It took another week and a half for Rumi's prosthetics to come in.

She used that time as productively as she could; mostly by working out, but also in trying to face down her occasional mood swings, fighting back the grayness of depressive episodes that still occasionally dragged at her heels.

She was getting better. She was moving forward. And she'd never forget how much of a blessing that was.

When the day came, it came abruptly, with a hard knock on her door, accompanied by a shout of "Rumi, open up! I've got a present for you!" from her least favorite green-haired asshole doctor.

Forcing herself to ignore the way her heart soared the second she heard Izuku's voice (she was getting really good at ignoring her feelings about him; it was practically a life skill at this point), Rumi set down her weights, and called out "Be right there, Doc!"

With surprisingly smooth movements, she managed to make her way to the door; she'd gotten a lot more practiced at moving with her simple prosthetics since she'd started. They still felt rough and unresponsive to Rumi, after a lifetime of honing her body into a finely-tuned weapon, but they were a damn sight better than nothing.

As she opened the door with her good hand, Izuku's freckled face appeared, eyebrow raised in mild irritation.

"I told you to stop calling me Doc," he snapped, though his eyes were playful as he stepped into the room, carrying a shiny metallic case in his good hand. "It makes me feel like I'm in an ancient American cartoon."

Rumi snorted. "Well, I've gotta call you something," she retorted. "Dr. Midoriya" sounds too dignified for you."

It was Izuku's turn to snort, then. "Oh?" he asked. "Then what's an appropriate title for me?"

Rumi's grin bared teeth that were worryingly sharp for a rabbit. "I prefer "Asshole," she replied. "Though I'm fond of "Dickhead" as an alternative, if that's too much."

Izuku paused again as he closed the door behind him. "You're in a peppy mood today," he observed. "Even if being mean to the guy bringing you presents isn't the best idea."

Rumi's ear flicked, intrigued by the case Izuku set down on her coffee table. "Presents?" she asked. "Thanks, Doc, but I ain't really a flowers and chocolate sort of girl."

Izuku snorted. "I hadn't noticed," he shot back in a dry voice. "You're more of a "protein powder and heavy artillery" sort of girl, if I had to guess. Now, get over here."

Rumi smirked. "You really do have my number, Doc," she drawled, even as she did as he asked, clunking her way across the living room and flinging herself down on the couch.

This was something of a routine now; Izuku had been coming by every other day or so, checking in on her, making sure she was doing PT and wasn't damaging her prosthetics. That, at least, was the explanation he gave. In reality, it was becoming more than that, for both of them; it was a private ritual, a moment full of feelings they weren't ready to name yet, but recognized all the same.

Without even needing Izuku to prompt her, Rumi stuck out her leg, letting him separate her simple prosthetic-basically just a slightly dressed-up peg leg-from her cloth-wrapped stump, a trick she'd learned to stop sweat from getting between the prosthetic's cup and her skin during her workouts.

"So," Izuku said conversationally as he examined her leg for signs of chafing or scratching, "How are you feeling?"

As she shifted in her seat, getting more comfortable, Rumi considered the question. How was she feeling?

The grayness was still there; it lingered in the corners, like dust that wouldn't be swept out until a gust of wind blew it free. But even so….

"Better," she decided at last. "I feel…better."

Izuku smiled, and something grew warmer in Rumi's chest. He moved up to her arm, undoing that prosthetic as well. As he did, he said, "I'm glad to hear it, Rumi."

This inspection passed quicker; Rumi didn't put her arms through half the punishment her prosthetic leg suffered; she'd broken two already, much to her embarrassment and Izuku's amusement.

However, when Izuku was done checking her over, he didn't replace her prosthetics the way he usually did. Awkwardly trying to prop herself up on one arm, Rumi coughed, "Uh, Doc? I kinda need those."

Izuku looked down at the simple plastic and metal limbs, and scoffed. "What, these?" he asked. "These are stupid. They're an insult to my profession."

Rumi rolled her eyes. "You're an insult to your profession," she shot back. "Now, can you please stop holding my limbs hostage?"

Izuku chuckled. "Relax, Rumi," he said, reaching for the case he'd set on the coffee table. "I'm trying to do something nice here."

Rumi's retort died on her lips as Izuku opened the case. She thought, "Holy shit."

Inside that simple metal case was a pair of limbs that made her current prosthetics look like they were from the Stone Age. They were sleek, segmented things the same plain gray color as Izuku's false hand was, beneath the facade he used most of the time. Rumi could see individual joints and panels, giving them the appearance of prefabricated parts stitched together, but the whole thing was unmistakably a custom job; it was perfectly sized for her, she could tell that already.

"What the fuck?" she whispered, sitting up straighter. "Izuku…this is…"

Izuku wore the unmistakable grin of a man who had made Christmas come early.
"This," he said, "is what I've been working on ever since you left the hospital: your new civilian prosthetics."

Rumi looked at him. "You made these?" she asked. "When the hell did you even have the time?"

Izuku nodded. "Yeah, I did make these," he confirmed, raising his own prosthetic. "It wasn't that hard-after all, you could say I have, ah, firsthand experience with them. And as for the timing-I have told you I'm a workaholic, right?"

Rumi stared at him in awe for a moment-right up until the truly awful pun finally got through her surprise and into her brain, which made her promptly groan in horror. Izuku's evil grin only got wider as he waved his prosthetic hand at her.

Rumi fixed him with her most heated glare. "Hurry up and put these things on me so that I can punch you for that one," she demanded.

Izuku chuckled. "Was it really that bad?" he asked, even as he moved to do just that.

Rumi nodded as he shifted closer, pulling out first the arm, then the leg. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, it was that bad."

Izuku sighed. "Sheesh, tough crowd," he muttered. Then, he was all business again.

"Hold out your arm," he ordered. Rumi did so, and watched him fit the end of the prosthetic over her stump.

She half expected a sting, or some sort of sensation; all she got as the end fit into place was an odd sort of hum in the back of her mind, like a low-voltage electric current was running through her nerves and up her spine.

Izuku spent a minute or two fiddling with the limb, adjusting minor things here and there, before finally pressing a section near the wrist like a button. As he did, he grinned, and said, "Watch this."

Rumi did just that. Her ears swiveled in wonder as the joins and seams between the panels of her new false arm compressed out of existence, the whole thing humming pleasantly as it tightened and became a single seamless piece of metal and plastic. Then, she watched with wide eyes as the surface rippled like it was covered in thousands of pixels. Starting from where it met her flesh, the whole surface shifted, a wave of color spreading all the way up to the fingers. The perfect color of her dark chocolate skin.

In an instant, Rumi was experiencing the most overpowering sensation of vertigo she'd ever felt. It was as if she'd never lost her arm; operating purely on instinct, she twisted the prosthetic, examining it. The thing responded to the contractions of her muscles and her nerve impulses; it contorted just as a flesh hand would, wrist turning, elbow hinging, fingers opening and closing.

"Izuku, this is…" Rumi whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion. She turned to him, forcing herself not to cry. "Thank you."

For once, Izuku didn't laugh, or have a witty quip ready. He smiled softly at her, his eyes revealing that he knew just how it felt at that moment, that he understood the profound weight of the gift he had just given her.

"Of course, Rumi," he said quietly, before visibly gathering himself. "Anyway, I figured it was about time to get these to you. They're not quite as amazing as they look, unfortunately."

Rumi blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

By way of explanation, Izuku gently took both her hands-the real and the false. He rubbed slow circles over the palms of her mismatched hands with his thumbs. As Rumi fought down a blush, he asked, "Feel that? Or, uh, don't feel that?"

Forcing herself to focus, Rumi realized what Izuku was pointing out. "I can't feel with it?" she asked.

Izuku nodded. "Yeah, unfortunately," he confirmed. "No sense of touch. I can't with mine either. You learn to account for it, eventually, but it can be really trippy; your brain gets super confused by it sometimes. It's the interface with your nerve endings, the way that you can actually move it; that only goes one way. Not to mention, it's pretty far from perfect. Try moving a bit more, and you'll see what I mean."

Rumi did just that, turning her hands over and wiggling her fingers experimentally. Soon, she figured it out. "There's a delay," she said.

Sure enough, there was. It wasn't huge, perhaps only a few fractions of a second, but it was enough to be noticeable; when Rumi turned her hands back over, her flesh-and-blood one was lying on her thigh before her prosthetic was halfway turned.

"Yep, there is," Izuku said, before nodding towards the case. "It's pretty manageable with a prosthetic hand-as long as you aren't doing something fiddly-but it's a whole other story with a leg. It'll screw with your walking mechanics all over again; you might have to completely re-learn it all over again."

For a moment, Rumi winced, thinking of being trapped in place again, of regressing back to the days of being stuck in her hospital bed forever. But then she took a deep breath.

That would not happen. She refused to let it. If she had to re-learn to walk again, she'd do it. She would never be trapped in that place again.

"Well?" she asked. "What are we waiting for?"

For a moment, Izuku didn't respond; he simply studied her, as if looking for something. Before Rumi could wonder what it was, he smiled.

"By all means," he replied. Then, he reached for the prosthetic leg, still sitting in its case.

Putting it on took a bit longer than Rumi's arm had; perhaps that was because the limb was larger, or perhaps it was because Rumi was practically twitching with excitement, constantly moving and making Izuku's job significantly harder.

As he neared the end, Izuku fixed her with a fierce glare, and grumbled, "Seriously, Rumi. Stop. Fucking. Wiggling. You hear me? This isn't gonna end unless you stay the fuck still."

Rumi winced. "Sorry, Doc," she muttered. "I'm just excited, that's all."

"And stop calling me that!" Izuku growled as he tightened the connecting point between the flesh of Rumi's stump and the plastic and metal of the prosthetic to just shy of painful.

Rumi's only response was a yelp as she felt the same electric hum shoot through her nerves, only stronger this time, and quite a bit stronger at that. It didn't hurt, but it also sure didn't feel pleasant.

When it was done, though, Izuku asked, "Would you like to do the honors? The activation button is right below the kneecap."

Rumi looked at him for a moment, then smiled. "I'd love to, Izuku," she said. Then, she leaned down, found the button, and pressed it in.

Watching the color of her own skin spread down the prosthetic leg was still just as mind-bending as it had been earlier; it was like watching a drawing being colored in, except with her own body. It felt like the sort of thing that should have a sound effect to it or something, but there was nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat.

When the seam between flesh and metal was rendered nearly invisible at last, Rumi took a deep breath. Then, she started by wiggling her artificial toes, trying not to be weirded out by the still-present delay as she did so. Then, slowly, gripping onto Izuku's arm for support, she stood, feeling the prosthetic knee bend to take her weight.

For the first time in months, Rumi stood upright on her own two feet-or as close an approximation of it as she would ever have again, at least. She let go of Izuku's arm, and for a moment, she just…stood. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She couldn't feel her feet against the cold floor, or sense the texture of her workout shorts as she ran her prosthetic fingers over them, but aside from that, everything felt right; the weight of them, the feeling of balance, the way she moved. There was a delay, yes, and as she took her first few unsteady steps, she wobbled pretty bad, but she stayed upright.

Rumi managed one full circuit of the room before coming back to Izuku. At that point, the exhilaration and joy got the better of her; she went charging at him with a whoop, crashing into him at full speed as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

"Thank you, Izuku," she said, fighting back tears. "This…this is incredible."

The only response was panicked wheezing. Alarmed, Rumi looked up to find Izuku trying desperately to smile, despite the fact that her bear hug was quite effectively driving every last molecule of air from his lungs.

Oops. Damn super strength. Awkwardly, Rumi let Izuku go, and he coughed fiercely, fighting to get his oxygen back. When he finally managed it, he gasped, "You're welcome, Rumi. Please remind me not to give you anything else nice if I want to live."

Rumi really did blush, then. "Sorry about that, Doc," she said sheepishly. "But seriously…thank you. I can't believe you did this for me."

Izuku smiled; for once, he didn't even complain about being called Doc. "Of course, Rumi," he replied kindly. "Now, those limbs are gonna take some getting used to. Want to go break them in a bit?"

He gestured towards the door, and Rumi realized what he was offering. For weeks, she'd avoided the outside world; even when she was perfectly capable of walking around on her own, she'd stayed inside, not wanting to be seen. It was selfish and stupid, but she didn't want people to see her like this; she didn't want people to see Miruko wan and pale, with metal and plastic where her limbs used to be.

But now…her prosthetics blended in perfectly. She could go outside again, could see the sun, could taste the fresh air. She was, finally, free. Izuku had given that to her, too.

Instantly, she knew what she wanted to do. Turning back to Izuku, she said, "Give me a few minutes to change, okay? There's a coffee place near here that I really like, and I'm done sitting in this stupid fucking apartment."

Izuku grinned. "By all means," he replied. "I'll be right here."

Rumi couldn't stop herself from beaming as she headed into her bedroom.

Finally. She was no longer a prisoner in her own body. And now she could begin to repay Izuku for all that he had done for her.