Two days later, Dr. Danryoku called Izuku into his office, ostensibly to report on his only patient. Izuku, of course, knew better than to keep the boss waiting.

When he reached his boss's office, the door was already slightly open; an invitation Izuku knew very well. Even so, he eased the door open slowly, cautiously.

Izuku owed Danryoku a hell of a lot, and he knew it. The man had been fully willing to take a risk by hiring a one-armed, quirkless student right out of medical school, and Izuku was fully aware that even one of those things would have disqualified him in the eyes of nearly every other professional in the field. That was half the reason Izuku hadn't told his colleagues about his prosthetic or his quirklessness-he knew that most of them had quirks that were at least tangentially related to healing, and they assumed his was, too. Hell, some deeply buried part of him that recalled a childhood spent never standing out wondered what they would think about getting outshined by a quirkless wannabe.

Danryoku, though, hadn't hesitated in the slightest. He'd seen something in Izuku, something that even Izuku didn't know about. He'd put his faith in Izuku, and Izuku had vowed over and over again to prove himself worthy of that trust.

But Izuku had also learned a thing or two about his boss over the years, and sometimes he couldn't help but wonder at what, exactly, Danryoku saw in him…because if it had been himself, then Izuku sure as hell didn't see it.

You see, under the twinkling eyes and thick glasses and long gray hair and beard that made him look like Santa Claus (albeit if Santa Claus had more PhDs than your average astrophysicist,) Sora Danryoku, the most respected hero doctor in Japan, was the most devious motherfucker Izuku had ever met. He had a fondness for playing pranks and tricks on his colleagues and employees, and the mad genius of the man who had pushed hero prosthetic science decades into the future to back it up. Izuku sometimes wondered if Danryoku got bored running the biggest and most complex hospital network in the country; the thought terrified him so much, he preferred to blame the older man's constant mischief-making on him just being a crotchety old geezer who liked keeping his subordinates on their toes.

So Izuku opened the door to Danryoku's office carefully, half-expecting some sort of Rube Goldberg-esque machine to trigger and dump some sort of disgusting slime or something on his head. Thankfully, there were no unwanted surprises…though the grin on the old doctor's face was far too mischievous for Izuku's liking.

"Midoriya, come in!" he said cheerfully, "how have you been?"

"I've been fine, Boss," Izuku said casually, slipping into the seat across Danryoku's meticulously ordered, yet still disastrously messy desk, "and I did just submit my most recent report on-"

"On Miss Usagiyama's recovery process, yes," Danryoku interrupted, casually pulling said report from the mess of papers covering every inch of his desk, "and, as a matter of fact, her case is precisely the reason I called you in today."

Izuku snorted lightly and retorted, "Wait, you mean I'm not here to talk about any of the other cases you haven't given me since she showed up?"

As Danryoku chuckled lightly, Izuku found himself reflecting on the fact that he wouldn't have been able to get away with half his shit if it wasn't for the fact that Danryoku was his boss. Aside from the fact that Danryoku liked him, the older man was well known as the type of boss who preferred irreverence and sarcasm in employees to blind obedience and ass-kissing. Izuku, who had never blindly obeyed or kissed ass in his life-and had absolutely zero intention of doing so, ever- found the ability to be his usual sarcastic self in meetings to be very enjoyable. If he had worked under anyone else, Izuku would probably have gotten fired a long time ago…though he also wouldn't have had to deal with the scarily clever pranks Danryoku played on the hero ward, so, pros and cons.

Settling back down, Danryoku confirmed, "Indeed. Now, I have read your report, but I'd like to hear about how she's doing from you, if you don't mind."

Izuku didn't mind, not really, but he was still confused. "Why?" he asked curiously.

His arms crossed over his chest and his expression as warm as ever, Danryoku replied, "Reading medical language and dry reports are one thing, and hearing the truth is another. I prefer a doctor's honest assessment, in plain language. I find it's more accurate, most of the time."

Izuku shrugged, figuring that if Danryoku cared so much, he might as well indulge his boss. Nodding, he answered, "Alright. That makes sense, I guess."

Danryoku grinned. "I'm glad you agree," he said, "now…how is our favorite patient?"
"If she's your favorite patient, you can fucking have her," Izuku muttered.

Danryoku's only response was a chuckle and a meaningful look in his eye. He countered, "You mean she isn't your favorite patient?"

"She's my only patient, right now," Izuku pointed out sarcastically.
"I suppose she is," Danryoku agreed, grinning amusedly.

Rolling his eyes at his boss, Izuku decided to ignore whatever fondness Danryoku had for bantering to focus on actually answering his question. In an exasperated voice, he said, "Rumi is the most stubborn, idiotic, impatient, and downright reckless patient I've ever had. She ignores my orders, refuses to slow down even when it's hurting her, goes for fucking joyrides in her wheelchair, is rude and blunt and way too good at insulting me…"

Izuku left out the part where he'd told her about his past and his prosthetic. Even he couldn't quite explain what had possessed him when he'd done that, what that strange knot of heat and fury in his gut had been when Rumi had finally broken through his walls.

Danryoku raised an eyebrow. "I'm sensing a "but" here," he said evenly, his grin as wry as ever.

Izuku nodded glumly, his head slumping forwards into his hands as he admitted, "And…she's made faster and better progress than any other person I've ever met who's suffered as much as she has. She's already learning her new prosthetics, and soon I might actually have to move her up to new ones. She throws herself at every problem like nothing I've ever seen, her healing factor is twice as strong as we expected, she doesn't understand the meaning of the word "stop," and all you have to do to make her do something is make a bet with her that she can't do it. I hate it. I fucking hate how much I admire her spirit."

Danryoku chuckled, "Once a fanboy, always a fanboy, eh?"

Izuku rolled his eyes. "This isn't me fanboying," he replied, "this is me telling you that I've never had a patient this infuriating in my life."

Danryoku nodded thoughtfully, his fingers combing slowly through his beard. "You know, I bet the reason she gets you so angry is because she reminds you of yourself," he mused.

Izuku froze. Some part of him agreed with Danryoku, and it sent him panicking. Was that why he'd gotten so personally invested in Rumi's case? Was it that he couldn't help but see someone else in that hospital bed whenever he looked at her? Did the defeated, hollow look in her eyes strike a little too close to home?

Deep down, Izuku knew the answer was yes. But he rebelled, refusing to acknowledge it.

In a sharp, curt voice, Izuku insisted, "Rumi and I are nothing alike."

Danryoku just smiled, his glinting eyes studying Izuku, making him feel uncomfortably like a bug under a microscope.

"Are you sure?" Danryoku said airily, "you're both driven and highly capable, you're both recovering from life-changing injuries…and of course, Miss Usagiyama might be the only person in the world as stubborn and willful as you are."

Izuku struggled to find the words to disagree strongly enough, but he couldn't help but focus on a single part of Danryoku's sentence. He felt a dull throb in his arm, an old phantom pain where flesh met metal, a reminder of what he'd lost.

"I'm not recovering from that injury. I recovered a long time ago," Izuku corrected, tamping down the strange itching sensation near his prosthetic lower arm.

In some ways-a lot of ways-Izuku was better off now than he had ever been with two arms. He'd risen to the top of his field, saved lives every day, lived more than comfortably on a hero doctor's salary. Before, he'd been a despondent, aimless, quirkless college student; no goal in life, no real plan, just the crushing knowledge that he would never be quite good enough, not without a quirk.

And then he'd lost an arm, and risen from that bed with fire in his eyes and the words "fuck it" on his lips. He'd stopped caring about how he measured up to others, stopped worrying about their pitying stares, given up on his hopeless dreams. Somehow, it had worked; his bullheaded stubbornness had broken him through the clouds, brought him to the top of the world. Izuku wasn't in that place anymore, that hopeless, gray past; he'd long since left it behind.

But still, Danryoku's gaze bored into him, deep and old and potent as only an old man's gaze could be. Izuku felt with absolute certainty then that Danryoku could see something in Izuku that Izuku couldn't, that all of Izuku's blind spots and dark corners were exposed to that searing, searching look.

"My boy," Danryoku said softly, almost murmuring, "healing is not a process that ends. It's always happening. Physical healing is quick; the other kinds last a lifetime."

Izuku…didn't understand. "What are you talking about? It's been six years, I barely even think about the injury anymore."

Even as he spoke, Izuku remembered the night before he'd revealed his prosthetic to Rumi, when the old nightmares lingered and kept him awake all night. They were rarer now than they had been…but they still came. For a moment, Izuku saw himself as Danryoku must see him; a young man full of fire, casting long, dark shadows on his soul. A man who bore scars deeper than his skin; just like too much scar tissue, they restricted him, hemmed him in, stopped him from being free.

Danryoku took one last look at Izuku, and said, "But it still haunts you."

Izuku didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. How could he counter the truth? So he just sat there, his expression neutral, saying nothing.

At last, Danryoku leaned back in his chair, waving a hand as if to dismiss the tension that lingered in the air. "Anyway, I'm sure you've had enough of listening to an old man's ramblings," he said, "so let's move back to discussing Miss Usagiyama. After all, she'll be discharged soon."

Izuku's whole body tensed without warning; he didn't even know why. All he could recognize in himself was dread, and panic, and worry so strong it sent his heart thumping. Why?

Fighting to keep his voice even, Izuku replied, "S-she will?"

A tiny smile flitted across Danryoku's lips, and once again Izuku got the feeling that his boss knew exactly what was going on inside Izuku's head. "She will," Danryoku confirmed, "now that she's recovered from the most immediate impacts of her injuries, and learned how to use at least basic prosthetics. She should be able to take care of herself, with the assistance of a medical caretaker we assign, of course."

Izuku struggled to keep everything in order in his head. He knew the hospital's standard procedure for discharging injured heroes like the back of his hand, but it still took him a few moments to get his thoughts together enough to say, "A…caretaker."

Danryoku nodded. "Yes. Miss Usagiyama lives alone, and I'm sure you know from experience how difficult basic tasks can be immediately after losing a limb," he said. "It'll be good for her to have someone to help out. It also means that she can continue working on her recovery outside of the weekly PT she'll still have here at the hospital."

Izuku managed to make some noise of understanding, but his thoughts were a million miles away. Somehow, in the whole mess of his interactions with Rumi and her progress, it had never quite hit home for him that she'd be leaving eventually. That he would one day be deprived of her dry wit and determined fire. That they'd part ways again. It made perfect sense, of course; he'd only ever been her doctor, assigned to her only as long as it took to get her walking again…but then why did his heart sink? Why did he feel… empty in a way he'd never felt before?

Gently, Danryoku told him, "It's tough, realizing that people move on, that all your work and struggle is rewarded by making your patients leave, isn't it?"

Izuku raised his head, looking up at the older man with emotion-filled eyes. "It…it is, yeah," he admitted. "I worked with her for weeks, poured so much time and energy into helping her…poured myself into it, too. And now…it's over. I did my job."

Danryoku's eyes were filled with understanding as he replied, "It's one of the hardest parts of being a doctor. But at least she's doing much better now."

"Yeah," Izuku sighed, wondering why that information did little to cheer him, "at least she's doing better."

A few moments of silence followed as Danryoku shuffled papers on his desk, leaving Izuku to mull over his own sadness and confusion. Why was he so messed up about this? He should be glad to be rid of Rumi! She was an angry, stubborn, arrogant woman who never listened to him!

(But she was also hurting, and scared, and so often alone against the world. She was brave and strong and fiercely determined, and just being near her made Izuku feel stronger. And she was… really hot. Like, really hot. Wait, why the hell did Izuku know that-)

Out of nowhere, Izuku was thankfully jarred from his rapidly derailing train of thought by Danryoku telling him, "Of course, this is all hypothetical anyway."

Blinking, and feeling a sudden wave of dread at the all-too-familiar twinkle in Danryoku's eye, Izuku demanded, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Danryoku grinned evilly. "It means," he said with relish, "that I have your new assignment already. You'll be acting as Miss Usagiyama's medical aide for the near future, starting as soon as she's discharged."

Izuku blinked. For a few seconds, he was perfectly still, wheels turning and turning in his mind. Then, he exploded to his feet, shooting up to his full height and slamming his hands on Danryoku's desk.

"You conniving, evil, two-faced BASTARD," Izuku hissed, his voice shaking with fury, "you fucking played me."

At last, the shit-eating grin on Danryoku's face dissolved into full-body laughter. The old man roared in amusement as Izuku's infuriated face shook, revealing the overpowering relief and joy that he was trying to conceal under a mask of righteous indignation. Izuku wasn't even thinking about getting put on glorified babysitting duty, or about all the work that still lay ahead of him; he was torn between dancing with glee at getting to see Rumi more, and finding something to punch (partially because he'd have to see Rumi more.)

"I sure fucking did!" Danryoku chortled. "Son, you should have seen the look on your face when I started getting all serious and sad! I was convinced you were going to start blubbering right there!"

"You fucking planned this, didn't you!" Izuku snapped, looking like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or curse.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Danryoku cried, "Are you kidding me? I've been intending to do this for weeks!"

Izuku stood again, taking his hands off the desk and starting to clutch at his face, trailing his hands through his thick, curly hair.

"God, I fucking fell for it so hard," he lamented, "I'm so fucking mad at you…and at myself for falling for one of your stupid jokes."

Danryoku laughed, "Age and experience over youth and vigor, my boy!"

Izuku's gaze leveled off as he met his boss eye-to-eye. "I hate you," he said calmly, "I hate you so fucking much right now."

Danryoku finally stopped laughing, though his grin was enormous and unlikely to go away for days. "You hate everybody, Midoriya," he said casually, before catching and correcting himself. "Well, except for Miss Usagiyama, of course."

Izuku snapped, "Are you kidding me? I hate her the most!"

Once again, Danryoku's gaze seemed to cut right through Izuku's defenses, right to the truths he didn't even know himself.

"My boy," Danryoku said teasingly, "are you sure about that?"

Izuku opened his mouth to reply, then realized that he wasn't. Not anymore. And that was goddamn terrifying.

So, Izuku elected to execute a tactical withdrawal. Definitely not running away. Nope. Never.

Danryoku grinned as Izuku stammered out a goodbye, said something about going to tell his patient the "good news," and then bolted out the door as fast as his legs could carry him. When the younger man's footsteps had faded into the distance, Danryoku leaned back in his chair, sighing in satisfaction.

"It'll be good to have some more married doctors here," he mused to himself, "I won't have to be the one reminding them to take care of themselves all the damn time."

As always, Rumi's ears perked up when her door creaked open to reveal a curly mop of green hair. It was honestly a tiny bit maddening, how easily her day could be brightened by Izuku's presence; all he had to do was show up for her to crack the tiniest of smiles.

God, she was like a fucking dog or something. And yet…Rumi couldn't find it in herself to be too annoyed. After all, wasn't being happy better than the alternative? Sure, the reason for her happiness might be a tad bit pathetic, but she'd take it. Just because Izuku seemed to bring the sun with him whenever he stepped through that door didn't mean she should turn away from it. Rumi didn't even bother being self-conscious about how she straightened and perked up in front of Izuku, his mere presence chasing away the lethargy that sometimes clouded Rumi's senses and left her feeling useless and helpless.

A moment later, though, she noticed that Izuku wasn't wearing his usual wry, sarcastic grin; instead, his expression was grimmer, more businesslike. Nervousness washed over her.

Still, though, she greeted him with a grin, asking, "Hey, what's up, Doc?"

Izuku's stoic mask slipped in half as the door closed behind him. Looking up from his clipboard in mild disbelief, he said, "I swear to God, it's like you know I spent way too much of my childhood watching old American cartoons."

Rumi snorted. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Doc," she replied innocently. Too innocently.

Izuku just shook his head. "If you ever call me a nimrod, I will throw you out a window," he informed her.

Rumi grinned, baring her teeth. "Don't tempt me," she responded.

Izuku raised an eyebrow, reminding her, "Hello? Getting thrown out a window? Is that not an effective threat?"

Rumi shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I'd be fine," she said. "I'm hard to get rid of."

"I've noticed," Izuku grumbled under his breath. Rumi's ear twitched as she smirked, her simple prosthetic arm crossed over her chest along with her flesh and blood one.

At last, Izuku sighed heavily and sank into the chair next to her bed, eyes falling back down to his clipboard.

"As much as I'd like to just keep enjoying your company," he began sarcastically, "I'm afraid there is actually something we need to discuss."

"What is it?" Rumi asked, bracing herself for some new complication or obstacle to overcome.

Izuku replied, "You'll be discharged in a few days."

And just like that, Rumi stumbled, like she'd leaned into a blow and found nothing to push against. She couldn't make out Izuku's tone of voice; it was complicated, turbulent, like there were layers he was burying deep.

"I…I'm being discharged?" she repeated in shock, "I…that's great!"

And it was; Rumi's heart felt lighter than it had since she'd woken up in the hospital. She'd nearly forgotten that there was a world outside of these white-washed walls and clinical smells. It left her a little nervous…though mere nerves couldn't explain the strange leaden ball that settled in her stomach, like a weight that held her here, reminding her of a hole where she was about to leave something behind. She didn't know what was causing it, what could cause her to feel something like dread at her approaching departure.

Dismissing the feeling, Rumi mused, "I didn't realize my recovery was going so well."

"It is," Izuku interrupted, jarring Rumi from her maelstrom of thoughts, "but you're far from done. There's still a long road ahead, Rumi."

Rumi stared down at the simple, barely-mobile piece of plastic that had replaced her arm, and nodded to herself. She had a long way to go before she would be like what she had been. Maybe she would never be like that again…but dammit, she was going to try.

Izuku continued, "Obviously, our little daily sessions won't be happening once you leave. So, after today, I'll be handing your day-to-day care over to your medical caretaker. The hospital has already assigned them; they'll help you with basic tasks and develop a PT routine you can do at home, in addition to visits here about every week or so."

Rumi's ears slowly drooped as she processed the words. All of a sudden, she understood exactly what that pit in her stomach was…and the realization that she would miss Izuku, the man who'd pulled her from her own head and given her a path forwards, terrified her to her core. It was a sudden, incredibly potent feeling…and Rumi was really bad at feelings.

"So...that means you'll be leaving?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. When Izuku nodded, an inscrutable look on his face that could have been regret or pain or hollow-eyed acceptance, Rumi became very quiet, staring out the window at the world she now had to return to.

"You sound almost sad about that," Izuku observed after a while, his voice light and humorous, his eyes twinkling.

Rumi nodded softly, shrugging her shoulders. "I…guess I kinda am," she admitted. "I mean…you've been a good doctor, you know? Under the layers and layers of assholery and sarcasm, at least."

"Excuse you," Izuku scoffed, "I don't have layers of sarcasm. My entire being is sarcasm."

"Wouldn't that be a sarcastic statement, then?" Rumi pointed out.

Izuku frowned. At last, he ordered, "Stop that. You're ruining my jokes."

"Aw, too bad," Rumi retorted, "maybe you just need better jokes."

Izuku opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, after a few seconds, Izuku's eyes glittered even more, and then he said, "I have to admit, I might miss you calling me "Doc" every five seconds."

Surprised that Izuku was even capable of this amount of softness and honesty, Rumi asked, "You really mean that?"

"No," Izuku admitted a few seconds later. Rumi couldn't help but pout as her ears wilted.

"After all," Izuku continued thoughtfully once Rumi had marinated in her dread and sadness for a few more seconds, "you'll get plenty more opportunities to reference a two-century-old cartoon, since my motherless bastard of a boss assigned me to be your medical caretaker."

Rumi froze in place, her brain practically sparking as she heard the words. The pit in her gut exploded, turning into a roaring heat she didn't recognize. Laid overtop of it, though, was a different fire that she did recognize; outraged fury, mixed with shock at the audacity of Izuku's reversal. She began to splutter incoherently, curses mixing with exclamations of shock and disbelief.

Izuku, for his part, grinned widely and savagely, his equivalent of a deep belly laugh. Mockingly, he asked, "So, is that joke better?"

Rumi struggled for a few more seconds to find words good enough to describe just how much she wanted to punch Izuku right then…or maybe hug him, she hadn't decided yet. At last, she said, "You...you piece of shit, you actually made me feel sad for a second!"

Izuku's expression shifted towards surprise and amusement. "Aww," he said teasingly, "you do care."

Rumi's heart wouldn't be able to take her telling the truth she was only just beginning to become aware of, so instead, she opted for crossing her real and fake arms, pouting furiously, and muttering, "I hate you so much right now."

Izuku chuckled, "If it's any consolation, I only did it because my boss played the exact same joke on me, and I had to spread the anger around."

It wasn't much of a consolation. But for Rumi, the realization that she was still going to have Izuku by her side as she fought the most difficult battle of her life was consolation enough.

He was going to be there until the end, one way or another. She knew that now.