Chapter Text
There was a knock at the hospital room’s door. “Still just as alive as fifteen minutes ago,” Andra called out.
No matter how many times she reiterated that failing to kill yourself twice would be too pathetic to even try, it went in one ear, out the other. Instead, it was How are you doing Akane even though she was doing the exact same as fifteen minutes earlier. And it was do you need anything, and not that I care but it would look real bad on our records so please off yourself outside of hospital grounds if you’d be so kind. So, they kept checking in on her every.half.a.fucking.hour. Clearly, she did not know what real ‘close monitoring’ meant until now. Fucking hell, just how much was Lady Nagant paying them?
“Glad to hear that.” Talk about the devil. “May I come in?”
“Sure,” Andra all but physically shrugged, “You may do whatever you want since this’s your room. You’re the one paying for it,” she added while Kiku or Lady Nagant or whatever her real name was, entered.
“Not really,” she said, cautiously approaching. Andra didn’t have it in her to scowl at her obvious eggshell walk. She knew she looked like shit. She felt like shit. She should look and feel like shit since she was, a shit person.
Kiku took a seat a polite distance from her. Only ever looking in her general direction. Understandable but ouch. Andra was in no hurry to get ahold of a mirror, but she didn’t think it was her injury, that made her a visual pariah. The nurses, the doctors, and even Recovery Girl had that guarded look in their eyes when inquiring about her ‘well-being’. Andra would have liked to be lacking any sort of ‘being’, but that just reinforced that ‘well’ was definitely not the right adjective.
“The hospital has a charity,” Kiku started explaining, examining her hands as if they held anything of interest at all, “They can bear most of the cost, save for the initial ambulance.”
“Great, I’m here on cancer kid money.”
Kiku chuckled, albeit it was more out of obligation than anything, “I think Mighty Inc. has another separate charity for that.”
“All Might cancer kid charity money,” Andra sighed, detestable, “Even fucking better.” Toshinori is enabling her even without his knowledge. Keeping the lights on inside this decrepit apartment for another day. Yay.
Kiku seemed to know not what to say to that, and the silence took on that specific awkward quality she expected. The Commission heroine kept staring at her hands, popping joints now and then. Andra stared at her own instead. The little piggy was permanently off to the market. The only thought that stirred in her was that she’ll never learn to play an instrument now. Besides maybe the drums. But why beat the shit out of prepared leather when you can do so with the real deal. And then make drums out of them. If you’re mentally ill enough. In the ‘fun’ sort of way. Death Sentence definitely has a skin-lamp somewhere…
Kiku took in a breath, held it, let it out. Repeated it a few more times, idly cycling air before finally speaking. Not that Andra was dying of curiosity. Or anything else, apparently. “Listen I—”
“Save it,” she cut her off. It was painful to watch her try. And she did call her an ambulance, even though the reason was obvious. A hero wouldn’t just leave someone in a pile of diluted fast-food grease behind an alley. A hero is obligated to do the whole song and dance, and do it earnestly, even though they both knew Kiku wanted -or had- nothing to do with this.
And they were almost, kind of, approaching something like, friends.
Kiku drew the shortest end of the metaphorical stick.
“You want to get this over with as much as I do.”
“Get what over with?”
Andra felt her face twitch, but it was barely annoyance. It was a bodily reaction to what should be annoyance, ingrained from when she had a say in her emotions. More of a say. Some say. Now it was either utter indifference or complete breakdown. She didn’t seem to be able to find any sort of ground between the two, let alone a middle.
“Listen Nagant, I’m— I know you’re Commission, you know I’m a villain, I don’t… wanna do the song and dance. Just… just ask what you have to, and then I’ll say what I need to, and this should be an easy bag for you.”
Kiku bristled. “I’m not here as ‘Lady Nagant’. I’m here as your friend.”
Andra gave her what barely accounted for a flat glance. “Oh please. Even Eraserhead tried harder than that.”
“I don’t give a shit what that asshole tried to do,” Kiku snapped, “He’s a fucking prick who won’t go within a hundred metres of the hospital as long as I have something to say about it.”
“My hero,” Andra mocked, “I can, for certain, say that you’ll change your mind when I tell you the same thing, I should’ve told him.”
Kiku sighed soundlessly. “Akane, I’m not… here to get my mind changed on anything. I’m here because… I’m just here because… because I feel guilty, first of all.” Before Andra could cut in, she took a heavy breath and spoke again, quick and sound. “And because I wanna help. The Commission doesn’t know you’re here, nor will they ever. I require no ‘information’ from you in turn. I’m here to uh, tell you that err… This thing suc- blows but— I don’t think you blow? But even if you do, uh, I blow too, so let’s uhh, blow together?”
Andra blinked. She blinked quite a few times before anything resembling a reply started forming on her tongue. That was the worst inspirational speech she had ever heard in her life. In fact, it was so bad, it actually circled back around to some value by virtue of being funny. She found she almost had to suppress a laugh. “Holy shit Kiku, that was bad. Like, it was something—” Tosh would say.
The laugh turned into a hiccup.
No, Andra clamped down on the hiccup angrily. This isn’t happening again. She’s better than this. There’s nothing to cry about. She pressed her teeth together, feeling the sharp sting of pain in her head from the pressure. A moment ago, it was funny. A moment ago, she had control of the situation. Kiku was squirming, and the squirming felt good. Why isn’t it funny now? Why is Kiku still squirming but this squirming is bad, this is pity; and fucking pity, Andra does not need. She does not deserve pity.
“Just fucking leave,” she filtered through the stricture in her throat. Pathetic. “Just… leave.”
“I-I’m sorry! I’m so shit at this…” Kiku jolted up from the chair, starting to pace, but not ‘just leaving’, no one ever ‘just leaving’ when Andra asked, told, pleaded them to. “Man, this really fucking blows… I really am sorry I just… I do mean it. I wanna help. Anything. I—”
“You don’t know me, Nagant. And you don’t want to ‘help’ me. You want to ease your heroic guilt, or you want to solve a case, I don’t really give a shit which, but if you actually cared— if you want to actually help, you’ll shoot me.”
Kiku stopped pacing immediately, looking her in the eye for the first time. There was a familiar rigidity in her posture. “I am not going to. Do not ask that of me again.”
“Fine!” Andra spat, sitting up, feeling a familiar prickle inside in response to that tone. The ever-present headache throbbed through her bandages. She couldn’t be sure if it was the wound or the withdrawal or something else entirely. “Suit yourself but someone fucking has to, eventually! Because the second I get out of this bed, I’ll kill. Someone evil or just someone at the wrong place at the wrong time. Don’t give a single flying fuck. Never did, in fact. I don’t give a fuck about you, about the law, about how ‘murder is wrong’, and I certainly don’t give a fuck about what happens to me, so if and when that happens, it’ll be on you.
“Every single one of you too holier than thou to actually commit to the bit. You think my victim will care about ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ when I put a goddamn hole in their chest? You think they’ll applaud you for being oh-so heroic? All bark and no bite, the lot of you.” Andra spat, except her voice glitched like a faulty holo-CD. “You leave the biting to the likes of us, afraid to dirty your shiny white teeth.”
Please be pissed. Being pissed at is always better than being pitied. This way, at least she can stick it to Eraserhead one last time. This way, Toshinori doesn’t have to be involved. He’s too precious for the Commission to be held accountable. They’ll sweep her under and then pretend to have never met her. Good enough for Andra. Tosh will live. He always does. He will live. He will.
Kiku blinked, silent for a good few seconds. Her posture went slack. Something in her face slowly opened and hardened at the same time. She crossed her arms, putting her weight on one leg, hip jutting. “You think I, a Commission hero, get soggy about murder? We’re all murderers here. Even All Might has murdered dozens if not hundreds of people.”
Ah, there he was. The crutch of every heroic ideological argument. The holy texts to refer to. ‘Well, Actually All Might-‘ could be the slogan for UA at this point instead of Ratio Ultima or Alpha Ultron or whateverthefuck.
“Maybe, but technically—”
“You think those people give a shit about ‘technicality’?” Nagant tossed her words right back at her. “You think All Might gives a shit about technicality? Murder is murder, I have no problem with shooting you, but I am not going to do it because someone ordered me to. I might be a murderer, but I am not the Commission’s dog. I work for them because I am doing more good working for them than against. Is it shit? Sure, it’s ass and I hate it, but I’d hate myself more if I did nothing to change that.
“I am my own person and I’m not going to assist in your suicide, sorry Akane. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through but if you really didn’t give a shit, you wouldn’t be trying so damn hard to atone for whatever great sin you committed. Newsflash, actual ‘irredeemable’ villains do not try to kill themselves because some hero said a few mean words to them. So, either man up and do it for real or get your shit together. And by getting your shit together I mean getting the help freely and unconditionally offered.”
It was so sudden, so unapologetic, that Andra was too stunned to get offended. “What help?” she asked, and there was little but honest surprise in her voice.
“The help of all the medical professionals trying to keep you alive, the free, completely confidential therapist the program offers you, my place you can crash at until you find one, and maybe, if you feel like telling me, some aid to get back at the asshole who did this to you. And also, at the one who shot you in the head, I guess.” She added as if an afterthought.
“But…” Andra opened and closed her mouth a few times, stray sounds escaping. “But. But… why?”
Kiku threw her hands in the air. “Who the fuck knows why humans do anything?! We like to help. Even you like to help, I’ve seen it. And maybe, if you think about it for a sec, others like to help too. Because we don’t want to live in a shitty world where no one is allowed to enjoy anything without a ‘good enough’ reason.
“Maybe it makes me feel like a big strong hero, maybe it just makes me feel less of a professional murderer, do you really care? All you care about right now is your own pain and how to make people instruments of it. Well, there are professionals for that, go wild, my dude. There’s a person whose job it is to listen to you complaining.”
“I…” Andra could not finish that sentence. There was nothing to finish. She just let the lone syllable hang in the air while Kiku stood there, panting. The minutes ticked by, and her pathos simmered down.
Lady Nagant shook her head, kind of apologetic. “Just… why not give it a try?”
Because it won’t work, the firm, familiar voice of her conscience replied readily. Because you’re weak, her irreparable insecurities insisted. Because you don’t really want to get help, do you, the slimy, slithery voice forever residing in the very stem of her brain whispered smugly. Because you don’t know, and not knowing terrifies you, and if you can’t kill them, you run away from the things that scare you, Tosh’s permanent imprint on her mental landscape added helpfully.
“I… don’t know.”
“Are you willing to at least find out?”
“…Maybe.”
Kiku exhaled, stone exterior cracking readily as she slumped back down into the plastic chair. Andra watched her spreading like cooling butter on toast and was struck by the peculiar realisation that this person was trying very hard. Not only very hard, but very hard to help her. For no apparent reason other than a vague sense of responsibility and the sake of their even more vague acquaintanceship. She wrestled with this realisation, held it down like one does a snake so she can carefully examine if it has fangs or not.
“I will try,” she added, albeit it came out very insincere-sounding. “I know I should be saying sorry and thank you, but…”
Kiku blinked away a familiar tired film over her eyes. She shook her head and tried to smile, with less success than more. “It’s okay. I’m just… glad you’re alive.”
“That makes one of us,” Andra muttered, not low enough.
Kiku’s tired smile-like-expression stiffened. There was another pause, another silence full of stillborn thoughts. Kiku started staring at her hands again, especially the right one. She flexed her fingers in unusual, stiff motions.
She wanted to say something. Andra might not get facial expressions but knew how to read tells when she saw them. Shika wiped the counter in a clockwise motion. Toshinori pulled on his bang. David picked up whatever was closest to fidget with. Andra picked on her scars. Sensei pressed a thumb into the middle of his palm. Kiku apparently stared at her right hand when she was nervous.
“Can I ask something?”
“Already did but I’ll graciously grant you another.”
A weak exhale. Then an inhale, much heavier. “Do you uhm… remember before uhh…” She groaned, clearly annoyed at herself. Andra just stared silently, by no means encouraging but not dismissing either. “You left a letter,” Kiku said simply.
“I did,” Andra replied simply.
“I don’t— this isn’t me prying but Recovery Girl gave it to me ‘cus— Anyway, do you… want me to give it back? Or give it to. Err. Someone.”
“Kiku, are you asking if I want my failed suicide letter back?” Andra made sure to keep her tone light, but not playful. “I do not.”
Kiku didn’t ease up much. Clearly, this was just as awkward for her, as it should be for Andra. “I thought so, but then like—"
“Just toss it in the bin. Or shred it. Or burn it, that’s what I usually do.”
“Usually?”
Andra sighed. She sighed again, this time a bit less tired and a bit more constipated. “Kiku, do you really think this was my first rodeo?”
“How should I know?” Incredulous. “Not like- I- I’m sorry Akane but where I come from, we don’t just treat suicide attempts with a shrug and an ‘ah well, better luck next time’.”
“To be fair I never thought I’d get this far—“
“This isn’t funny!” Kiku snapped, voice breaking off a little. “It wasn’t—Akane you died. They had to do CPR on you for minutes. You- I—I had to watch and… and hear the cracking. That letter was… it was not fun to read, it was…”
The rest of the sentence glued itself to the back of Andra’s throat. Something bubbled up behind the blockade, like a big fat toad made to choke on a cigarette.
She was grateful this conversation wasn’t happening with Toshinori and incredibly ashamed about that fact.
“Incomprehensible gibberish,” Andra tried to find a nonchalant tone. “With a few pretentious quotes and cryptic pleas to inanimate objects thrown in.” Kiku froze a little, caught off guard. Andra used it as an opportunity to ease her conscience. “I always do this Kiku, usually I can’t even read half of the shit I write off my rockers and the rest… well it ain’t exactly hard to guess the gist, is it? I should have written down where I stashed the stones for once, so Tosh has something useful to gain fr-“
She cut herself off, but it was too late.
“How do you think he’d feel, reading this?” Kiku asked, very quiet. Andra said nothing. “I read it and I felt…” Andra said nothing. “Can you imagine reading a letter like this from Tosh-“
“No,” Andra cut in, whispering, “No, I do not want to.”
Kiku replied nothing, just gave her a long, indecipherable look.
Andra pretended she couldn’t decipher that one either. She sighed, marinating in that uncomfortable silence for a while. Deservedly so.