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Follo admits that he does feel guilty for trudging into the infirmary with his arm snapped and smattered with dark and splotchy bruises for the third time today, but in his defense, he had believed that he finally had a better grasp at how to glean more energy for an attack with Alan.
Of course, this theory had proven to be just like the last few, with an ever-deepening well of disappointment digging itself through Follo's insides and a battered arm on the outside.
The infirmary is empty. It is almost complete darkness outside the windows, bottomless black about to swallow up the sky. He hadn't realized it had gotten so late. He has to probably go to her room then.
No. Eishia is probably going to come back. She wouldn't retire so early, no matter how many times Follo, August, or anyone else tell her to. Follo tries to blow away the hair that had fallen into his eyes, the sigh leaving him fast, the emptiness of the silence seeping in through his freed airways.
He considers trying to find Eishia, but that would be far too much to ask of her; he doesn't want to force her to adjust herself and acquiesce to his whims, especially when he knows, deep down, that only sheer, arrogant stupidity cost him his arm this time.
Also, he cannot risk bumping into Zanka like this. Not after Zanka tore clean through Follo with one of the most impressive verbal bashings in Zanka's repertoire that Follo has ever bore witness to. That had been a few hours ago, which strikes Follo as surreal; he hadn't felt like he had been training for long, stuck in the daze of trying and testing and training until suddenly all his brain could tell him was that his arm was broken and down for the count.
Zanka had berated him for pushing himself too far, and even though maybe Zanka is right, it leaves an uneasily bitter sting in Follo's bones, because it almost felt like Zanka should have been arguing with his own reflection.
But for a stupider, more selfish reason, he doesn't want to see Zanka and see the disappointment Follo has been dreading to see everyday since they began his training. With all sighing and scolding, it sometimes feels like Zanka doesn't believe in him. Like Follo doesn't have what it takes to become a true Giver, to struggle and fight like they do, like he's made of something more fragile and can't handle the power.
(To be fair, he is now standing here with his broken arm stiff by his side. For the third time today.)
But he knows that Zanka doesn't actually think this, or at least Follo hopes he doesn't. Zanka wouldn't be this hard and unyielding if he didn't think Follo capable of handling the heat.
(And maybe Zanka trying to restrict him is his way of looking out for Follo. But Follo is impatient, and he's waited long enough for this.)
Follo shuffles to one of the walls of the infirmary, keeping his arm as still as he can. Still, horrible pain leaks through his nerves, all too aware of the existence of his bones now, how they lurk under his skin, which is streaked with dirt, sweat, and discoloration, swelling by the minute. The last two times had been painful as well, but it went somewhat numb eventually. Now the pain lingers, sticks to him with a venomous grip that shoots up his whole arm if he so much as twitches it. It's almost as if his own body is throwing in the towel for him, with an extra pinch of punishment for being so foolish.
He's staring at it so hard, eyes feeling glued to watching the wound worsen, that he doesn't know that Eishia has arrived in the infirmary until he hears her familiar squeak.
"Follo!" Eishia exclaims with so much energy that one would think she had just seen a ghost. Follo kind of feels like one right now. Eishia's eyes immediately click to his broken arm. Her expression freezes, shock obvious, but further away, almost hidden, lies a growing surge of disbelief. Follo has the decency to offer a guilty look.
"Hey, Eishia," Follo tries cordially, like this is the first encounter they've had that day. If only. He takes a brief glance at his broken arm before quirking a tiny smile that he used to whip out all the time in his schoolboy days and saying, "We've got to stop meeting like this, huh?"
It works about as well as it did then: Eishia's eyebrows furrow in a way that can only be read as pity. For her or for him, he already knows the answer. (Both.)
"Oh, Follo," Eishia sighs, eyes skirting away to look elsewhere. It says something about this whole situation: the resignation in her stance, the lament in her tone, the delay in her rush to his side before she guides him to one of the cots for the third time today. He sinks onto it while his stomach sinks at the guilt he feels about putting Eishia through this again. And the only one he can blame is himself.
If he had been seeing anyone doing this, he would be just like Zanka. And Eishia should take a page out of Zanka's book, but she won't, and Follo knows she won't, and it makes the guilt so much worse.
"Look, I'm sorry, it's just—"
"Don't apologize, please." Eishia cuts through him with a shaky voice, but the determination to speak shines through. It shines in her eyes too, a vibrant color that he had only seen in the artificial flowers Delmon grows. "This is my job. It's just..." Her words taper off, and her eyes shift away to focus on the floor, her fingers fiddling with her extension cord at her throat.
"I know. You're going to say not to push myself."
Eishia stays quiet, but her face is fidgeting enough to tell a story — one of doubt and anxiety and pure sensitivity. It makes Follo bleed. It really isn't fair to her. She is already so wary of her abilities, him forcing her to confront these fears twice already.
"I... understand why you want to." Eishia keeps flitting her gaze back and forth between him and the floor. He really doesn't understand why she's so nervous around him still; at this point, it would not be too far to call each other friends, right? "But such amazing focus can end up hurting you more than helping you."
Follow knows she's right, knows that she is speaking from direct experience. She's looked after her brother, who would probably be a shriveled shell dying from dehydration in his shadowy lair with her frequent check-ins. She's patched up every Cleaner in this base, Giver and Supporter alike, without a hint of condescension, something that had been so unfamiliar to him in that very first moment he'd experienced it that it almost passed him by as just a single bizarre anomaly. She is part of Team Akuta, with the roughest and toughest of the Giver bunch. Regardless of her dismissal of her own experience and abilities and knowledge, she's of a caliber that goes unrivaled in the organization.
"You're right, and I'm sorry, Eishia," Follo says softly.
"You don't want me to tell Zanka, right?" Eishia just about mumbles the words, but he catches the way her lips shape the words, how there is a tenderness to the sound of Zanka's name, and it yanks him back to the past, to a time when he was nothing in the blazing glory of another man, someone taller and cooler and everything he isn't—
Follo squashes it. Then he feels the grip of frustration at still being able to fall back into old habits so easily.
"You can if you want," Follo replies slowly, and the guilt is ready to boil him alive. "But maybe you couldn't? I just... It's like he gets all mad at me for it, but didn't he use to do the same shit? How many times have you patched him up like this? Over something he knew was overdoing it?"
"It's different," Eishia retorts. It's the strongest she's sounded all day. It surprises him. It's even clear in the resolution in her expression. "He does it for a different reason. It's like he's... punishing himself." The conviction in her words may almost be able to be mistaken for confidence, but Follo knows it's frustration, but frustration for another's sake. It's so Eishia. It breaks his heart to hear her speak like this, to struggle so much for someone who would probably think nothing of it.
(That's not true. He's seen how kindly Zanka treats Eishia, but again, it's hard to kick old habits.)
"I know that this is something you wanted for a long time, but... please take care of yourself. Rushing probably doesn't make things better. But then again I wouldn't know. Everything I've gone has probably been luck up till now, and I don't know how I managed to heal your arm twice, but maybe it was a fluke, I don't know—"
"Eishia, Eishia! It's okay." He doesn't want her doubting herself. It seems so obvious that she is an integral facet of the Cleaners, obvious to everyone but her. "Thank you for healing me today, and all the times before that. I know I'm overdoing it, but I've wanted this for so long, and now it's happened, and I never thought it would—" It feels wrong to say it out loud, like he's ripped off his clothes in a crowd full of strangers. "I never thought it would," he tries again, "but it did, and now I don't want to let it go. Do you get that?" He reaches his good hand up to scrub it over his face, feeling the scars on his cheek. He cards his hand through his hair, the pressure on his scalp somewhat soothing.
He finally dares a glance at Eishia, and she has that furrow to her eyebrows again. But it's not pity this time. It's still sad, but he can see understanding there now. Maybe she does get it, just maybe. That's another thing he's found himself ruminating on: by being a Giver, is he somehow closer to them now? Or had he been imagining that invisible barrier all along? He hopes he finds that answer soon.
"I'm just not sure if it will work," Eishia is murmuring, fiddling with her extension cord still. "The last few times—"
"It will work, Eishia. I believe in you." It's easy to say because it's the truth. It's also the hundredth time he's said it today, so that helps too.
"Please don't. That's a lot of pressure."
"Uh, right. Sorry..."
Follo feels the inexplicable urge to draw closer to her, and so he tries to, but his arm moves with him, and all his nerves seize up. He breathes out sharply, a wince through his teeth. Eishia gasps and presses gloved hands to his shoulders, keeping him in place.
"Follo! Hold on!" Eishia guides him down, laying him on his back. Follo's head is spinning, his eyes feeling like they're humming in their sockets. He tries to blink it away, but the room still feels like it's swaying around him likethe breathing of a living creature. His arm lies useless at his side, still squeezing with jarring pain. He sees Eishia dart in and out of view like a shadow, extension cord unwinding from her neck. He can hear her frantic breathing, the worried murmurs that shake out of her as she keeps on working.
"Follo, just wait!" She's waving something in front of him and it takes a second for him to register the gloves she's discarding.
He laughs a little, but only to help alleviate the tension. "It's okay. I'm still here. I haven't passed out or anything."
An aura of pure pink swirls around Eishia, glowing like a candle's flame. Her eyes beam with the same power as she looks him in his eyes. Her mouth is set in a grim line that holds back all her worry. Her hands are pale but steady as they settle on his arm. The pain is so much that he almost doesn't feel her touch. Eishia's lashes, thick and powder-white, flutter close as the energy around her expands.
Follo wonders if he looks this magnificent when he activates his jinki too.
It is something he has always been in awe of, has coveted with every fiber of his being, ever since he laid eyes on Zanka Nijiku of the Cleaners, blazing in blue, seen by all.
The image of Eishia in her own blaze is stenciled on the back of his eyelids as he shuts his eyes and feels her hand warm on his arm.
In moments, he's back where he was a few hours earlier. He feels the familiar tingles from the aftermath of Eishia's ability. His hair feels like it's tight with static. He looks at his arm. It is completely healed, his skin looking brighter than before.
"Ah, another successful operation!" Follo beams at Eishia, waving his arm for dramatic effect. "Good job, Eishia!"
Despite the previous worry, a little laugh of wonder escapes Eishia. It's nice, and Follo feels his smile growing wider. The guilt in his chest evaporates for a moment, just a moment.
"Well, don't let me spoil all the fun."
Follo and Eishia both freeze. Follo feels a jolt punch through him unlike anything Eishia could ever conjure. Eishia's eyes blow wide. They both turn to the doorway.
Leaning against the entrance to the infirmary with the haughtiest sneer is Zanka.