#tsumaki

It was a poem they’d gone through in class earlier that day that did it.

Not that anything could really be blamed for this sort of thing.

Of course, if anything could be blamed for it, well, it would have to be Mikan herself.  She did make the choice to take a different route back to her place than she normally did.  Sure, she’d always been told it was the sketchier route, and sure, it went through some shady streets by other people’s estimations, but if she’s honest with herself, the better parts of town aren’t always really better.  If she takes the route she always takes, then she’ll still end up being….

She brings it on herself, of course.  She knows that.  Besides, all of that abuse, it just means they actually like her, doesn’t it?  Like how the boys on the playground used to pull on her hair or throw rocks at her or tease her – boys are only mean to girls when they like them, and some boys (and girls…and other people) never really grew out of that.  It’s certainly better than…than ignoring her, which people only really do when they don’t care, when they would be happier if she didn’t exist in the first place, and if she’s honest, everyone would probably be happier if she didn’t exist in the first place, which is why she’s always been more than okay when they—

They went through that poem in class earlier, and Mikan paid as much attention as she could, and the cute girl who sat next to her carved a few of the lines from it into her arm over lunch, and she’d cleaned her arm as much as she could and wrapped it up afterwards like she always did, and she didn’t say anything like she always did (because sometimes that helps people remember things, and that means they’ll do better in their classes, and how can you forget someone after using a knife to write words into their flesh), and when she started walking back to her place, she looked at the bandages covering her arm and thought of the lines now permanently etched into her skin (she can do her best to prevent the scarring, but that doesn’t mean it might not still happen) and decided it was time to take the road less traveled.

Or more traveled, maybe, just by people other than her.

But the thing is?

Mikan heard about how dangerous and treacherous these streets were from all of the people along her own street, from her mother and her mother’s many (near interchangeable) boyfriends, but it’s actually….

It’s not that bad?

If anything, it’s calmer.  Gentler.  The breeze stirs the leaves on the trees and Mikan smells cherry blossoms instead of sewage or alcohol or vomit from the drunks next door.  (Or blood, but that’s more often hers than not, and if she tries a little harder, she can still smell blood, and it’s still hers – the stain on her bandage, which probably her mother’s newest boyfriend will notice first, when he laughs at her for being so clumsy.)  The sidewalk isn’t cracked and crumbling here, the streets are mostly paved, and the houses look…nice.  If she listens, she can hear children laughing somewhere.

Mikan passes by an orphanage, and she hates herself for wishing it, but she thinks maybe it would have been better to be here.  But that’s…that’s selfish.  And it makes it sound like she doesn’t love her mother, which absolutely isn’t true – she loves her mother!  Even if her mother doesn’t exactly—

A loud schlump sound breaks into her thoughts.

Mikan recognizes that sound.  It’s the same sound as the drunks next door when one of them gets hit over the head and drops to the ground; it’s the sound of a heavy body dropping but not really down.  The sound of injury, usually.

And – as she always does (because sometimes that sound is someone she knows (never her mother, but occasionally one of her new boyfriends), not that that matters because they know her now, know that she can do exactly what she is about to do), Mikan rushes to the source of the sound.

If she hadn’t paid attention in class that day, if she hadn’t let her classmate carve those words into her arm, if she hadn’t paused before heading back to her place and chosen to take a new route, then she wouldn’t be here right now, and none of this would have happened.

Mikan rushes towards the sound, and she finds a girl around her edge, slumped against a wall, her dark hair pulled in two long ponytails, blood all over the top of her head and dripping down her face.

That’s when the shift happens, if it hadn’t happened earlier – Mikan switching from herself into, well, still herself, but the version of herself she’d like to be all the time, the one who doesn’t have to be scared or afraid or anxious, the one who has control and doesn’t have to resort to anything to be heard.  She makes her way to the other girl, kneels down in front of her, and murmurs, soothing, “I’m Mikan Tsumiki, and I’m here to help you.  I’m the best trained nurse in the area—”  She reaches out to take the girl’s hand in her own.

But the girl snatches her hand away and glares up at Mikan with cold red eyes.  “I’m fi—”  Then she collapses.

Mikan stares at the girl curiously for a moment.  When the girl doesn’t move again, she creeps forward and places two fingers on the pulse point at her neck.  Weak.  Wavering.  Fleeting.  She’s lost too much blood, probably, or that hit on her head did more damage than she’d predicted.  If it’s messed with her brain too terribly much, then there’s nothing she can do about that.  Mikan’s no brain surgeon; she’s a nurse.  There’s only so much she can do.

But what she can do is a lot.

~

It’s quite a bit later before the girl wakes up.

Notably, this is because Mikan has her hands on a lot of medicine that she probably shouldn’t have and wisely, in her estimation, decided to keep the girl out while she carried out all of her other checks and balances (it doesn’t look like brain injury, but she really can’t be sure without imaging technology that she doesn’t have), while she pulled what did not look like glass out of her head and then stitched her skull back up (which was really what she needed the medicine for; the girl didn’t seem like the sort who would stay still while she was doing all of that, and she certainly didn’t want to make things worse), while she bandaged up the other miscellaneous bits and pieces she found during her examination (she was gentle and she was careful and she didn’t do anything untoward), and while she, uh.

Well, she was just the slightest bit afraid of what the girl would do when she woke up.

So she may have, uh.

Strapped her down to the table.

Which of course is likely why the girl glares at her with fire in her eyes when she finally does wake up.

(Mikan was dozing.  She couldn’t just leave her patient alone when she definitely needed her help, and this little hovel separate from the place where she lives is actually....

Let’s just say Mikan likes being here better than she likes being there, and as long as she lets them know later that she was taking care of a patient, usually there’s no punishment for not showing up.  (There’s usually no punishment anyway because that would require either her mother or her mother’s current boyfriend or both of them to notice that she wasn’t there, and that only happens when something goes wrong.  Sometimes she’s grateful to be away when something goes wrong, even if things still go wrong for her when she gets back.))

What’s weird is that the girl isn’t yelling – not at her, not at the situation, not at anyone or anything that might be listening.  She’s not struggling against her straps; maybe she was before Mikan roused from her rest, but if she had, it certainly wasn’t enough to move the hospital bed or the bedsheets or the IV stand or anything, really.  And she’s not….

She’s not afraid.

(Or if she is, she’s really, really good at hiding it.

Mikan’s a little jealous, if she’s honest with herself, but that require being honest with herself, and Mikan’s not as good at that as someone else might want her to be.  She’s very good at deluding herself, actually.  It keeps her sane.)

The girl’s lack of fear sends Mikan back to stuttering, back to anxious, back to uncertain and unsure, and she stumbles over her words, tongue thick with barely waking, “L-l-like I said before, I’m M-M-Mikan Tsumiki.”  She stands and bows to the other girl.  “I-I-I’m—”  She swallows, stands, takes the words she’s about to say and strengthens herself with them, and then doesn’t stutter when she says, “I’m your nurse.  You collapsed with a head wound, and I made sure that you were—”

“I told you.  I’m fine.”

“You’re fine now,” Mikan gently corrects.  “Because I took care of you.”

The girl glares at her unblinking.  “I would have been fine.”

“You would have died.”

“That would have been fine.”  The girl should look away.  She shouldn’t mean that.  She should be softening the steel of those words by refusing to meet Mikan’s eyes, by acting as though she is tough and it doesn’t matter.

Except that this girl, whoever she is, is tough.  She continues to hold Mikan’s gaze with those intense red eyes.  Her tone doesn’t change.  She means exactly what she says.  In her estimation, it would be fine.

Ah.

She knows that feeling.

And because she knows that feeling, Mikan can’t tell this girl that it would not have been fine, no matter how much she may or may not believe that, because that would be like saying it to the version of herself who also believes it would be fine if she died.  (Except that a part of Mikan still desperately wants to live, and she suspects there’s something inside this girl that does, too.)

“W-w-well, um.”  Mikan glances down to her hands, all earnestness lost under that crippling gaze.  “I-I-I didn’t think it would…it would be, um.”  She stops herself.  Shakes her head.  “I won’t ask who…who hurt you, but.”  She licks her lips.  “But if you ever get hurt like that again, y-y-you should come and…come and f-f-find me.  I’ll make sure that y-y-you’re not….”  Her voice trails off, and she swallows.  “I’ll make sure that everything gets better.”

When the girl doesn’t say anything in response, Mikan glances up again, anxious sweat beading at her forehead.  The girl’s expression seems to have softened.  She’s still staring at her, but at least she doesn’t seem to be glaring at her anymore.  That’s…that’s good right?

“What if it’s someone else?” the girl asks, voice soft in the air between them.  “Would you help them, too?”

Mikan’s eyes widen, and she straightens.  “Y-y-yes!!”  She doesn’t smile, although she wants to do so, because the question means that this girl, whoever she is, actually sees some value in her.  Or, at least, in what she’s capable of doing.  “I-I-I don’t....”  Her gaze drops again, and she fidgets, pushing her uneven hair back out of her face.  “Everyone needs help sometimes, and I’m…I’m good at helping people.  E-e-even if…even if maybe they don’t think they should…should be.”

Only then does the girl’s gaze drop.  Maybe she’s considering it.  Thinking about it.  Maybe—

“Are you going to let me go?”

“Oh, oh, oh, y-y-yes!”  Mikan goes to the bed and starts unbuckling the straps.  “I-I-I was just worried you might…you might make things worse if you…if you tried to get out—”

“You were scared that I’d hurt you.”

“N-n-no!”  Mikan flinches.  “I-I-I m-mean, y-y-yes, b-b-but.  I-I thought if I-I explained, th-then—”

“You were right.”

Mikan flinches again as the last of the straps slips off, as the buckle clanks against the metal of the hospital bed, as the girl smoothly sits up, turns on the edge of the mattress as Mikan backs up, and doesn’t glance up at her.  “I-I-I…I was?”  She can hear her own voice growing higher, and she hates it the most when she squeaks.

“Yes.”  The girl pulls the IV out of her arm.  Then she pushes herself off of the bed and stands for the first time at her full height; to Mikan’s surprise, they’re the nearly the same size.  The girl seemed so much smaller than her – not frail, just small.  She still seems small now, but not in a way that makes her nonthreatening.  Just—

The girl meets Mikan’s eyes.  “Maki,” she murmurs.

“H-h-huh?”

“My name,” the girl says.  “Maki Harukawa.”  She doesn’t smile, but she flushes the slightest bit (probably from standing, not from anything else) when she says, “Thank you.”

Mikan blinks, and the girl disappears.

For a moment, Mikan whirls around, as though she might catch a glimpse of Maki again, but there’s nothing, no one.  She takes a deep breath in and crumples into the chair where she’d been dozing before.

She’ll probably never see her again.  That’s…that’s normal for random strangers (not normal for the drunks who live next door to her mother).  And that’s…that’s fine, probably.

(But Mikan wants to see her again.  Which is an awkward thing to want, considering it would mean that the girl was hurt somehow.  She doesn’t really want her to get hurt again.

Except….

Except she does.