#whatever ive got better prospects lined up so PRAY!!!!!!!!!

[gontagokuhara]

worst job interview of my life

[mearcatsreturns]

15 for Abby/Luka

For reasons ;)

Under a cut because it's long.

July 2003

To: Luka Kovac <“croatdoctor65@aol.com”>

From: Abby Lockhart <“nursefirecracker@yahoo.com”>

Subject: I’m drowning and praying ghosts are real

Dear Luka,

Something about knowing that I’ll never talk to you again is just unbearable. I’ll never laugh at your malapropisms, look into your beautiful eyes, feel your strong hands holding mine, or make love to you again. There won’t be any more jokes about jam and cheese on toast, or you teasing me for my weak but constant supply of coffee. I’ll never hear your amazing, deranged laughter after you prank someone again. No more of your hugs—which are somehow the best hugs in the world. Because you’re gone.

It’s been three days since we got the call telling us you died thousands of miles from home, whether that’s here in Chicago or in Croatia. I didn’t know your dad’s name, Luka. We needed to call him, and I didn’t know. How did I not know? And now I can’t. I mean, L’Alliance told us his name, but the fact that I’ll never learn pieces of your history, of the wonderful man you are, FROM you...how am I supposed to go on and live my life?

For years, I’ve thought medicine was my great thwarted love. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for so long, and I thought I was bitter about having to let go of that dream. Now I wonder. I let obstacles get in the way of pursuing medicine, and it’s made me...well, it’s part of why I was so unhappy. But that makes me think about how I also let obstacles get in the way of us. I was happy with you, you know, until I let fear and my mother and Carter get in the way. God, I wish I could do that over again. We could have had everything, and if I hadn’t gotten in my own way, I’d be happy. I think maybe I could have made you happy, too.

It’s funny. I knew things with Carter weren’t working, and he implied you were part of it. I said it wasn’t, but then five minutes later, I found out you were—are—dead. And I realized you were the reason, or one of the big ones. As soon as Chuny told me, I knew I loved you and had loved you for years. Yeah. Great timing, isn’t it? I keep thinking that maybe I could have kept you from going if I had known or if I had told you. I didn’t want you to go when I thought you were my very attractive friend and ex that I still was fond of. Knowing that I love you—how do I move past that? Knowing that I lost you, first to my stupidity and then to death?

I just...I miss you, and I don’t when I’ll stop, or how to. Susan caught me crying on my last shift, and I didn’t even know what to say. I feel like I’ve been crying or standing still, brittle and stuck in time, since I heard the news. I can’t, Luka. I know I have to keep on moving, and I thought maybe writing you would help. I know you’ll never see this, never have a chance to respond. But the idea that some fragments of your soul linger and can maybe sense...I don’t know. That I’m writing? What I’m feeling? Jesus, this is crazy.

All my love,

Abby

Abby angrily swipes the tears from her eyes. God, what’s the point of writing this? He’ll never see hsi email or her again. Just...without Luka, how can the world be anything but grim and sad and pointless?

She laughs mirthlessly. Maybe it doesn’t matter. No, she knows it doesn’t. Because Abby knows the futility of it, aches with the meaninglessness, she presses send without another thought.

&&&

Three days after that, a miracle occurs. Luka, the Lazarus of this new millennium, comes back from the dead. He’s never been dead, and maybe, Abby thinks, there’s a God above after all. So many people wish for this exact boon, and she—they, the world—gets it. Some higher power believes this planet is a better place with Luka Kovac in it, and Abby is ecstatic.

Until she remembers the email and that they can’t be unsent.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. Luka is coming back, apparently with a French nurse. Maybe he’ll just delete it without reading it. Maybe it didn’t go through—how does email work for the dead, and how quickly is all that processed?

Abby shakes her head. It doesn’t matter; Luka is alive and returning to them. She can handle a little awkwardness in the face of the sheer joy of knowing the world is a brighter, kinder place. He’s coming back, and that’s what’s important.

&&&

August 2003

It takes Luka almost a week after returning to Chicago to convince Kerry and the other staff to let him go back to his apartment. Even so, they only agree when Gillian assures them she’ll see to his every need.

Abby winces when she hears that, and it makes something flutter in Luka’s chest. Which probably isn’t good for his malaria, but the hope...that is.

It’s another two days of lying in bed before he has the energy to ask Gillian to bring him his laptop. At this point, it’s been months since he’s checked his email, and Luka grimaces at the undoubtedly horrible state of his inbox. He briefly considers never checking again and just getting a new one, but he knows his father struggled to add him to his contacts once already. To expect it of him again would be absurd.

With a sigh, Luka opens his email. It’s just as bad as he feared. He snorts at the myriad messages about Viagra, Nigerian princes, and Russian brides, deleting them without thought. He saves a couple from his dad. He slowly whittles down his inbox, but he freezes when he gets to one email in particular, sent about a month ago.

It’s from Abby, during the time everyone thought he was dead.

Luka considers calling and asking her if someone hacked her email or is sending spam from her account, but the subject line...it looks real. And Abby’s been odd around him lately, seeming both deliriously happy to see him and awkwardly nervous.

His heart pounds, and he clicks to open it. If this is a spammer, they’re probably about to get whatever they want.

&&&

Abby pours herself another coffee, internally swearing as she prepares for the last two hours of her shift. Deciding to go back to school is great; having to coordinate all the details is less thrilling and leaves her tired and cranky.

Frank ducks his head into the lounge, beady eyes narrowing on her. “Hey, Abby. The Croat is on the phone for you. Line 2. Try to get back out there as fast as you can, Weaver’s yelling at the med students about IVs.”

“Okay, Frank,” Abby says, though she flushes and her palms start to sweat. It’s fine. She can always hide the panic and butterflies in her stomach with sarcasm. It has yet to fail her.

Frank gives her one last suspicious look, then nods and heads back to Admit.

Abby takes a deep breath, then picks up the phone. “Hey, Luka?”

“It’s me. Glad I could reach you. How are you?” He sounds...ugh. So good. And eager and happy, and her heart could leap right out of her chest.

“Doing all right. I just have a couple hours left on this shift, and it hasn’t been too awful today. Only one MVA. How about you? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Recovering. Listen, did you want to come over for dinner?”

“Please tell me you’re not trying to cook.”

“What? I’m a good cook, even if you don’t appreciate wonderful, traditional Croatian dishes,” he says with a chuckle.

“Luka, you just got out of the hospital five days ago. You still need to be resting.”

“Abby, don’t worry so much. I was just kidding. I have some sandwiches from Manny’s, and Anna sent me home with lots of matzo ball soup too.”

Abby bites her lip. Of course she wants to go. But the prospect of spending the evening with Gillian cooing over Luka, knowing that she shares a bed with him, is decidedly less appealing. And there’s the email she sent, which Luka hasn’t acknowledged. He might well have deleted it, or he’s giving her a gracious out.

Her conscience twinges as soon as she thinks about bailing, though. Didn’t she promise herself she wouldn’t take life for granted anymore? She’ll go back to med school, she’ll have dinner with Luka when he asks.

“Abby?”

She starts, realizing she needs to respond. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I can do that. I can be there an hour after my shift, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.” He has no idea how much, even if she wishes she knew for sure that he’d deleted the email.

&&&

Abby rings Luka’s doorbell three and a half hours later. She’d meant to come straight from work, but after a patient vomited on her, she decided to head home, shower, and splurge on a taxi to Luka’s. The poor man is recovering from being deathly ill and doesn’t need County’s fumes making things worse.

There’s the sound of the deadbolt sliding, and Luka answers the door, grinning happily at her. “Good, you made it! Come on in!”

“I did. Sorry it took me longer than expected.” Abby steps into his apartment, looking around. It’s been such a long time since she’s been here, and she notes the subtle changes in the art and decor.

“No worries. I know how it goes.” He places a hand at the small of her back, guiding her inside.

Abby stiffens for a second at how his touch burns even through the layers of her shirt and light jacket, but she relaxes, enjoying the feel while she waits for Gillian to appear and end the fleeting joy.

Luka is unfazed. “Now, of course we can just eat the sandwiches, but if you want to heat up the matzo ball soup, you can. Since you don’t want me standing,” he says with a wink.

Abby smiles back, shaking her head. “Oh, I see how it is. Make the woman who worked all day do more household work when she gets ho—wait, where’s Gillian? Isn’t she supposed to be taking care of you?”

“She’s not here,” he says simply.

Going to the fridge and taking out the containers of soup, Abby places them in the microwave. Is Gillian out for the evening, or is she gone gone? “Shouldn’t you be with her? Or her here with you, whatever.”

Luka is quiet for a long minute, and Abby wonders if he intends to answer. Finally, he breaks the silence. “I asked her to leave.”

Abby’s pulse speeds up. “What? Why?”

Luka takes a deep breath, clearly ready to respond, and—

The microwave dings, and they both jump. Exchanging a sheepish look, they laugh.

“Look, let’s get some food, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Abby dishes up their soup and sandwiches, preparing trays so they can sit on the couch. Luka turns on the television, and Abby’s heart rate comes back under control. They sit together in companionable silence while they eat and watch Thom and Jai and the rest of the Fab 5 whip some hapless lawyer’s life into order. When they finish their meal, Abby cleans up, taking the trays back to the kitchen.

She heads back to the couch at the opposite end from Luka, not daring to get closer when she really has no idea what’s going on.

Luka clears his throat and mutes the TV. “So, yeah. I asked Gillian to leave.”

“Oh. So, um, did you break up?”

“She was never my girlfriend, really. She has a boyfriend back in Montreal, they just…” Luka shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

Abby is more lost than ever. “Ah.”

Taking a deep breath, Luka continues, finally looking over at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful she helped me get here and took care of me, but we were never serious.”

Something starts to tug at Abby’s heart, squeezing and twisting and kicking to get free. Is it...hope? “Well, I’m glad she got you here safe, but you should have someone staying with you while you recover, Luka. Malaria is dangerous.”

He gives her a look. “I know how dangerous malaria is. I’m getting better. And besides, it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask her to stay when things are over because I’m in love with someone else.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Someone else?” she squeaks.

Luka nods, swallowing. “Yeah. And I have a reason to think she might be in love with me too.” He slides over to her side of the couch, reaching for her hand.

Abby meets his eyes—those beautiful green eyes that are the best color in the world—and squeezes his hand, incapable of words. Does he mean…?

With his other hand, Luka reaches up and cups her cheek, running his thumb along the subtle arch of her cheekbone. “Abby, if you’ve changed your mind since you sent that email, please tell me to shut up.”

That stupid, ridiculous email might be the best thing she’s ever done in her life. She leans into his hand, licking her lips as she shakes her head slightly. “I haven’t changed my mind. I didn’t mean for you to see it and hoped I could learn how to hack computers and delete it but—”

Luka cuts her off. “I would never forgive you if you managed to delete it. You wouldn’t believe how much faster I healed after that.”

Abby leans forward, sliding into Luka’s waiting arms. “Then maybe I’ll write you some more emails.”

“Emails aren’t what I want right now,” Luka says.

Funny, Abby doesn’t either. Then his lips brush hers, and all her worries and fears fade away. She knows she has to tell him about med school and he needs to finish recuperating, but when Luka deepens their kiss and pulls her closer, Abby ceases to think at all.

She has Luka back, and now they have each other again.

[meeko-mar]

Leak day is approaching, how we feeling? 

I’ve had this bouncing around my drafts for a little while, a little idea that hooked itself into my mind. Who’s up for some BKDK Healing/Recovery Arc fluff?? 

I'm still deeply hoping for some slower, softer chapters to follow this VERY INTENSE war arc. I know a lot of ideas out there are operating under the concept of the boys healing TOGETHER in a hospital room, but like hear me out... 

What if they start out at the hospital SEPERATELY and have to agonizingly wait until they’re better healed before they see each other? What if they can’t stand to wait any longer?

Spoilers for like...chapter 285 and beyond.

The nurses at the hospital had of course heard of Katsuki Bakugou, the boy who’d won the broadcasted UA Sports Festival. They had an inkling of the student’s more...aggressive tendencies. They steeled themselves for a potentially frustrating time managing and healing the reactive teenager.

The Doctors had done their best with his wounds in surgery as soon as he was admitted, got him stable with some much-needed blood transfusions, and sent him to rest and recover under the watch of a handful of night shift nurses. He was expected to wake sometime in the morning. 

And yet, it was still the deep dark of night, when a tell-tale yell erupted from within the room with his name scribbled hastily onto the nameplate. 

By the time the closest nurse turned the corner into the room, Katsuki was already pushing himself up with his good arm. Gritting his teeth, he swore aloud as stars popped in his blurry vision...but persisted in trying to lever himself out of bed. IV lines swung and tugged dangerously as he struggled.

The nurse rushed to the bedside as he tried to lean out the bed, but swayed from the vertigo. Pain exploded in his wounds, it felt like white hot coals had been dumped right into his gut and his left side.

“Young man, you need to lay down for now, your wounds..!” 

“D-don’t tell me what to do!” Katsuki growled, in almost a feral state. Despite the drugs in his system, he was still in survival mode. His crimson eyes landed on her, still unfocused, delirious. 

“Deku--Where...” He demanded again, voice cracking in desperation, still supported on one violently shaking arm. He squinted and blinked frantically; Why couldn’t he see straight?? 

The nurse grasped his good shoulder and eased the student back down into bed. Katsuki’s strong frame was resistant, but weakened by his injuries and lack of stamina. Even his willpower wavered with his consciousness.

“We can talk in the morning,” She assured in a calming voice. “But you need to sleep now, and stay put.”

Katsuki’s back connected again with the hospital bed, and it felt to him like it was grabbing him, keeping him there, and pulling him down into some dense fog. As his mind quickly began to drift, he wondered if the woman above him had some sort of sleep-aid Quirk. He blinked at the ceiling tiles and dimmed lights above, as the nurse adjusted his dosage, checked his IV, and logged notes on his condition. Another nurse hurried in, and they spoke quietly.

“What the hell...” Katsuki trailed off. 

Both nurses flitted from the room, and Katsuki was alone in the darkness as it swallowed him.

“...De...ku...”

---

Katsuki didn’t have any idea how long it was that he was asleep. But as his eyes tried to flutter open again, they were met with soft light. And a silence that was almost jarring, after the battle, and after the frantic nightmares. 

Nightmares...Aerial battles, explosions of green light...bursts of red....Black obsidian tendrils tearing through the air...

With a turn of his stomach, his eyes suddenly shot open, once again looking at a hospital room ceiling. Daylight was filtered out by thick curtains, and not far away, his parents seemed to have been keeping a vigil, each occupying a chair, leaning against each other in slumber. 

His sight became a bit more focused and adjusted to the light, but his breathing intensified. He looked to his other side, and found he was in a private room. The door was shut at the moment; he was boxed in. 

A flash of green energy played across his mind again....And a sick, charred hand that had reached out...

He felt a pain blossom in his abdomen as his breathing continued to spike.

He heard Deku’s yells in his mind again, and he once more felt the intense need to get up. His unrestricted hand clamped around the guards on the side of the bed, hoping for an anchor. Gritting his teeth against the fire in his gut, he tried to pull himself forward  

“Hey...Hey!” He tried to yell, but it came out so hoarse, he growled and forced more of his pained breath into it. “Old hag!” 

Mitsuki blinked awake, and jumped to see Katsuki staring back at her. Masaru awoke as well. and breathed a sigh of relief. Something twinkled in his son’s eyes that he was certain he’d never seen there before.

“Katsuki! Sit back down!! You’ll reopen your wounds!!” Mitsuki yells, surging to her feet.

“Don’t give a shit! Where the Hell is he?” Katsuki raged, once again pushing up with his good arm. His chest shuddered with hyperventilating breaths, and he felt as if it was threatening to tear him back apart. “Deku...Where’s Deku!” 

“Deku?” His father asked, a bit confused. 

“...Inko’s boy?” Mitsuki supplied, looking at Masaru as well. “Inko came to the hospital too, but...We haven’t seen her.” 

“Dammit!!” Katsuki practically yelled, and tossed a venomous look towards the door. His fingers flexed with an overwhelming urge to blow the damn thing off its hinges. “What about All Might?? Or Half and Half, or fucking anyone who knows what the fuck’s going on?!” 

“You settle the Hell down, brat, or I’ll make you!” Mitsuki loomed over him, a hand clamped tightly on the top of his head and forcing him back against his pillows. Katsuki glared at her, teeth bared and nostrils flaring, absolutely hating how weak he was to resist. “You’re damn lucky that whatever it was didn’t hit anything vital, but you almost bled out on the battlefield! You’re not going anywhere!! Don’t be a damn idiot!”

Katsuki tuned the rest of her words out. He was pretty sure she was turning to his father and going off on just how fucked this entire mission was, the insanity of putting teenagers who were clearly unprepared for the level of destruction that was involved...How none of them seemed to be properly informed of what the kids had been getting into. 

They might have been discussing the prospect of Katsuki even going back to U.A. at this point, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t muster up a single iota of a crap to give over that right now. 

He stared past his parents, at that damned door, waiting. Waiting with clenched fists, once again confined to laying against his uncomfortable pillows. His wounds were still too painful to move even if he wanted to. While somewhere out there...

Deku was somewhere out in that hospital, condition unknown. Red eyes glinted with moisture. 

Come on. 

Someone. Anyone. Come through that damn door...

He couldn’t believe how damn desperate he felt.

Tell me he’s safe. 

---

Katsuki was loathe to comply with any procedures and check ups the nurses had to run on him for the days to follow. He grew more and more aggravated the longer it went on, the more they told him to wait. It was a developing situation, and there were so, so many civilians and Heroes in the hospital from that battle, the nurses didn’t have any time to prioritize seeking out any information on Izuku’s condition for him.

He crossed in and out of sleep all day and night. He couldn’t control it, between the pain and the meds, and even the sheer boredom of not having anything to do but agonize. He could only logically badger his parents so much concerning information he knew they didn’t have. 

Sometimes sleep was a relief. A chance to pass time without thinking so deeply about everything. 

Sometimes, it just gave him more nightmares and stress, and woke him with another hit of desperation to find closure for the battle he’d survived, confirmation that his best friends had made it out alive too. 

News finally came when he woke up early in the next morning.

All Might appeared in the door way with eyes that seemed more cast in shadow than usual. Katsuki’s crimson eyes locked him and he immediately tried once more to pull himself up and forward. After the initial establishing conversation, All Might pleaded for privacy from his parents with a deep bow, and as they left the room, All Might drew himself back up. Blue eyes couldn’t quite meet Katuski’s. 

“Start talking.” Katsuki grunted, and All Might pulled up a chair. 

---

Izuku was lost in a long dream. 

He was trying desperately to find the Vestiges again... He either couldn’t reach them, or...they were gone for good. He couldn’t quite remember, and the answer was so slippery it kept evading him. 

Sometimes he would be minutely aware of what was going on around him in the physical world. Doctors. Nurses. Probes, needles, foreign hands.  

Recovery Girl’s voice...Mom’s voice. 

On the other hand, Nana’s voice. The First. Tomura Shigaraki. All For One.

He couldn’t quite grasp either side, and would be pulled once again into the dreams. It was as if he were stuck on a dizzying pendulum. 

He gave in and floated for a while. 

--- 

Hours passed, and little changed for Izuku. But as he seemed to surface back into the world, bits and pieces came back and fell into place in his mind. All of the things that had transpired. His slumbering mind could begin to process it, and make sense of it. Little by little. 

By the time emerald eyes cracked open, Izuku had realized, he must have been asleep for quite some time. He had enough experience to recognize that he’d landed in the hospital, but felt powerless to assess how bad it was. He still felt hauntingly unattached to any of his limbs for the time being, no strength left to attempt to move them. He must have been heavily drugged by this point.

He wondered about Shigaraki, if he was also reduced to a quasi-sense of being, forced to lay low, let his mangled body regenerate. He prayed that the villain would be in such a phase for a while. Izuku knew there was no way he, or any of the heroes, could handle a rematch. Maybe not for quite a while, even.

A fleeting thought, however, as it was quickly overtaken by an urgent need to know the outcomes of so many....too many, of his friends, teachers and allies. Civilians, even. Aizawa, Gran Torino, Endeavour, all injured in battle. Shoto, his dear friend, and....

Kacchan.

The realization made a spike of anxiety lance through his chest like a knife.

Dear god, Kacchan. Was he...

“Ka...cchan--” Deku murmured, suddenly, feeling the tears pooling in his eyes. His poor mother, keeping a vigil by his side, leapt up and pressed a soft hand to his forehead, quivering voice crying with encouragement for her son. 

“Mom, he...” Izuku whimpered, finally focusing on something for the first time, in his mother’s eyes. “Kacchan...The others...I couldn’t...” 

As quickly as it had come, his resolve was gone, and his broken body wracked with sobs. His determination that had held him through the battle before losing consciousness, the rage, the adrenaline, was gone, and all that remained was the heartache that came from such destruction, from seeing his mentors and friends torn down one by one.

The image of blood suspended in air, and a shadow of a figure falling towards the Earth, stained his vision. 

---

Days into Katsuki’s stay at the hospital, All Might visited again. The man still had so many new lines on his face, though he was heartened to see Katsuki, determined as he was, recovering and gaining focus quickly. Though with the focus, came that trademark, Bakugou impatience.

“He’s still in surgery!?” Katsuki yelled.

“More like, in and out of Surgery. They can only do so much at one time, even Recovery Girl could barely work with him, his stamina is almost non-existent right now...” All Might sighed. “And, there’s no shortage of other patients for her, unfortunately.” He said sadly, sipping a cup of tea with a white knuckled grip. 

“That bad, huh.” Katsuki sneered, looking away from the man. Softly, he muttered, “Fuckin’ Deku.” 

All Might smiled a deeply sad smile. 

It had sounded spiteful, to the untrained ear, but by now, he could recognize how deep Katsuki’s concern really went.

---

One week after the incident at Jakku found Katsuki well enough to finally feel the cold tile beneath his bare feet again. Short walks were in order, as he was allowed to pace in his room every once in a while. The taste of regained autonomy was amazing, but he still felt the need to rest after very short walks, the wounds in his core still on the mend. Steps were small, and few, but Katsuki was feeling better for the improvement. 

He leaned against the edge of his bed, muscles still stiff. Left arm in a sling, and right hand gently set on his stomach, he breathed deeply as he was able, assessing what his body was telling him.

He was gradually getting better, and the next goal was finally heading out that door. Fierce red eyes could have shattered the wood of the door, now left open just a crack. They couldn’t keep him in here forever.

---

“Good news,” All Might had told him, looking a little brighter. “They’ve moved Young Midoriya to the recovery ward. They’ve done everything they can for the boy, now all that’s left is to see how his limbs heal.” 

Finally, Katsuki had thought. He was getting tired of waiting for the nerd to recover.

He scowled as he stalked out that door, and into the hospital hallway. His mended wounds still throbbed with each tender step, but the pain was becoming more and more dull everyday. He was itching to be able to get into physical therapy, and recuperate his body back into peak condition. 

The ache in his shoulder gave him the most unease...His arms and shoulders needed to be up to taking the brunt of his Quirk. There was no time to lose in recovering those tissues, and he locked away any fears of never living up to his previous output, never being able to surpass it...He just couldn’t think of that right now.

Slippers scuffed against clean linoleum. Around the corner and nine doors down, All Might had said. He rounded the corner, and came, abruptly, to a stop, all inner thoughts ceasing. Crimson eyes had fallen on a figure ahead of him, and locked, his jaw dropping just slightly. 

There before him, clearly in a state of dizziness, was Izuku himself. Of course, he seemed to be muttering to himself, staring intently at the name plates of each room he was passing.

Their eyes met.  

His arms were bound up in thick casts once again, and in slings over his stomach, and bandages covered almost his entire torso in lieu of any shirt. Izuku stared back, large emerald eyes tired and glistening. He seemed to tremble at the sight of Katsuki, and the moisture in his eyes threatened to over flow. 

“K-Kacchan,” He whimpered, blinking back the sudden tears, unable to wipe them away. 

Katsuki's body suddenly unlocked, and he marched up on the other boy, as hard and as fast as his body would permit. 

“What the fuck, Deku?!” Katsuki scolded. He planted a palm on the top of Izuku’s green head of hair, tilting his tear-stained face up to look at him. “Damn nerd, What the Hell are you doing out of bed?!” 

“Kacchan,” Izuku sniffed, staring up into crimson eyes without an ounce of restraint on his emotions. “Y-you’re out of bed too...Are you okay?” 

Katsuki twitched at the question, a reflex reaction now due to long years of rejection to the nerd’s selfless worries. 

“Don’t you switch this around! I’m not the one who just got out of surgery!” Katsuki barked, ignorant to any stares from passersby they were drawing. “You shouldn’t be able to move, dammit!!”

“It’s okay, I mean, my legs feel totally fine!” Izuku argued weakly, even as his legs seemed to quiver just slightly beneath him. For the first time in the exchange, a hint of a dismissive, but pained grin tugged at his lips. There was still a very visible split on his bottom lip. 

“That’s not the point, you--!!” Bakugou growled behind gritted teeth, fingers twitching impulsively under the messy nest of hair. How was he ever going to get through that thick skull of Deku’s??

“Please, Kacchan,” Izuku urged, “I know, I shouldn’t be out here yet, but I had to know for sure....that you were ok...I thought I’d really lost you...” He was beginning to choke on his words. 

“They told you I was fine, so why go out of your damn way?! Why get outta bed when you can barely stand up straight, huh??” Katsuki retorted.

“I’m not explaining how much more it’d hurt if you were gone!” Izuku cried, and raised his head against Katsuki’s hand, cheeks flushed. He shook his head just gently, feeling a headache blossoming. “It’s not logical, I was...I was afraid, okay?! I have nightmares every time I close my eyes, telling me that Shigaraki kill-... took you away, or Todoroki wasn’t able to help you in time. It keeps replaying in my mind, and...And if it hadn’t been for me...” 

He was gulping in air at this point, the words themselves seeming to scar him as he acknowledged their effect on him. Katsuki was unsurprised by the tears flowing anew, but something about the tremor in Izuku’s voice, shook him.

“I had to see you. And if my legs would work, then...There’s no way I could stop myself.” Although tired, his eyes glinted with that stubborn edge. It was the same, almost scared look of determination that had looked at him in the dark hallways of their first training exercise all those months ago...The first time they’d fought.

Wide crimson eyes held steady, and he noticed the shadows under the boy’s eyes, shadows of bruises that lingered against his freckles. 

The hand that was on Izuku’s head suddenly shifted to the back of his head and he pulled gently, until Izuku’s forehead connected with Katsuki’s uninjured shoulder. Katsuki’s strong arm almost cradled him there in a half-embrace. A moment’s hesitation, and then his fingers curled around the deep, unruly green locks. Not to hurt, or threaten, never again... 

“Idiot... Idiot. How the fuck do you think I feel?!” Katsuki muttered shakily against Izuku’s bowed head, his features furrowing. “Don’t you ever...fight like that again.” He bit his lip ferociously as it quivered, before any more words could spill out. 

Izuku felt tense for a moment, adjusting to this strange new reality. In time, he eased, leaning into Katsuki’s offered shoulder, feeling the warmth of the arm curled around him. He felt a pang of guilt for being so overjoyed that Katsuki was here with him when so much had been lost...And another wave of surprise and contemplation as Katsuki’s words pinged around in his head. Even so, he dared to smile a broken smile into Katsuki’s shoulder, where no one in the world could see.

He only wished that his own hands were free so he could reciprocate the gentle gesture that was so exceedingly rare from the blonde, but so comforting. 

Katsuki grimaced, but made no objection when tears began to soak the fabric of his shirt. The weight and the warmth of Izuku’s head against him was oddly comforting to him. A quivering sigh of relief escaped him, his cheek buried in green curls. 

Reluctantly, the thought dawned on him; This is okay. Whatever this is...was worth the damn wait. 

Turns out the wait was actually much, much longer than the time spent in the hospital. 

---

*BONUS* owo

I DID happen to doodle the moment that really locked this into my mind and made me have to write this; I literally drew these at slow moments at work on receipt paper. (scanned a tad bit out of chrono. order though)

ALSO A NOTE: 

I happened to fixate on this idea of Kacchan always grabbing Deku by the head(there was a post with a lot of this floating around not too long ago) and I’m convinced it’s part of his own unique language. You may have noticed, I threw in the little detail of contrast with how his mother in fact does the same thing, but forcefully, and exerting dominance over her son. Kacchan uses it this time to communicate with Deku, but it ends up being more gentle and as a comfort. 

YES PARELELLS. 

If I ever have time and inclination, I would love to redo these little doodles, honestly = u =  

ANYWAY thank  you if you’ve made it this far, I hope you liked :D

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part x

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix

And we’ve finally come to the end of Cass and Mat’s story! I want to thank every person who’s read this over the past few months, especially those of you who have reblogged, commented, and shared this with your friends. Your feedback means the world to me, and please tell me what you think of this final part! I’ve also got some ideas floating around for an epilogue, so don’t be surprised if that pops up in the next few weeks.

part x

May 21 (fri)

For once, it wasn’t Cass’ alarm that woke her up. Her internal clock didn’t let her sleep in past 6, but as she lay in her bed, comforter pulled up to her chin and curls up in a haphazard messy bun, a realization struck her. She didn’t have anything to do, and that was just about as far from normal for her as possible. Normally, she’d be hopping in the shower at this time, getting out and shoveling some cereal down her throat before running to catch the train, or desperately trying to finish some last-minute reading before an early lecture. Her grandparents’ flight didn’t land at JFK until 1, and she wouldn’t need to leave until an hour before that to get Mat and drive to the airport. 

Padding out to the kitchen, she just caught Ryanne, who was about to leave for a clinical rotation. “What department are you in this month?” Cass asked.

“OB/GYN,” Ryanne responded. “I got to observe a birth the other day, and it was one of my favorite things I’ve gotten to do so far. Obviously I don’t know for sure yet, but I think I might want to match into it. You get to do a little bit of everything — there’s some surgery, some routine care, some deliveries. And with the Black maternal health crisis, I figure we need all the Black OBs we can get as a country.” 

Cass smiled. “That’s wonderful, I’m glad to hear.” She knew that Ryanne had been a little stressed out with the prospect of trying to pick a residency; she hadn’t felt drawn to any of the other rotations she’d gone through quite like this one. 

“What about you? What’s your schedule like today?” Ryanne asked as she poured coffee into her travel mug. 

Cass flopped down on the couch, looking over at her. “It’s just...I have nothing to do. Nothing needs to get done. No cases to read, no essays to finish, no paperwork to file or anything. Chris gave me this week off for finals anyways, so I couldn’t even go into the office if I wanted to because there’s just nothing for me to do. Do you know how rare that is for me?”

Ryanne laughed. “Cass, I’m in med school. The last time I had a true ‘off day’ was two weeks ago, and even then I spent most of it studying.” She slung her backpack over one shoulder. “See you tonight, have a good day, babe!”

After some toast and a smoothie, Cass was back on the couch, trying desperately to think of something to do. She thrived on being busy, thrived on feeling like she was needed and contributing to something worthwhile. Pushing herself up, she walked back to her room, deciding to change and go out for a run. Cass liked to keep in shape and exercise as often as she could, even though it had been a few years since she had been on an organized sports team. She was usually able to make yoga classes at the school gym twice a week, but typically didn’t have the spare time in the mornings for a run. And by the time she got back it was almost always dark, way too late to even think about going out alone. 

Lacing up her tennis shoes and grabbing her AirPods and keys, she set out, down the stairs and past the door. As she jogged down the streets, making familiar turn after familiar turn, Cass realized something remarkably profound. Every place she passed had played a part in the last three years. St. Lucy’s, where she had stumbled in with inconsolable tears after her abuelo’s stroke, lighting a candle and praying with some old Italian woman for his recovery. The bodega on the corner run by Carlos Gonzalez, one of the first people she met when she moved to the city and the only one who knew how to smoosh her sandwiches down how she likes. The Edible Arrangements where she, Stella, and Ryanne had bought Alicia a congratulatory fruit bouquet for finally asking out her coworker Juliette. They had been dating for six months. The high school she passed every morning on her way to the subway station. These were the people and places that had made her life what it was, and she owed them her thanks. 

An hour and five miles later, Cass decided to call it quits, walking the last few blocks back to the apartment as a sort of cool-down. She jumped in the shower, throwing her hair up in a towel once she got out and resigning herself to watching whatever was on TV. Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives it was, apparently. Four episodes and one snack break later, it was time to get in the car to head over and pick up Mat. Cass drove down Manhattan Island, tapping her fingers in boredom as she hit yet more traffic. It was noon, why was there even traffic in the first place? She pulled into the visitor’s spot in the underground lot of Mat’s apartment complex, taking out her phone. Just got here! Mat popped out of the elevator a few minutes later, holding a bouquet of tulips. “Sorry I’m late, I was going back and forth between tulips and sunflowers for awhile, but I figured the pink was maybe a better choice? What do you think?” Cass started to laugh, and Mat looked offended. “What?”

“Babe, it’s so sweet that you want to impress my grandma, but have you thought about how the poor flowers will fare?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Cass adjusted her seatbelt, leaning over. “We’re going to be out for awhile. We’re not going straight back to their hotel. So…” she prompted.

“They’ll wilt.” Mat finished, his face falling. 

She covered his hand with her own. “Don’t worry. It’s a sweet gesture and I’m sure she’ll appreciate them. We’re all going out for dinner after the ceremony tomorrow, why don’t you bring them then?” 

He perked up. “I’ll run up and put them back in a vase, be back in a few!” Mat gave Cass a quick peck on her cheek, leaving her with just one question. Mat owned vases? He slid back into the passenger’s seat shortly after, clicking his seatbelt in and connecting his phone to the speakers. 

Cass rolled her eyes. “I don’t know a single guy your age who’s not obsessed with John Mayer. It’s kind of weird, honestly.”

“You don’t like him?” Mat asked curiously. Cass was usually into more guitar-based, acoustic stuff, so he figured she’d be into at least some of his stuff. 

“Some of it,” Cass responded, pulling out of the lot and onto the street. “Go ahead and play it, I don’t mind at all. Not what I’d usually put on if I’m alone, that’s all.”

Mat nodded, looking absentmindedly out the window. “So, what should I know about your grandparents?”

Cass’ face immediately burst into a smile at their mention. It was always so clear how much she loved her family, and that was one of Mat’s favorite things about her. How hard she loved. “Alright, so it’s Dolores and Roberto Cabrera. They’re wonderful people, I genuinely think you’re going to like them a lot. They’re both super fluent in English, so don’t worry about communication. They originally immigrated to Texas when they were in their teens, abuela was a housekeeper at a few hotels in San Antonio and abuelo worked in the fields for awhile before getting a job at a little hardware store in town, where he worked until they retired. My mom’s the middle of four, two older sisters and a younger brother.”Mat listened intently. “My abuelo’s a little more rough around the edges, so don’t be surprised if he gives you  a little bit of a hard time, but it’s not out of malice or anything. He’s always been very protective over us, my mom and her siblings, and now us three. He might do the whole ‘nobody’s good enough for my Cassidy” thing, but he’ll get over it. He means well.” 

She glanced over at Mat, who was looking decidedly nervous. “Seriously, chou, it’s going to be fine. Abuela’s totally different, they’re like polar opposites. I can almost guarantee that she’ll say something to the effect of ‘if my granddaughter loves you, I love you.’ Very much go with the flow, she’ll probably want to come over to your apartment and cook for you.” Her expression softened. “As long as you’re kind and respectful, they won’t have an issue with you, Mat. They’ll see that you treat me how I deserve to be treated and love me like I deserve to be loved.”

Cass pulled into the garage by the international arrivals terminal, cutting the gas and checking the time. “The flight was supposed to land at one, so they should be getting out of passport control by the time we get inside.” It was a little after one thirty, but if there was anything Cass knew, it was just how long customs could take at an airport as big as JFK. Even in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and even though her grandparents were travelling on their American passports and could use the citizen’s line, she had heard that it could take upwards of an hour or two to get through. 

The concourse was pretty bare apart from a few kiosks selling “I ❤️ NY” shirts and a surprisingly busy Noah’s Bagels, so Mat and Cass made themselves comfortable on one of the rows of plastic chairs lining the room. The arrivals screen had marked their flight from Mexico City as having landed nearly an hour prior, so it was little surprise when Cass popped up from the chair, straightening her shirt and walking over to a couple that he could only assume were her grandparents. Mat quickly followed, catching up to her just as she threw her arms around her grandma. “Abuela, te extrañé,” she said, the sound muffled by Dolores’ scarf. She pulled back, kissing her grandpa on the cheek before stepping over to Mat, one hand placed reassuringly on his back. “Abuela, abuelo, this is Mat, my boyfriend.”

Mat stuck his hand out, shaking theirs. “Mr. and Mrs. Cabrera, it’s so amazing to finally meet you. Cass speaks so highly of you, and she always talks about her summers in Hermosillo.” 

Dolores pulled Mat in, embracing him from the start just as Cass had expected. “Mat, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Cassidy has told us so much about you, it’s clear she loves you a great deal.”

Mat ducked his head and blushed. “I’m not sure if she can love me more than I love her, but I’m happy to be in such good company.” 

He took both of their suitcases as Cass gestured to the sliding doors. “I want to get back to the car before they charge me for another half hour,” she said. 

Mat slid the bags in the trunk of the car as Dolores got in the passenger’s seat. With a gulp, Mat realized that meant he had to sit next to Roberto. He had been perfectly nice on the walk over, but as Cass had warned him, it was clear that he was a little guarded. Whether that was just his personality or whether Mat had yet to earn his trust hadn’t been determined. 

Her grandparents had been to New York once or twice before, but it had almost always been just to fly in before driving up to visit Cass’ family in Connecticut; they had never really been able to see the city. Cass  felt strongly that that had to change, so she had arranged for a mini-tour of Manhattan before they got dropped off at their hotel for the night. “So, Mat,” Dolores said, turning around in her chair, “Cassidy tells us you’re a hockey player? That must be so exciting, how long have you been playing?”

Mat nodded. “Yes ma’am. I play for the Islanders, so we’re right here in Brooklyn, but I live over in Manhattan. I’ve been playing the sport since I was four or so? Really little. But I just finished my fourth season on the Islanders. And it is exciting, I love being with my team and being on the ice, it’s one of the best feelings in the world.” 

“That must keep you busy, though?” Roberto asked gruffly. 

Mat froze. He couldn’t lie and say that he was home all the time, able to be there for Cass as often as he’d like to, because he wasn’t. But if he let on just how often he was gone, would that make him even more wary? “Oftentimes, yes,” Mat began slowly. “The team’s usually on two or so road trips a month, they’re usually about a week long. But they’re balanced out with plenty of home games, and there’s lots of guys who balance the job with a family and other responsibilities. I’m always excited to be able to be back in New York, I love it here. And to be with Cass.” Roberto nodded, not seemingly totally satisfied but content enough to not push the issue further. 

“He’s really good about spending time with me, abuelo, even though we’ve both got busy schedules,” Cass added, catching Roberto’s eye in the rearview mirror. “We meet in the morning before a class to get coffee, or lunch in between studying if I’ve got time. I go to every game I’m able to when he’s playing here in the city, or over in Jersey. We spend plenty of time together, he doesn’t blow me off. You don’t have to worry.” He seemed much more at ease with his granddaughter’s response. 

It was a whirlwind three hours around New York, Cass playing chauffeur as they went to the top of the Empire State Building — her pick — in St. Patrick’s Cathedral  — her grandpa’s pick — and around Central Park, stopping at one of the many pretzel carts for a snack. They dropped them off at the hotel, Cass’ eyes getting misty as her grandma pulled out the serape stole from her purse. Her fingers danced over the colors, the stripes of red and blue and pink and green, and knowing that it was made by the hands of someone so important to her made it all the more beautiful. The rest of her family was driving in later that night, after Nick got out of school, so everyone wouldn’t be together until the graduation ceremony the next day. 

The couple decided to get takeout on the way back to Mat’s apartment, Mat jumping out of the car to run in and pick up the order while Cass circled the block until he was out. As they sat on the couch, cuddled into each other as they broke into the boxes of Chinese food, Cass thought absentmindedly that Mat handled his chopsticks way better than she ever would have given him credit for. Her grandparents had been on her mind. More specifically, her grandparents and Mat had been on her mind. It wasn’t that she thought he had messed up in any way — she was positive he’d absolutely won over her grandma and her grandpa was slowly but surely coming around — but some lingering concerns about what they might think about their relationship. “I’m not sure that they’d actually care, but when you talk to them tomorrow maybe don’t mention how often I sleep over here? They’re wonderful people, but they’re a little old school about this stuff.” 

“This stuff?” Mat asked curiously. 

“Living together, sex before marriage, that kind of stuff.” 

“And how do you feel about it?” 

Cass raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you think you could ever get me to do something I didn’t want to do? I’m way too stubborn for that.” Mat threw his head back, laughing. “But seriously. I don’t make the decision lightly, because commitment and intimacy in that way is something really big and important to me. You already knew that I don’t do hookups, it’s just not my thing. But I can see this, us, going places. I want us to go places. And I’ve never been very good at listening to people when I don’t want to. So I’ve made my peace that my choices might not be ones everyone would be thrilled with, but it doesn’t really matter to me as long as I have you.” 

Mat nodded, putting down his food to card one hand through her curls. “I get that, I do. Obviously that’s not so much the attitude with a lot of the boys, but your principles are part of what makes you who you are, and I love who you are. Every part of you.” Cass smiled against his neck, leaning down and kissing him on the shoulder. “I want us to go places too, I hope you know that.”

“Glad to hear.”

They ate without speaking for a few more minutes until Mat broke the silence. “Where do you see yourself in five years?” 

“With you,” Cass answered honestly. “Here, or we could get a nice brownstone over in Brooklyn.” 

“Somewhere with a yard,” Mat mused. 

“Yeah, a yard would be nice,” Cass agreed. “I’d like to get a dog, I’ve always grown up with dogs and it would be nice to have someone to keep me company when you’re gone.” Her family’s two dogs, Patches and Scout, were back at the house in Connecticut, and on more than one occasion, Cass had made the two-hour drive up just to see them. She paused, glancing down at her hands. “In five years? You’d better have put a ring on my finger by then, Mat. I’ll be almost thirty. Approaching old maid status” 

Mat laughed, an easy, breathy sort of laugh that somehow erased all of the tension in the room. “I think you should double-hyphen.” 

Cass looked at him doubtfully. “Cabrera-Shaw-Barzal? Yeah, I’m going to have to pass on that one.” 

He shrugged, the corner of his lip pulled up in a half-smile. “Just saying. It’s got a ring to it.”

“Have you given much thought to what you’d want to do with your name when you get married?” Mat asked curiously. It really didn’t matter much to him, since it would ultimately be Cass’ decision, but he didn’t want to assume anything regardless. And it didn’t escape Cass that he said when, as if it was certain, as if it was a given. The surety made her heart flutter. 

Cass shook her head. “Not particularly. On one hand, I do like the idea of the whole family having the same name. It seems nice. Unified. But I don’t want to feel like I’m erasing my culture and who I am just because I’m getting married. And all due respect, chou,” Cass poked Mat’s cheek, “but Cabrera Shaw’s the name on my degrees. Cassidy Barzal didn’t go to law school.”

“Very fair,” Mat said with a chuckle. 

Cass took a deep breath. If it seemed like they were having the “future talk,” she figured it was best to go all in. “Do you want kids?” she asked, tentatively, hesitantly. It was obvious that Mat was good with kids, she’d seen as much, but being good with kids and wanting children of your own were two very different things. Cass had wanted to be a mom since she knew what a mom was, and even though they probably should have brought up the topic earlier, she wasn’t sure what she’d do if he said no. Thank God, she never had to find out. 

“Definitely,” Mat said, nodding. “Not now, obviously, we’re young and haven’t really settled down yet. If you got pregnant we’d make it work, but I don’t think either of us is looking to be parents right away. But in a couple years, once we’re married and have a proper house with space...Yeah, I’d like to have kids.” He looked over at Cass. “What about you?”

“Always wanted kids,” Cass responded fondly. “I loved growing up with siblings, and I know my parents were the same way. Two or three, I think. I’ve thought about adoption too, but obviously that’s way in the future.”

Mat kissed the top of her head. “We’ve got time.”

 May 22 (sat)

 The graduation ceremony itself wasn’t until noon, so Cass had more than enough time to get ready after waking up at 7. Alicia barrelled into her room at exactly 7:22, throwing a shirt at her and telling her to get dressed. Cass stumbled out of the room ten minutes later, pulling on socks and grabbing her phone from the charger by her door. “What are you guys trying to pull?” she asked, yawning and trying to wipe the sleep out of her eyes. 

“Uh, we’re going to the diner, duh,” Stella said with a smile, tossing Cass her purse. “Come on! You know it fills up early on weekends.” Glen’s Diner had become an apartment staple over the past few years, the restaurant having been the first place the four of them had eaten in the city when they moved, not having bought groceries yet and not wanting to pay the premium for delivery. It was cheap, open 24/7, and Cass would swear up and down that their blueberry pancakes were the best she’d ever had. 

They were seated just after 8, happily slurping coffee and stealing bites of each other’s breakfast twenty minutes later. It was a nice day and hadn’t gotten too hot yet, so they decided to walk back after finishing the meal. In reality, “going back” meant Alicia stopping to buy a new necklace, listening to a busker for a few minutes, and petting no fewer than five dogs on the one-mile walk. There was still plenty of time before they had to leave for the ceremony, but after Cass did her makeup and tamed her curls, there was just enough time to watch an episode of Parks & Rec before having to actually get her stuff together. Not as flexible as she once had been, Ryanne helped zip up the back of her dress, a white lace bodycon from her sorority days that she had definitely worn to at least two semiformals. Hey, Cass thought as she straightened her hemline, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

She had ironed her robe and put it into a dress bag the night before, and gently folded her school stole and the serape from her abuela into her purse. Mat’s necklace hadn’t left its place since Valentine’s. Her dad’s parents had given her a beautiful pair of pearl studs for her undergraduate graduation, and it felt only right to wear them for her next step. She fastened the ankle straps on her heels, and popped her head out to the living room. “Everyone ready?” She was met with a chorus of “yeses,” and grabbed her keys from their dish by the front door. 

“Let’s go get our girl graduated!” Alicia hollered into the street. 

The girls had originally objected to Cass driving herself to her own graduation, but relented as soon as Cass reminded them that she was the only one who knew where to find the free parking, and the rest of them only drove sedans. “Cheryl has way more room. Y’all want to be cramped on purpose?” 

“Fair point,” Stella had said begrudgingly. 

Exactly twenty-six minutes later, Cass pulled into a spot about two blocks away from the arena where she would be graduating in an hour’s time, hugging each of her friends as Ryanne handed her the dress bag. “You’re going to kill it in there,” she said, rubbing her back. 

Cass laughed. “Ry, all I’ve got to do is walk across a stage without tripping.”

She shrugged. “It’s a fine art that few have mastered.” 

Cass entered through the side, flashing her ID to the security guard standing by the door. Half an hour later, everyone had been ushered into their seats, carefully arranged in alphabetical order. For the most part, Cass was friendly with everyone in her class; if they weren’t outwardly hostile to her, she saw no reason why they deserved anything other than kindness, but was relieved to see Robin sitting next to her. “You excited?” Robin asked, brushing a piece of her auburn hair behind her ear. The lobby doors must have opened, because as she asked, crowds started to mill into the seats, waving at anyone who would catch their eye. 

Cass bounced her head. “I am, but it’s kind of surreal, you know? I knew we’d get to this point, obviously. It’s what we’ve been working towards for seven years, really. But the idea that it all essentially comes down to this…”

“An hour, a few handshakes, and a piece of paper,” Robin helpfully supplied. 

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s almost anticlimactic in a way? Like sure, we’ve got our JDs after this, but knowing we’ve still got to pass the bar. We’re not over the finish line yet.”

“Columbia has a 97% pass rate, and you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Cass. And I’ve spent three years surrounded by the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

“Fair,” Cass said, “it’s just kind of a weird feeling, you know?” Robin nodded. “And plus, for most of us, we’ve pretty much spent our whole lives in school. Aside from positions as summer associates, or part-time jobs and internships, we don’t really know how to do anything other than school. It’s just a little bit of a daunting thought to suddenly feel like we’re being thrown out to the wolves without really knowing what to expect.” Cass’ phone, which she wasn’t technically supposed to have but had snuck in anyways, chose that moment to buzz with a text notification. It was from Mat.

Met up with the crew! Can’t wait to see you walk across that stage, Cass. I love you and we’re all so proud of you. Mat had attached a photo of everyone she had brought with her — both sets of grandparents, her parents and siblings, and roommates. 

“Your boyfriend is nauseatingly cute,” Robin observed, looking over her shoulder at the message. 

Cass laughed. “That’s true, but I knew what I was getting myself into.” The music started ten minutes later, and the ceremony began. If Cass was being honest, she didn’t really remember much of anything from the first half of the ceremony, before the conferral of diplomas. She was so excited and nervous and unbelievably ready all at the same time that all she recalled from the dean’s speech and the student speeches were vague comments about their “awesome responsibility” and “duty to pursue truth and justice” and “commitment to fight for what is right over what is easy.” 

As soon as she realized it, her row was being ushered into line to receive their diplomas. “Cassidy María Cabrera Shaw.” She heard her name, but really had no clue who had spoken it. The dean? One of her professors? As Cass walked up the steps and across the stage, the only thing she could think was don’t trip don’t trip don’t trip. Then she was handed a diploma, flashed a brilliant smile for the photographer, and shook hand after hand after hand before walking off the other side of the stage. She was pretty sure she could hear Mat and Noah yelling their congratulations from her seat on the floor. 

Having a name towards the front of the alphabet meant that Cass was almost always called on quickly in class, or on roll call, or at graduation, as the case was. But that meant that she had to sit, quietly and politely, for the other four hundred names to be called. And it took awhile. After Robin Cahill came Wesley Coleman, then Samuel Cogswell, then Fiona Chan. Cass didn’t mind having to sit through the whole thing, especially when Fiona, Les, Samaira, and her other friends crossed the stage — she cheered as much as anybody — but it was a long time to be sitting in a folding chair and the thousands of people packed into a small space didn’t help her temperature regulation. 

There was the benediction and congratulations, and then the recessional of the graduates. Graduates, Cass thought. She was a graduate. She had finished, she was done, she had accomplished the one thing she wanted most to do since she was a little girl watching Legally Blonde for the first time, looking at Elle Woods and thinking I can do that. And she had. Her feet carried her to the back room of their own accord, where she picked up her bag and was engulfed in a flurry of hugs, congratulations, and kisses on the cheek from her friends, the people who she had spent countless late nights in the library with, bar hopping to celebrate the end of finals, and afternoons on each other’s apartment couches, yelling fact patterns at each other and trying to come up with an analysis before the timer went off.  

Following the stream of sky blue graduation gowns, Cass walked outside, waving at her family when she spotted Eliana hanging off of a lamppost in the courtyard to get a better view. Her sister nearly tackled her as she made her way to the group. “Cass. I already knew you were brilliant, and I still think  you’re the smartest out of any of us,” she gestured between the two of them and Noah, “but now you’ve got the degree to prove it. I’m so proud of you.” 

Noah was next. “You worked hard, and I know how badly you wanted this. You’re a really good sister.” He wasn’t usually a big talker, and Cass’ eyes definitely got a little misty as he spoke. He had verbally committed to Minnesota State the week before, and Mat might have been more excited than even Cass when he heard the news. It was an incredible program that had a serious track record of sending players to the NHL, and she was so proud to see her little brother doing what he loved. Her mom and both grandmas were crying, as expected, and Grandpa Joe wrapped her up in a hug as soon as he got the chance. 

Mat had been hanging towards the back of the crowd, not wanting to feel like he was intruding on family time, until her dad nudged him forward. “Go say hi to your girl, Mat,” Patrick said.

“Will do,” Mat said, squeezing Cass’ hand and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Sometimes it blows my mind how incredible you are,” he said. “Everyone’s already said how smart you are, and every bit of that is true. But you’re so much more than that, you know?” His thumb rubbed over her hand. “You’re beautiful, and curious, and you always keep me on my toes. You’re so passionate about your work, and you’ve got the biggest heart out of anyone I know. You’ve never met a person you didn’t want to help. And I promise I’m not biased just because I’m in love with you.” 

Cass gave a watery laugh, blinking and thanking God she had the foresight to wear waterproof mascara. “God, I love you, Mat.”

Her dad had always been the picture type, insisting on documenting every waking moment. He was the living embodiment of “pics or it didn’t happen,” for better or worse. He took a few of her with her law school friends, then Alicia snapped one with just her immediate family, then there was one with everyone. Cass also got a picture with Mat, where he was bending down to kiss her, the tassel on her mortarboard just barely brushing his nose. Then she was in one with all of the seniors on the law review, and a friend pulled her away for a few with the Latinx Student Association. By the time they finally managed to tear Patrick away from his camera, it was time to head back to the hotel and get ready for dinner. 

Mat got Patrick to send him the photo of him and Cass, and was about to post it on Instagram when he hesitated. “Hey, is it cool if I post this?” Mat said, showing Cass his phone. Most people knew who she was, and he had posted pictures of her before, but they had never been this obvious, this clear, this real. 

“Go for it.”

Mat pressed post. So, so proud of my incredible girlfriend @casscshaw for graduating law school. You’re one of the smartest, most empathetic people I know, and you’re going to make an amazing lawyer. 

Cass grinned, a big, genuine smile as she was surrounded by her family, the people who meant the most to her — whether they were related or not. She looked up at Mat, who was smiling softly down at her as he reached one hand up to fix her tassel. “What’s next?”

[burning-up-ao3]

NEWARK, N.J. — While on a five-day trip to Jackson Hole, Wyo. during the Penguins’ bye week late last month, Sidney Crosby began to feel something he had not felt in years, since the most recent NHL lockout in 2004-05.

On the second-to-last day of what was supposed to be an enjoyable vacation, the Penguins captain wound up a couple thousand miles away from either of his two homes, miserable and sick, unable to do much of anything.

“You get used to having to play through colds and stuff like that,” Crosby said. “People go to work with them. It’s a part of life. But sometimes it stops you in your tracks like that. There’s nothing you can do.”

What Crosby went through is common for NHL players, who are constantly shuttling on and off airplanes, checking in and out of hotels and entering and leaving (entirely too) cold buildings, all during the darkest days of winter.

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No matter how many vitamins they take or calcium they consume, they’re inevitably going to get sick. Sometimes it might get ugly. And they’re well aware that sick days are almost never an option.

Which means that Crosby, given what he contracted, was actually one of the lucky ones, in that he could rest some. More often than probably anyone realizes, NHL players have to play through some ugly stuff, flu bugs and stomach illnesses the public never hears about.

“It happens every winter, where half the team gets sick,” Matt Cullen said. “The training room is busy. Guys are looking for anything to help them get over the hump so they can feel well enough to play.

“It’s why you try so hard to take care of what you can control. You’re getting your sleep and fluids because it [stinks] as a player when you’re sick. You have to play regardless.

“You see it every once in a while, when guys are throwing up in the bathroom during warmup or between periods. I’ve had teammates run off the bench. It’s part of the deal.”

2. And when it happens on the road, Bryan Rust said, there’s nothing worse.

“It’s miserable,” Rust said. “It’s kind of a helpless feeling; it’s not like you’re in your own bed, and you can rely on someone.

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“You also feel bad for the maids who have to come in there afterward and clean up.”

It’s a feeling Rust knows well, too. He said he was knock-down, drag-out sick twice: once in college at Notre Dame and another time during the early days of his Penguins career.

What does the versatile winger do when it happens?

“Lie in bed, turn the lights off, close the shades,” Rust said. “And hope it goes away as fast as possible.”

3. It was a funny topic to take around the Penguins dressing room: Have you ever been sick on the road?

Those who hadn’t, immediately found some wood on which to knock. Those who had, launched into some humorous tales.

In 2013, Olli Maatta was playing for Finland at the World Junior Championship in Ufa, Russia. Maatta thought he ate something funky, food that was potentially undercooked. The next few days were brutal.

“Not the best thing that ever happened,” Maatta said with a smile. “Although being stuck in my room and trying to watch whatever it was on Russian TV might’ve been the worst thing.”

4. Before he was traded, Riley Sheahan told me a good one about when he was with the Detroit Red Wings a couple years ago. He vacationed in Mexico during the All-Star break and brought back a little present.

“I caught a virus or something,” Sheahan said. “I was sick for like five weeks. I actually had to miss a game, on the Moms’ trip, in Florida. It wasn’t fun.”

Garrett Wilson was a proud member of the knock-on-wood club. Despite playing for San Antonio in the AHL — where they’d have to leave for a month every winter because the rodeo came to town — Wilson has never been sick on the road.

“I don’t puke too often, either,” Wilson said. “Even drinking or anything, I don’t puke. Pretty lucky that way.”

Wilson said he did play with a guy — John McFarland, in the Florida Panthers system — who didn’t feel right until he forced himself to vomit before a game, although that wasn’t related to being sick.

“You definitely hear the odd time a guy is hurling in the bathroom before a game, whether they’re sick or nervous,” Wilson said. “It almost makes you sick hearing it.”

5. Whether or not it’s better to get sick in a hotel room versus at home sparked a lively debate. Matt Murray is all for the road option.

“I think a hotel room is a good place to be,” Murray said before taking his knuckles to his dressing room stall. “You’re not bugging your family or anything like that. You get to sleep it off.”

Wilson agreed.

“I don’t think it’s too bad on the road,” Wilson said. “You’re with the trainers all the time. They’re usually at the same hotel. If you do get really sick, they’re just a text or phone call away.”

6. My personal opinion: These guys are nuts. It’s much worse to be sick in a hotel, with none of the comforts of home.

It happened to me recently, too, around the same time as Crosby. In San Jose, Calif. for the NHL All-Star Game, I literally could not stand at Media Day because I was dizzy and nauseous.

Eventually, with neither Crosby nor Letang there, I decided to cut bait take an Uber back to my hotel room — backpack open the entire way, praying there were no issues.

Yada, yada, yada … the next 24 hours were not fun.

“Hotel room, being stuck in a little space there, it’s terrible,” Maatta (correctly) said.

7. Back to the war stories, though, which turned out to be my favorite part of reporting this.

In Wilkes-Barre/Scranton, Rust’s next-door neighbor in the dressing room was former Penguins prospect Jayson Megna.

“One game, between periods, he was hugging a trash can,” Rust said. “On the bench, same thing. It was impressive to see him play through it. I don’t think I would have been able to. It was pretty wild.”

Penguins coach Mike Sullivan experienced the same thing when he played for the Calgary Flames.

“I had the flu,” Sullivan recalled. “Played through it to the point where I was throwing up between periods, and they had to put an IV in me to replace all the fluids I had lost. That was the hardest one from a personal standpoint.”

8. When he was with Minnesota — the first time — Cullen once played with walking pneumonia. To conserve as much energy as possible, Cullen skipped the morning skate and stayed home basically until puck drop.

With the Wild apparently short on players and unable to make a roster move in time, Cullen said there wasn’t another option.

“That was a tough one, running to the bathroom between periods,” Cullen said. “We were in a pinch. Just had to do it.”

Being able to rely on a routine, Cullen said, does help.

“It helps to normalize everything even if you feel terrible,” Cullen said. “You get out and do warmup, get some blood flowing, you’re out in front of the fans, it gives you some adrenaline. But after the game, you feel it.”

9. Tanner Pearson had some good perspective on the matter because he nearly wound up disgustingly sick on the road while with the Kings last February.

Los Angeles had arrived home from a four-game road trip that actually included its annual Dads’ trip — maybe we should blame the parents? — when Pearson started to feel dizzy and nauseous.

“I don’t know if it was something I ate on the plane or what,” Pearson said. “Just hit me like a ton of bricks. We landed, and that was the end of me.”

But there was the benefit, Pearson said, of making it home. He could sleep in his own bed. His wife was there. At least he wasn’t in a hotel room.

“I see guys who are sick on the road,” Pearson said, “and it looks like pure torture.”

10. It can also be downright scary.

Marcus Pettersson had a couple stories, one funny, the other not so much. The first was the 2016 World Junior Championship, in Helsinki, Finland. A couple of Pettersson’s teammates contracted the stomach flu.

“It’s crazy how quickly something like that can spread,” Pettersson said. “You just have to isolate yourself.”

Pettersson also heard a story about Detroit defenseman Jonathan Ericsson’s brother, Jimmie, when he was playing with SKA Saint Petersburg of the KHL in 2014-15. When Jimmie Ericsson told the team’s doctors he didn’t feel well, they treated it like some sort of illness — but never checked anything else.

Turns out Ericsson had a partially ruptured spleen, which they only discovered upon returning home.

“They just thought he was sick,” Pettersson said. “He got medicine shots in his [butt]. They said, ‘You’re good. You can play.’ It was crazy.”

11. The Penguins would never allow something like that to happen.

Sullivan explained the lengths to which the team goes to try and stack the odds in their favor, all while realizing that sickness during a winter sport are pretty much inevitable.

On the road, the Penguins will ensure that sick players get their own rooms, Sullivan said. They also get their own water bottles on the bench, the equipment staff will wash and sanitize things even more than they already do, and Sullivan has no problem sending a guy home if he’s sick.

“It’s difficult when you’re in close quarters like this,” Sullivan said. “But we do everything within our power to see if we can’t contain it when those types of things arise.”

12. Wanted to close with this anecdote from Crosby on not participating in the NHL All-Star Skills Competition when he was probably extremely contagious. Made me laugh, anyway.

“The last thing I wanted to do was get everyone sick. That’s all I need,” Crosby said before cracking a smile. “Of course, I guess it was our division … “

13. Moving on …

The more I think about it, Carl Hagelin would be a perfect fit for the Penguins at the NHL trade deadline, provided they can convince the Los Angeles Kings or or someone else to take Pearson.

Small problem: The deal actually isn’t possible.

I didn’t learn this until recently, and I’m guessing you didn’t know it, either. It’s a CBA quirk that’s actually pretty dumb, in my opinion.

Once a team retains salary in a trade — the Penguins retained $250,000 — they can’t reacquire that player for a minimum of one year after the transaction or until the player's contract expires or is terminated prior to the one-year date.

It’s a shame, too, because I think Hagelin would’ve been worth checking on.

For his penalty killing (Penguins are just 25 for their last 36, 69.4 percent), Hagelin’s fit with Evgeni Malkin and what Hagelin could potentially do for good friend Patric Hornqvist, who doesn’t have a point in 12 games.

14. As for what the Penguins could realistically do, I’m not in favor of anything big. Maybe add a depth forward or defenseman, depending on who’s out there.

But at some point, this group should be allowed to actually play together for a stretch, and we’re running out of time for that to happen.

Many of you have suggested a 1a goalie type as well. There’s a variety of problems with this. One, cost. That guy wouldn’t come cheap, if he was worth anything. Two, what do you do with Casey DeSmith? Three, how does that play with Murray?

I know he’s been hurt a lot, but I can’t imagine that would go over well. Murray is your No. 1. You paid DeSmith to be your backup. Hold onto Tristan Jarry. I’d stick with that.

15. Without Hagelin, I’m curious to see where this goes with Zach Aston-Reese alongside Malkin and Phil Kessel. It’s a tremendous opportunity for him and one for which he’s actually well-suited.

“Any time you can stay on your natural side, it’s a little bit easier,” Aston-Reese said after Sunday’s 6-5 victory over the New York Rangers. “Phil kind of has that signature shot, too, coming down on his strong side. I like to work hard defensively. It’s definitely nice to balance out those two.”

I like Aston-Reese as a lot, as a player and person. He’s extremely smart, quotable and great to deal with from our perspective. If we were ranking most media-friendly players in the Penguins dressing room, he’d surely be up there.

But hockey-wise, he’s going to make a lot of people happy if he’s able to blend some physicality with offense and a willingness to play defense. He’s still rounding out his game in a few different ways, but I think the Penguins definitely got a good one here.

16. It’s obvious — and Post-Gazette columnist Ron Cook wrote this off of Sunday’s game — but the Penguins need to get Hornqvist going. How do they do that?

I see two options. One, I’d consider playing Hornqvist with Sidney Crosby. Nothing against Rust. He’s been great there. But they need more out of Hornqvist.

My second possible solution would be trying Kessel on the third line with Nick Bjugstad — they had some chemistry — and using Hornqvist with Malkin, a situation where the feisty Swede thrived last season.

I hate Hornqvist in the bottom-six, as I’ve never seen his production give the Penguins a competitive advantage in that spot the way Kessel’s has at various times throughout his Penguins tenure.

17. This won’t be a popular opinion, but I’ve actually liked Jack Johnson on his natural left side the past couple of games.

I know what the goals-for numbers are — they’re awful — and I know how Johnson is perceived by the fan base. But if Rutherford or Sullivan are frustrated with Johnson’s play this season, they’re doing one heck of a job hiding it.

Whether you want to admit it or not, Johnson won’t be a healthy scratch. And what I’ve seen the past couple of games — Johnson’s been with Juuso Riikola with one and Justin Schultz for two — has actually been pretty decent.

18. Shut up, Don Cherry. Can we all agree on that?

He scolded the Carolina Hurricanes for, of all things, having fun. I hate giving this any airspace whatsoever, so I’m going to twist it another way: Forget about Dino Don and think of this from a Hurricanes perspective.

Great organization. Great city. A lot of fun to watch. If this gets their fans excited, my goodness, go for it. I think it’s tremendous. And I love seeing the Old (Canadian) Guard get upset over it.

19. Stat of the week: 12

That’s the number of points for Pettersson since the Dec. 3 trade that brought him to Pittsburgh. It’s also one less than Daniel Sprong has during that same stretch.

20. Non-hockey thought of the week: Apparently MLB commissioner Rob Manfred thinks we’re all stupid. Did you see this story from the Post-Gazette’s new baseball writer, Nubyjas Wilborn? Two quotes struck me.

“This narrative that our teams aren’t trying is just not supported by the facts. Our teams are trying. Every single one of them wants to win.”

Yes, they are trying, and they do want to win. I don’t doubt that the Pirates try and prefer winning to losing. But I could race Usain Bolt, and I’d still try. I’d still want to win. The problem is that I would not have taken the requisite steps to do so.

Then this gem: “I reject the notion that payroll is a good measure for how hard a team is trying or how successful that team is going to be.”

There are certainly outliers here: small-market teams that compete and big spenders that don’t. But the two teams in the World Series last year spent the most. Generally if you’re actually paying to play, you have a chance.

The only thing I hate more than baseball’s financial structure is when people in positions of power try to sell us this garbage.

Jason Mackey: jmackey@post-gazette.com and Twitter @JMackeyPG.