizawa hopelessly attempting to find something suitable in the unpacked boxes in her apartment.

Shaking her head, Youmu dressed quickly, for once not really paying much mind to her clothes - she'd go straight back to the apartment and wash the stench of hospitals and sweat off her and try to put the whole incident out of her mind. She was good at that, even if she knew that just looking at a glass of water would make her feel queasy for weeks.

Aizawa wasn't in the lobby when she arrived, a shopping bag containing her belongings dangling from her wrist, but she saw a tall, dark-haired figure standing across from the front entrance and assumed he was calling the driver to come pick them up. His practical nature could be handy at times like this, she supposed. She hadn't even stopped to consider how she was physically going to get home and she had no idea which direction her apartment was from here - she'd been too busy concentrating on not vomiting in the car to pay much attention to where it was taking her.

"Ah, Youmu-san!" the nurse manning the reception desk called out to her, waving a hand. "You'll need to sign this form before you leave, and sign out here, too."

"Oh, right..." Youmu said, approaching the desk and scribbling her signature on a little clipboard. It seemed a silly thing to notice, but it was nice to be able to use a pen again, in prison they mostly got stubby pencils, as if Youmu would be seized by a wild impulse to stab someone if given a pen. Honestly, just because she had broken the law, you'd think she was some kind of violent psychopath. Hardly.

"Oh, and I forgot!" the nurse said, snapping his fingers and rummaging for something behind the counter. "Someone left this for you...ah, here!"

He straightened up and handed her a little card, the sort that might come with s bouquet of flowers. Puzzled, Youmu flipped it over, only to see the words 'Get Well Soon' printed on it. Youmu stared down at it, so innocuous, as she pinched it between her thumb and forefinger.

"...Did you see who left this?" Youmu asked, suddenly very aware of the beating of her heart, of the grainy texture of the card, an iciness creeping over her skin that she just couldn't explain.

"Hm? No, I wasn't here when it was delivered, someone said it was just lying on the desk with a sticky note," the nurse responded, busy looking at something on the computer and blithely unaware of the strange expression on Youmu's face.

She looked back at the card, the noise of the lobby seemingly fading away as she tried to reassure herself that it couldn't possibly be from him...but she doubted it. He'd called her that night, hadn't he? Even with Eraserhead watching her, he'd managed to find a way to get to her anyway.

"Ready to go?" a deep voice rumbled in her ear.

Youmu gasped and dropped the card, sending it sailing down to the floor. Tutting, she glanced over her shoulder at Aizawa, who was standing behind her with his usual bored expression firmly in place. Speak of the devil.

"Must you creep up on me like that?" Youmu asked, adopting a mock-haughty tone.

Aizawa merely raised his eyebrows.

"I was hardly creeping," he said, hands shoved in his pockets. "You were the one staring off into space. The car's waiting."

"Hmph. Then let's go," she said, with all the dignity she could muster.

Aizawa watched her flounce towards the exit, blonde hair catching in the afternoon light. His eyes flicked to the little card sitting on the carpet and he picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

Hmm.

'Get Well Soon', huh? There were only a handful of people who would leave a note like this for her, but there was no way Motoya or any of his former minions would risk being discovered by brazenly striding into a hospital, it was far too risky, even if most of the public probably hadn't kept close tabs on a case from nearly two years ago the same way Aizawa had.

Aizawa slipped the card into his pocket and followed his charge, who had retreated into the car, where its tinted windows shielded her eyes from the glaring sun. They drove home in relative quiet. Youmu did not mention the card and neither did Aizawa - he'd bide his time before broaching the subject of her old boss with her. To jump in with questions may sound like an accusation and she'd get defensive and clam up. Plus, he still wasn't sure just what her relationship had been with her old boss or colleagues. Did she hate them for abandoning her, or was she more inclined to hate the justice system?

If Motoya chose to come looking for her, what would she do?

Still, despite his suspicions, he had to admit it was nice to see her in better spirits. The image of the shivering, pale version of her, writhing in pain and trying to suffer in silence had shot a spike of panic through his chest that spurred him into action. Aizawa was good at compartmentalising his emotions (Hizashi and Nemuri would say he was too good), but now the relief would not be ignored.

Had Youmu or the driver looked in Aizawa's direction at that particular moment, they might have caught the little hint of a wry smile on his face.