#savior au

Sometimes multiple people. Emi’s always there, and Aizawa’s either there or standing nearby for reasons unknown to you. The hospital social worker you met the last time you were here swings by at least twice, the second time accompanied by a blond guy with a tiny mustache who really wants to be your lawyer. You’re too dopey to figure out why you need one, so you reach for his card, forget you’ve got an IV in, yank it out by accident, and pass out at the sight of your own blood. When you wake up, the card is on your bedside table, along with a cookie package from the vending machine. “The card’s from him,” the social worker — Shirakumo — tells you. “The cookies are from me. You really need to eat something.”

The next time you’re awake, you pick at them. It gives you something to do that’s not talking to the reporter or the TV news research assistant or the Hassaikai Corp lawyer, who gets a sentence and a half into his pitch before Aizawa throws him out. You watch, bemused. Emi’s more impressed. “Would you throw guys for me, too, Shouta?”

Aizawa leans back against the wall. “With luck, you’ll never come across guys like that.”

Emi has her own opinions on guys like that, all of which come to the forefront when you get a visitor you haven’t seen in almost a decade. He shows up and she blocks the door to your room. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Spinner. I just want to check and see how she’s doing.”

“And how do you know her?”

“I knew her in high school,” Spinner says, puzzled. “She and my best friend were dating.”

It’s quiet for a second. “The guy from the photo,” Emi says suddenly. “Are you out of your mind? She just got rid of one creep. You think I’m letting a second one get in here? Get out of here, and tell your stalker best friend to —”

“It’s okay.” You struggle to get the words out, and you can barely produce enough volume to be heard. “Emi. It’s okay. Let him in.”

“If he does one freaky thing —” Emi breaks off. “I won’t ask my future husband to throw you out. I’ll do it myself.”

You glance at Aizawa to see how he’s taking the future husband thing. He’s either asleep or pretending successfully. “I’m not here to do anything,” Spinner says. Emi steps aside, and you get your first look at Spinner in a long time.

He’s grown up — just like Himiko, just like Tomura, and although he’s still got a set of headphones around his neck, he looks even more professional than Tomura did in his suit this morning. Whatever he’s up to, it suits him.

His eyes widen when he sees you, and he rocks back a step. “Holy shit,” he says. Emi glares at him. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you — no, that’s dumb. What happened? Fuck. I shouldn’t make you talk about it, but — what in the hell —”

He might look like a business guy, but he’s still awkward. It makes you feel better, somehow. “Breathe,” you say. “How have you been doing?”

“Me? Great. Me and Shigaraki just launched our newest game a couple months ago. Detnerat just branched into game design last year — I head up the department, Shigaraki’s on the board — and I was gonna take a vacation but now they want a Hassaikai raid video game — it just happened today —” Spinner breaks off, gives you an incredibly guilty look. “I guess you know about that.”

You nod. Nodding hurts. “Toga and Shigaraki wanted to come visit,” Spinner says, “but they’re both still at the site. The prosecutor’s such a nut job that they’re doing preliminary depositions on everybody who helped with the sting. And Dabi would have come too, except the headquarters were apparently, like, booby-trapped. Did you know about that?”

You shake your head. You knew Kai was careful, but that’s taking it really far. Maybe it isn’t, though — you don’t actually know what Kai or Hassaikai Corp did to trigger this kind of response. “Yeah,” Spinner continues. “So Dabi is helping with that. Since he’s a firefighter now. Did Shigaraki tell you that?”

You nod again. “It’s weird.”

“It’s all kind of weird,” Spinner says. “Me and Shigaraki at Detnerat, and Dabi as a firefighter, and Toga helping take down Hassaikai Corp —”

“Yeah?”

“She’s the whistleblower,” Aizawa says without opening his eyes. “She’s been feeding Hassaikai’s internal documents to the police for the last year. That was what triggered the initial investigation.”

“And they dug up all kinds of weird shit,” Spinner says. “That’s when Shigaraki got Detnerat involved. Toga was having a hard time getting access to the really incriminating things, and Shigaraki figured dangling a business deal in front of Overhaul would be a great way to —”

“Overhaul?”

“That’s his handle in the underground,” Aizawa says. He opens his eyes long enough to give you an odd look. “Based on our previous conversations, I know you were unfamiliar with your husband’s crimes until today, but it’s hard to imagine that you were unaware of his true nature.”

You’re foggy on pain and painkillers, but you don’t like the sound of that. “I saw his true nature a long time ago,” you say. Aizawa inclines his head. “I don’t know about anything else.”

Emi reaches across your bed and smacks Aizawa’s arm. “That wasn’t trauma informed. Don’t be mean,” she says. She looks at you. “I’ve been doing research.”

“On what?” Spinner asks, interested. “Were you in on the bust too?”

“No,” Emi says. She gives Spinner a weird look, just like the one Aizawa gave you. “I didn’t know about that until today. But this isn’t the first time Captain Asshole’s put his wife in the hospital. I’ve been researching how to help with that.”

Spinner looks shocked. Spinner’s not a good actor. Did he not know? “Is that true?” he asks you. You really don’t know how to answer that. What does it look like is kind of a mean thing to say to someone who hasn’t seen you in years, and Spinner answers his own question. “Shit. I thought it was just — fuck, that’s bad. I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”

That warrants a What does it look like, but you can’t get the words out. You’re too struck by the look on Spinner’s face, the clear pity and horror, and it occurs to you that this is your life now. This is how everyone will see you. Weak, pathetic, useless — and stupid, now, because your husband’s apparent criminal activities were miles off your radar. You’ll get up and walk out of here. You could move away and leave all this behind. But you’ll never be out from under Kai’s shadow. When people look at you, this is what they’ll see.

You can’t think about it any longer. “Did Tomura send you?”

“He wants to know how you’re doing,” Spinner says. “And if you want him to visit, once things wrap up over there.”

“Yes.”

It feels like it should be a harder question to answer than it is. After all, you’re in here because — not because of Tomura, but because of how Kai reacted to the downfall Tomura orchestrated for him. That reaction was predictable. Tomura should have believed you. And at the same time, he’s not the one who did this to you. He’s the one who understands what it’s like to live under someone else’s thumb. You repeat yourself, ignoring the weird looks you’re getting from Emi and Aizawa. “Yes.”

Spinner looks relieved. “Oh, good. I only got ahold of him for a second, but he sounded really worried.”

You nod. “Can I tell him what’s going on?” Spinner asks. He gestures awkwardly at you. “I mean, that you’re awake and talking and everything.”

“That’s fine.” You can tell Tomura the rest when he gets here.

The police get here before Tomura does. They bring a photographer with them to document your injuries, and you sign a release that allows them to access the photographs from your last visit, too. The photographer notices the scar on your shoulder. She snaps a photo of that, too.

Your actual interviewer is the green-haired guy who tried to talk Kai down. “This is just a first pass,” he assures you. “Tell me about what happened today. Start at the beginning.”

Something occurs to you as you’re opening your mouth. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine is —”

The investigator, whose name is Midoriya Izuku, smiles and nods. He hands it to you unlocked, and you glance over at the lawyer’s card on your bedside table. Yamada Hizashi, attorney at law: Pro bono is my passion. Works for you. You dial the number, and he picks up on the first ring. “Yamada Hizashi here. What can I do for you?”

“You gave me your card earlier,” you say, conscious of the look Midoriya Izuku is giving you. “I’m the one who —”

“Who passed out, yeah.” Yamada was engaged before; now he’s focused. “Are the cops there?”

“Yes.”

“Say no more. Literally. I’m on my way!”

You hand Midoriya his phone. He gives you a reproachful look. “I just wanted to talk,” he says. “You don’t need a lawyer if you’ve done nothing wrong.”

That sounds like something Kai would say, right before he opened your mail or checked your search history. You keep your mouth shut, and approximately forty-five seconds later, Yamada Hizashi breezes into the room. “Hey there, Midoriya! Long time no see. How’s the family? Good? Good. What do we have here?” Midoriya opens his mouth, and Yamada cuts him off. “I know you aren’t trying to question my client while she’s under the influence of painkillers after emergency surgery to deal with the injuries her husband caused during your raid.”

“N-no,” Midoriya stammers. “The only person who saw Chisaki between when he left the conference room and when I apprehended him was her. Her injuries occurred during the time period where nobody else had eyes on him. I need to know —”

“How the injuries occurred? How do you think? Do you think she choked herself and shattered her own arm?”

Yamada Hizashi is a motormouth. You kind of appreciate that. You’re mostly lost for words. “No,” Midoriya says firmly. “Chisaki is under arrest. His lawyer is leaning on the judge to set bail. We have multiple witnesses ready to attest that he’s violent, but the person he’d pose the greatest threat to if released on bail is his wife. If you can tell us what happened, that should give the judge cover to hold him.”

“I see. For her own safety, huh?” Yamada has a notebook. He’s writing fast. “I hope you’re adding a protection order against anybody from Hassaikai Corp who wasn’t in on the operation? Give me that and we’ll talk.”

“Done.” Midoriya nods to one of the people with him, a tall guy with glasses who excuses himself to make a call. “Okay. Mrs. Chisaki — um, sorry. Let’s start at the beginning —”

“Nope,” Yamada says cheerfully. “Workplace only. Everything else is privileged. For now.”

Midoriya’s smile at you is only slightly forced. “What time did you arrive at work this morning?”

“Around eight-thirty.”

“Were you alone?”

“No,” you say. “Kai drove us both to work.”

“I see. Once you arrived, what did you do?”

You stumble through the morning’s events. Kai using you as a stress toy, Himiko announcing that the Detnerat executives had arrived, the short elevator trip to the conference room. Midoriya asks if everyone was there when you arrived, and you say no. “One person from Detnerat wasn’t there. Kai waited for him to start the meeting.”

“Who was absent?”

“Shimura Tenko.”

Midoriya nods. “Had you met Shimura Tenko, also known as Shigaraki Tomura, before that day?”

“Yes,” you say, praying he won’t ask how.

He doesn’t. “To the best of your knowledge, had your husband met him before?”

“Yes,” you say again. “Kai recognized him.”

“How do you know?”

The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. The way Kai stiffened in his seat. His hand — “He had his hand on my leg,” you say, shifting the blankets aside. “When he saw Tomura, this is how hard he grabbed me.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen. The photographer snaps a picture, and you flinch. You knew it hurt, but you didn’t realize just how visible it would be. Kai’s fingers are outlined in black and blue on your thigh, the imprint of his left ring finger and wedding ring even darker. Yamada pats your hand carefully. “After your husband recognized him, what happened?”

“Kai made me leave. He told Kurono to take me up to the executive suite. Kurono locked me in.”

Midoriya looks surprised. “Did Chisaki order him to do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Midoriya asks you some more questions about what you did in the executive suite before Kai came downstairs to kill you. The only one you stumble over is the one about the vase. “Your husband didn’t break it?”

You shake your head. “How did it break?”

“I was holding it when the intruder alarm went off,” you say. “I dropped it.”

“Why were you holding it?”

“Don’t answer that,” Yamada says to you. Then, to Midoriya: “Don’t ask bonehead questions. Try again.”

Midoriya looks like he’s counting to ten. “What happened next?”

“I heard an elevator go off. I didn’t know the executive suite had one.”

“Neither did we,” Midoriya says. “Who was in the elevator?”

“Kai,” you say, and everything blurs out.

You can hear yourself talking, responding to the questions with a handful of words, but in your mind’s eye you’re watching it happen. Seeing what it must have looked like as Kai broke your arm, fractured your cheekbone, wrapped his hands around your throat. You’re strangely fascinated by how your face contorts as you struggle for air, how quickly blood vessels burst in your face, how ugly you look with your eyes bulging. You wonder how anybody can stand to look at you. How Kai didn’t just break your neck and be done with it.

“Okay, we’re done for the day,” Yamada announces loudly, and his voice — a voice that has no business anywhere in that memory — snaps you back to some form of awareness. “Gotcha, Midoriya. You’ve got lots of questions. But my client is dissociating, and I’m pretty sure you’ve got enough to prove that Chisaki would present an immediate danger to my client if released on bail. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Midoriya says reluctantly, “but —”

“Then we’re done for the day! I’m sure we’ll be hearing from you soon.” Yamada makes a shooing motion at Midoriya and the others. “Nice work, by the way. Other than the fact that you almost got my client killed, that bust was a thing of beauty.”

Midoriya shuffles out, looking incredibly guilty, and once the police are gone, Yamada turns to you. “I’m really glad you called me,” he says. “Midoriya’s a good kid, and nobody here is going to screw you, but the National-level prosecutors are going to try to tar as many people as possible with the Overhaul brush, and given that you’ve theoretically been the beneficiary of his illegal actions —”

“I don’t even know what he did.” You’re surprised by the bitterness in your own voice. “Just what he did to me.”

“Let’s keep you in the dark about his criminal charges as long as possible. When they tell you in the deposition — and they’ll move fast with it — I want that to be the first you’ve heard of it.” Yamada is making notes. “We’ll go over the details as soon as I’ve got them. Assuming you’d like me to continue to represent you.”

“Yes,” you say. “I have money. Not a lot, but —”

“Nope! Pro bono really is my passion. Next to none of my clients pay, especially not the ones in your position.” Yamada smiles brightly at you, then answers your next question as you’re opening your mouth to ask. “I was born with a severe case of silver-spoon-up-my-ass. The only cure is doing something good with it. And between you and me, sticking it to guys like your husband is kind of my specialty.”

You don’t want to stick it to Kai. You want him gone for good. “I need a divorce.”

Yamada’s jaw drops, and he bursts out laughing. “Damn right,” he says. “You can’t do the DIY trustee-visit special, not with him in jail. How likely is it that he’ll fight you over it?”

Really likely. So likely that your stomach ties itself in a knot at the thought. “He’ll fight it,” you say. “As long as he thinks there’s a chance he’ll —”

The door opens, and you jump. Yamada looks up, shoulders tensing, but he relaxes almost immediately. “The man of the hour. Shimura Tenko, right? Yamada Hizashi. You don’t need a lawyer, do you?”

“I have one. Or ten.” Tomura sounds awful. “They’re everywhere.”

“I bet. You look like a man who just got deposed within an inch of his life,” Yamada says. “You’re here to see my client?”

“She said I could.”

“Hey, I’m not questioning it. My client knows what’s best for her, even when she’s sky-high on the best painkillers the medical establishment can offer,” Yamada says. He glances back at you, eyebrows raised, and you nod. Yamada smiles at you. “Okay. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. If the police stop by again, call me. If any of your husband’s friends show up, call the cops. We’re going to get this taken care of. Ya dig?”

“I — dig.” Your lawyer is kind of weird. “Thanks.”

Yamada zooms out of the room, skidding past Tomura, who sidles in looking about as awful as he sounds. He’s still wearing the same dusty suit as before. The misery on his face deepens when he sees you. “I thought Spinner was kidding. When he said surgery.”

You shake your head. “Something weird happened to my arm when it broke. They had to fix it. I’m going to be okay.”

“Don’t,” Tomura says. You blink. “You warned me, and you were right. Don’t try to put a happy face on this. I should have called it off the second I realized you were in the building.”

“I was always going to be in the building. I go where he goes.”

“Not anymore,” Tomura says. His eyes are burning, even as his expression crumbles into desperation around them. “You’re never going with him again. I should never have let you go in the first place.”

“Letting me go would have been the right thing to do,” you say. “That’s not what you did.”

It’s quiet for a second. Tomura leans against the door. He looks so tired. You’re tired, too. Of everything. The words leave your mouth in the horrible rasp that’s all that’s left of your voice. “I made him do it.”

This time, Tomura doesn’t need to ask what you mean. He looks up. “Why?”

“I thought he’d won,” you say, and that’s all.

You don’t know how to explain the rest of it. Maybe you’ll never be able to, and maybe that’s okay. Nobody should ever have to feel the same bleakness and despair that’s been shrouding you since Friday night, or face the kind of future Kai had in mind for you. You don’t want to live with this. You don’t want Tomura to live with it, either.

Tomura approaches you carefully, sits down in the chair Yamada left. “You got a lawyer.”

“The police came to see me. That Midoriya guy,” you say, and Tomura makes a face. “You know him?”

“Yeah. He was the one we were coordinating everything through. The cops, the investigative bureau, your old job, Detnerat.” Tomura runs his hand through his hair, sending up a cloud of dust. “I should have told you about it. The Detnerat thing.”

“I think you were trying,” you say. “Then I put my head on your shoulder and — uh —”

You trail off, thinking of the times over the weekend when you were convinced that your records-room hookup with Tomura was the last good thing that would ever happen to you. “We kind of — changed topics.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Tomura runs his hand through his hair again. “All weekend I’ve been thinking about that. Thinking about how good it was. Thinking I’d fucked up so bad, and he was going to hurt you again because of me. And that’s exactly what happened — except it’s not because we slept together. It’s because he saw me.”

“No. I made him —”

“He was letting you go.” Tomura’s hands come up, one to claw at his neck, one to cover his face. “Midoriya had EMTs. They were supposed to go with him to get you. But they got stuck in the conference room — Overhaul fucking tear-gassed it — and he told me to come with him instead, so I could help get you. Overhaul was letting you go. When he saw me, that’s when he tried again. It’s my fault.”

“No.” You don’t have words for how much you don’t want to hear this right now. Or ever. “I baited him, and he chose to strangle me. Just like he chose to hurt me every other time he did it. I’m done letting him off the hook. I don’t want anybody else to, either.”

Tomura looks up at you, startled. “You’re starting off better than I did,” he says. “It took years before I could think like that.”

“I’m older,” you say. “I just want my life back.”

What life, though? Your adult life’s been marked by the whims of two men, one of whom tried to kill you today and the other of whom is sitting next to you, watching you like he’s always done. What does getting your life back actually look like? A job. Your old job back, if Mr. Sasaki was serious about that. Therapy. A divorce. Somewhere to live that feels safe. And people again, friends again — friends like Emi and Aizawa and Himiko and Spinner. And Tomura.

You can’t blame anybody for Kai’s actions, but you can’t say the stress Tomura had you under didn’t influence your decision to start a relationship with him. Letting a guy who stalked you for years back into your life is a terrible idea. Except — you were only in high school, but you were happy with Tomura. You didn’t break up with him because you stopped loving him. If getting your life back means having what you want, you want Tomura to be part of it, one way or the other.

“Do you have somewhere to stay when you get out?” Tomura asks. “I could — I mean, it’s kind of soon —”

“Emi offered to let me stay with her,” you say, and Tomura nods. “It would be kind of soon for us. You’re right.”

“Himiko and Magne said I shouldn’t mention it,” Tomura says. “Dabi, too. I just thought — I should offer. Not to make you. So you’d know.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Being really blunt worked out okay for you last time.”

Tomura looks surprised for a moment; then he smiles. “Yeah, it did.”

Back in high school, Tomura didn’t ask you out with any degree of smoothness. He tripped and fell into it headfirst. You weren’t even thinking in that direction when you complained about a school dance all your friends had managed to snag last-minute dates for. We were going to go as a big group. Now it’ll just be me, and I hate dancing by myself. I always feel stupid.

Tomura was quiet for a little while. The two of you were in the library, supposedly studying, but you kept talking instead — talking, then getting aggressively shushed by the librarian. You should go with me, he said finally. That way, you’ll know you won’t be the one who looks dumbest.

Right. You hate dances. You figured he was joking, or you wouldn’t have laughed. You wouldn’t be caught dead —

I would if I was with you. Tomura’s eyes were averted. He missed the way your jaw dropped. I hate it, but if that’s the only way I can go out with you, that’s what I’ll do.

It was silent between you — truly silent, for the first time since you sat down together in the library. You had no idea what to say. After a while, minutes, Tomura spoke up again. Toga and Dabi said to be subtle. I didn’t want you to get confused.

How long have you liked me? you asked, and got a shock when he answered. I don’t think subtle is your problem. I didn’t know until you said that about the dance.

And? Tomura glanced at you, and you realized he was blushing. What do you think now?

I don’t want to go to the dance with you, you said. Let’s do something we both like instead.

The way Tomura’s eyes brightened still makes you smile to remember. When?

The same night as the dance, you said. I’m still going to wear my dress.

You wore your dance dress on your first date with Tomura, to the roller rink and arcade. It got covered in dust, because Tomura kept falling down and taking you with him, and it smelled like popcorn, because you’d gotten some to eat while Tomura tried to impress you by knocking off the top score on every game in the arcade. You had more fun than you’d ever have had at the dance, and you and Tomura ended the night by losing Dance Dance Revolution so badly that the game crashed. It’s still the best first date you’ve ever gone on.

Tomura didn’t comment on the dress until the two of you were on the train, heading home. You look pretty in that.

Even though there were no butterflies yet, you blushed. Do you like it?

Yeah. Tomura reached for your hand, and you gave it. I like anything if it’s on you.

Tomura’s holding your hand in the present, too, more than a decade and a lifetime away. “I think we have a lot to talk about,” you say. “I want to see you and talk about it.”

Tomura nods. “Things are going to be stupid busy while we gear up for the trial,” he says. You still don’t know what happened, and per your lawyer, you’re not going to ask. “I got you something so we can talk whenever you want.”

He reaches into his pocket and produces an iPhone — the same model as your old one. “Yours is in an evidence locker somewhere, so this one will help until you get it back,” Tomura says. “I did most of the setup for you. Here.”

You lift the phone out of his hand gingerly, reeling a little bit. You hadn’t really thought about how complicated your life would be without a phone — and without a computer, because that’s at home, too. But since Tomura gave you the phone and took care of the setup, there are some things you need to check up on. Just to be safe.

“What are you doing?” Tomura asks. You show him. “Hey. I never tapped your phone. Or your internet.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t think about it?”

“I thought about it,” Tomura admits. It says something about you that you’re proud of him for owning up to it. “But there was stuff I didn’t want to know. And doing that felt like a line. There were always lines for me.”

He glances at you. “There still are,” he says. “I’ll prove it.”

You think he will. You know Tomura, same as you know Kai. You know just how many differences there are between the two of them. Kai’s spent the last four years making them clear, and you wonder if he knows just what he’s done. If he knows that making himself Tomura’s opposite in every way pushed you straight back to Tomura’s side.

A nurse comes in to check on you, notes that it’s been a while since your last painkiller, and gives you another, which threatens to knock you off instantly. “I can leave,” Tomura says as you yawn so widely your jaw pops. “You need to sleep.”

You nod. “That’s why you should stay.”

Tomura doesn’t argue. He drags his chair as close to the bed as possible and takes your hand in both of his. The thought occurs to you as you drift off that none of this is real. You imagined it all, somewhere in the moments between when Kai’s hands closed around your throat and your heart stopped beating. If this is your dying dream, it could be worse. Getting to go to sleep for the last time believing that things might be okay — there are worse ways to go.

The doctors wake you up at five in the morning for rounds. Tomura is still asleep in the chair beside your bed.

<- Chapter 7