The fluorescent lights overhead hum with a faint, tinny whine as I idly thumb through a well-worn copy of Sports Illustrated , the glossy pages crinkling softly beneath my fingertips. The waiting room is a study in muted serenity, the only sounds the occasional hum of conversation and the distant patter of footsteps echoing down the pristine linoleum halls.

It's a far cry from the chaotic pandemonium of the meeting yesterday, the weight of revelation and hard truths seeming to have receded into a dull, throbbing ache at the back of my mind. For the moment, at least, I can allow myself to simply... be , to exist in this tranquil pocket of respite untouched by the ever-encroaching responsibilities and mounting pressures that have become the defining hallmarks of my life as of late.

A soft clearing of a throat draws my attention, and I glance up to find a kindly-looking woman in scrubs regarding me with a warm, professional smile. "Miss Bloodhound?" she calls out, her eyes full of well-practiced amusement.

"That's me," I confirm, rising from my seat with a faint wince as the various aches and pains of my recent misadventures make themselves known. Donning the simple domino mask that has become as familiar to me as my own reflection, I offer the nurse a small, sheepish grin. "Sorry, I know the whole secret identity thing is a bit much, but..."

The woman waves a hand dismissively, the gesture somehow conveying both a sense of understanding and a hint of exasperation. "Don't worry, dear, we get that a lot around here," she assures, the warm cadence of her voice putting me instantly at ease. "Now come on, the doctor's waiting to take a look at you."

Falling into step behind her, I allow my gaze to wander, drinking in the sights and sounds of the bustling hospital with a detached, almost clinical eye. The aches and pains fell by the wayside during the meeting, focused as I was on alternating between staring at Gale, not staring at Gale, staring at Gale, and paying attention, but now... Well, now I could remember that I got stabbed in like sixteen different places, and it wasn't all healed yet.

"So, how're you feeling today, Miss Bloodhound?" the nurse inquires as we round a corner, her tone light and conversational. "I have to admit, the team here was pretty impressed with how quickly you bounced back from the incident at LOVE Park. Normal person would've taken at least a couple of weeks to get in the shape you're in."

I can't help but let out a self-deprecating chuckle at that, shaking my head in a silent show of bemusement. "Honestly? I'm feeling a lot better, all things considered," I admit, offering her a wry smile. "It was definitely at its worst during the getting stabbed part."

The woman nods in understanding, and a slight quantity of mischief. "Yes, so I've heard," she says, the words carrying a faint, playful cadence. "Though I must say, the amount of, ah... unconventional injuries we tend to see in here is always quite remarkable. Even for a place like this. Superpowered kiddos like you sure know how to get in trouble, don't they?"

I quirk a brow at that, lips curving in a crooked grin. "You're telling me," I drawl, allowing a faint thread of amusement to color my tone. "I mean, you'd think people would learn to stop picking fights with giant rock monsters, but..." I shrug, wincing as the motion tugs at the still-healing fractures in my arms. "Apparently I'm a slow learner."

The nurse chuckles at that, the sound warm and genuine. "Well, I suppose that's one way to look at it," she concedes, leading me through a set of double doors and into an examination room. "In any case, the doctor will be with you shortly. Just make yourself comfortable, alright?"

I nod in acknowledgment, offering her a grateful smile as I gingerly settle myself onto the examination table, taking care not to jostle my still-healing injuries. The cool paper crinkles beneath me, a faint echo of the muted chaos that had permeated the Young Defenders' meeting just yesterday.

Letting out a soft sigh, I allow my gaze to drift towards the ceiling, the bright fluorescent lights casting everything in a stark, clinical glare. For a moment, the world seems to narrow, the cacophony of distant voices and the steady beeping of medical equipment fading into a dull, indistinct hum at the edge of my awareness.

My thoughts drift, unbidden, to the revelations that had come to light - Gale's decision to step back from the team, Puppeteer's struggles with her own psychological demons, the looming specter of the Chernobyl trial and the mounting pressure it has placed upon my shoulders. That, plus the literal damage to my shoulders. The weight of it all seems to settle over me like a physical burden, a vice-like grip constricting my chest and making it difficult to draw a full breath. That might be the broken ribs, though.

A soft sigh escapes me as I lean back, doing my best to get comfortable despite the lingering aches and pains radiating through my battered body. It's strange, really, how quickly I've grown accustomed to the constant background hum of discomfort, the way my muscles scream in protest with every movement and my bones creak and groan beneath the strain. I guess you could say I'm a bit of a masochist, in that sense.

Or maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment.

Either way, the doctors here at CHOP have certainly seen their fair share of my unique brand of self-destructive heroics over the past few months. I can practically envision the exasperated looks on their faces as they stitch me up and set my broken bones (the best they can, anyway), undoubtedly shaking their heads and muttering under their breath about the recklessness of their teenage superhero patients.

Sure enough, it's only a matter of minutes before a familiar face emerges from one of the side corridors, the petite form of Dr. Aisha Abara striding towards me with a faint look of bemusement etched across her features.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite frequent flyer," she quips, dark eyes shimmering with a hint of playful exasperation as she comes to a stop before my chair. "I have to say, Ms. Bloodhound, I'm impressed - you managed to make it through an entire team meeting without ending up back here on a stretcher. Color me shocked."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I can't help but offer the woman a sheepish grin, the expression tugging at the faint bruising still lingering around my left eye. "What can I say, doc? Guess I'm getting better at this whole 'not getting my ass handed to me' thing."

Dr. Abara arches one brow, the gesture somehow conveying a wealth of amused skepticism. "Mmhm, I'm sure," she drawls, gesturing for me to rise from my seat. "Come on then, let's get you back and take a look at those wounds. I swear, you teenage heroes are going to be the death of me one of these days."

Nodding, I push myself up from the chair with a muted wince, falling into step beside the diminutive woman as she leads me back through the twisting maze of corridors. The familiar scents of disinfectant and sterile medical equipment wash over me, a strange sense of comfort settling over my shoulders like a well-worn cloak.

"So, how've you been holding up, kiddo?" Dr. Abara asks, glancing up at me with a faint smile. "I have to say, that was one hell of a pummeling you took the other day. I'm honestly a little impressed you were even conscious by the time the paramedics got to you, let alone up and about and doing things the day after."

I shrug, doing my best to seem nonchalant even as the lingering aches and pains flare to life with the movement. "Eh, you know how it is. Just part of the job, I guess." Pausing, I offer her a crooked grin. "Although, I did manage to leave my opponent looking a little worse for wear, if that's any consolation."

The doctor chuckles, shaking her head in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Well, I suppose that's something , at least," she allows, guiding me through a set of double doors and into an examination room. "Although I'd prefer it if you could manage to avoid the whole 'getting the tar beaten out of you' bit, if it's all the same to you."

"I'll do my best," I quip, hopping up onto the examination table with a soft hiss of discomfort. "No promises, though. You know how it is - the life of a superhero is never dull."

Dr. Abara regards me with a wry, knowing smile, shaking her head as she begins to rifle through the various medical implements arrayed on a nearby tray. "Yes, I'm quite aware. Which is precisely why I make it a point to keep a well-stocked supply of bandages, sutures, and painkillers on hand at all times." Pausing, she levels me with a stern look. "Speaking of which, how have your various new orifices been healing? Adequately?"

I do my best to offer a reassuring grin, although the expression feels strained and brittle on my lips. "Honestly? Not too bad, all things considered." Lifting one arm, I motion towards the faint bruising still visible along my forearm. "A few cracked bones here and there, some nasty cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious. The doc who patched me up did a pretty good job, all things considered."

Dr. Abara hums thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she begins to gently prod at the bandages swathing my calf. "Mmhm, yes, I can see that. Although it looks like you still have some lingering issues with that shrapnel wound, at least." Shaking her head, she begins to carefully peel back the dressing, revealing the still-angry-looking gash beneath. "Honestly, Miss Bloodhound, I'm starting to think you enjoy seeing me on a weekly basis or something."

I can't help but chuckle at that, the sound emerging a bit more strained than I intend. "Aw, come on, doc, don't sell yourself short. You know I'd be lost without your tender loving care."

The woman snorts, rolling her eyes good-naturedly as she sets to work unwrapping the bandages. "Flattery will get you nowhere, young lady. Although I do appreciate the sentiment, I suppose." Pausing, she casts a sidelong glance my way, lips quirking into a faint, knowing smile. "Although, I must say, I am a little impressed that you managed to make it through your prior arrangements standing up. What was it you were up to, exactly, if I can ask?"

"Team meeting," I say, puffing out my chest a little in unearned pride, a faint grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "What can I say? Guess I'm just built a little tougher than the rest of 'em." Pausing, I glance down at the doctor's ministrations, watching as she carefully inspects the healing wound. "Although, to be honest, I'm still feeling the effects of it all. I swear, my body's creaking like an old house these days."

Dr. Abara chuckles, shaking her head ruefully. "Yes, well, that tends to happen when you get the snot beaten out of you on a semi-regular basis, Ms. Bloodhound." Straightening, she offers me a wry smile. "Although I suppose I should be grateful that your particular brand of 'self-destructive heroics' comes with a built-in healing factor, hmm?"

I can't help but laugh at that, the sound emerging a bit more strained than I intend. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Although sometimes I wonder if it's more of a blessing or a curse, you know?" Shrugging, I offer the doctor a lopsided grin. "I mean, I swear, I'm gonna end up looking like a patchwork quilt by the time I'm done with this whole superhero gig."

"Mmhm, I can certainly see that. Wouldn't be the first person out this office with that sort of stitchwork," Dr. Abara says, her eyes glinting with a hint of amused exasperation. "Although I'd much prefer you end up looking like a patchwork quilt than a corpse , to be perfectly honest." Pausing, she casts a sidelong glance my way, lips pursing into a thoughtful frown. "Speaking of which, how are you feeling, mentally and emotionally? I know the last few months have been intense, to say the least."

I blink, caught off-guard by the shift in topic. "Oh, uh... I mean, I'm doing alright, I guess?" Shrugging, I offer the doctor a wan smile. "I mean, it's been a lot to deal with, that's for sure. But my team's been great, you know? They've really been there for me through it all. And my parents. And my g... good friends. They've all been helpful, yeah."

Dr. Abara looks at me, eyes flicking towards me with a slight dash of concern. "I see. Well, I'm glad to hear that everyone has been supportive." Pausing, she reaches out to give my hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Just remember, Miss Bloodhound, that you don't have to shoulder all of this on your own, okay? If you ever need someone to talk to, you know I'm always here."

I nod, offering her a faint, grateful smile. "Thanks, doc. I'll keep that in mind." Glancing down at the freshly wrapped bandage on my calf, I can't help but let out a weary sigh. "Although, to be honest, I'm mostly just focused on getting back on my feet and doing what I can to help. There's just... so much going on, you know?"

Dr. Abara nods, her expression softening with understanding. "I can only imagine. But try not to push yourself too hard, alright? Your health and wellbeing need to be the priority here." Offering me a gentle smile, she begins to gather up the various medical supplies. "Now, let's see about getting you patched up and sent on your way. I'm sure you've got plenty of heroic deeds to attend to, hmm?"

I can't help but chuckle at that, the sound a bit more genuine this time. "You know it, doc. Although, to be honest, I'm starting to think my job description should just be 'professional punching bag' at this point."

The doctor lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head in amusement. "Well, if that's the case, then I suppose it's a good thing I've got a steady supply of bandages and painkillers on hand, isn't it?" Pausing, she casts a sidelong glance my way, lips quirking into a faint, knowing smile. "Although I do hope you'll try to be a bit more careful out there, hmm? I'd hate to have to start charging you rent for a permanent bed in the hospital."

I can't help but grin at that, the expression tugging at the faint bruising still visible along my jaw. "I'll do my best, doc. No promises, though." Pausing, I give her a playful wink. "After all, what would you do without your favorite frequent flyer, huh?"

Dr. Abara just shakes her head, the faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes belying the exasperated sigh that escapes her. "Heaven only knows, Ms. Bloodhound. Heaven only knows."