Tomura Shigaraki, dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, met Eraserhead outside the hospital. He knew it was the last time they'd meet under their temporary truce. Eraser didn't look any too happy about it even now. Resigned, though, and Shigaraki knew that was about the best he could hope for.
He wasted no time, asking the one question that had haunted him since he left the hospital the day before. "Is she all right?"
"She's exhausted and weak. She spent most of the night crying." Eraser gave him a hard look. "The first thing she asked this morning was if I could get in touch with you."
Shigaraki frowned. "I didn't expect that."
"You sure you weren't half hoping for it, though?" Eraser looked understandably frustrated.
"No." Shigaraki stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets. "I told you before. I know where she belongs. It's not with me." He looked up, his expression grim. "If things were different, then yeah. But that's not where we are, is it, Eraser?"
"No. It's not." Eraser looked a little confused. "But what do we do?"
"Let me talk to her. I'll figure out how deep the damage actually is." He paused. "I swear to you, this is not what I wanted."
Eraser just nodded. "She's alone now. I can give you ten minutes, maybe fifteen." They walked into the building together, then Shigaraki went on alone to her room. Eraser waited outside.
He entered and she opened her eyes. He could see how tired she was, and her eyes were bloodshot. He sat next to her bed. "Good morning, pretty."
She smiled the tiniest of smiles. "Good morning, Tomura."
Could he ever tire of hearing her say his name? He doubted it. He brushed her hair back from her face with the tips of two fingers. "Eraser says you didn't sleep well last night."
She looked away. "Is that surprising? Doctors will say it's post-traumatic stress."
"Is that what you think it is?"
"No." She turned her gaze back to him. "I remember it, you know."
He winced. "I'm sorry."
"I don't mean that." She struggled into a sitting position and he helped her, carefully moving the pillows to support her. "I mean, I saw through it and I knew I had to get out, but while I was there—" She broke off and her hand caught his. He sucked in a breath at the touch. "It was like we lived a whole lifetime together, and you were the only safe thing there."
Shigaraki tore his gaze from where her hand touched his. He could almost laugh at the thought of being "safe" to someone else, but he couldn't find the heart. What would he do for the memories she had? If he could truly have been there with her, protecting her, he gladly would have been. He managed a little smile. "I'm glad at least that whatever they programmed of me made you feel safe."
She lowered her eyes. "Thank you for helping Shota find me." Her voice caught a little and he realized she was crying, tears leaving shiny trails down her cheeks. He remembered the moment after he'd helped her escape with Eraser when he'd failed to kidnap Midoriya. Some instinct had led him to touch her face with all five fingers, knowing somehow she would be unharmed by the quirk that had driven him near insanity so many times in his life. He hadn't dared do it again, though.
Now he closed his fingers slowly over hers. A feeling of wonder filled him. I really can't hurt her. But she had been hurt. Not by him, but because of him. She looked up at him, the tears shining in her eyes. "Tomura, these memories... I can't...I can't forget no matter how hard I try, but...I don't think I can carry them alone."
He knew immediately what she was asking. Did she really think he would refuse? Did she not know the value of what she offered him? The memories of loving him were a burden on her heart, but they would be a treasure to him.
Unable to find his voice, he just nodded, and he felt her open her mind to him. The memories of holding her, protecting her, loving her swept over him, leaving him strangely both longing and fulfilled. He fought for breath in the midst of the rush of sensation and emotion. He finally managed to speak. "Thank you."
She didn't say anything, but when their eyes met, he saw relief there. As if he'd truly taken some unbearable load from her. He thought he could understand what she was feeling, too. She loved Eraser, of that there was no doubt. But somehow, she'd loved him, too, and by taking a share of that burden from her, he'd also validated her feelings. Now she could let it go, knowing it would live on in his heart.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, then stood as the door opened. Aizawa entered, and Shigaraki released her. He started out, but paused next to Aizawa. He glanced over his shoulder. "Goodbye, pretty."
She swiped the tears away. "Goodbye, Tomura."
Shigaraki looked at Aizawa. He spoke in a low voice. "I'm leaving, like I said I would. Make her happy."
Aizawa nodded, obviously accepting that whatever had passed between them, Scribe would be all right. "I'll take care of her."
Outside, Shigaraki turned down an alley and doubled over for a second, his heart racing. This is what it feels like then. Love. In those few moments when their minds connected and he'd lived a lifetime in seconds, he knew beyond doubt that she'd loved him, too. Or whatever had been programmed into her consciousness to represent him. And maybe that love had been based on a false need for protection, but in its own way, it had been pure and true.
And he also knew some shadow of that love still existed in her heart. The knowledge of that love would both strengthen and weaken him. He could walk away from her because she loved Eraser, but knowing she'd once loved him that way had the potential to be either torture or redemption for him. Possibly both.
But at least he could help her carry the burden of it. He straightened slowly and turned his back on the hospital. He had work to do and he still hadn't made up his mind what to do about the doctor's part in this whole thing.
Maybe he'd let his heart decide.
YOU ARE READING
Eraserhead and Scribe II
FanfictionScribe is injured in a mission and Aizawa must form an unusual alliance to save her. Excerpt: The slight figure by her bed at first reminded him of the boys standing by his desk. He frowned. None of them could be here. So who...? Even as he wondered...