Flea

Chapter Fifty One

Lima bean, string bean

You know that I'm not keen for a bean

Unless it is a cheery coffee bean"

"I always thought that was a bit beanist. We don't need to have all or nothing odds when it comes to vegetation preferences," she wheezed, gasping for air. Maeve heard the sound of Shinso closing his book and setting it on the ground.

"Okay, you know what? Fine. If I give you what's left in my cup, will you leave me in peace for the rest of the night?"

"Sure," she replied, immediately twisting around and sitting up on the bed. Shinso had organised himself in an armchair as far away from Maeve as possible while still on the same side of the glass. To the best of their knowledge, Dabi materialised into the nearest empty piece of furniture to the girl. In that regard, the scarred villain had been impressively accurate with his hypothesis. By sleeping in a queen size the previous night, it opened up a furniture 'slot' for him to slide into that a child-size single didn't provide.

Following that same logic, either he'd come through on a single rickety seat separated from Maeve by the strongest military heatproof glass they could find under such short notice, or he'd replace Shinso in the armchair.

They'd arranged everything catering to all possible options. If Dabi materialised on the other side Maeve could pull the door between sides closed without even getting up. Assuming Shinso didn't come through and the villain took up his place, the girl was able to leap straight out of bed to the other side of the panel and slam the opening shut. Either way, the door locked automatically.

When Maeve first heard plans for the system, she'd just laughed her head off. The engineers were unintentionally creating a walk-in oven for the guy to roast her. Even when they assured Maeve Endeavor couldn't get through the five-inch thick sheet in safety tests, she just cackled harder. Nobody seemed able to comprehend that a thug who came out of nowhere could possibly have a quirk more destructive than the number one hero. Yet working away on it seemed to make them happy, and it gave the people close to her a sense of security, so the surgeon just shrugged her shoulders, letting them continue. The only downside was that it was essentially goading the villain to use his cremation and see what happened. Ah well.

Anyway.

"Haha, very funny. You should ditch child psychiatry to do stand up," Maeve snorted, eyeing the empty mug with an amusedly disappointed expression.

"You agreed. Now leave me alone."

"You and my dad would get on far too well."

He didn't say anything, returning to his armchair and picking up the same god awful book from his neat pile. Apparently, the man could get through four scientific texts and a novel per night given he lived off three hours of sleep. The way he confessed the 'and a novel' quietly at the end like it was some kind of guilty pleasure had Maeve's facial muscle aching from suppressed laughter. Critically acclaimed fiction for him was akin to crappy reality TV for mere mortals.

"I'm not going to leave this room until we've got the situation under control. No matter how unpleasant you are," he eventually sighed after a silence. Maeve glanced at him across the cell in mock surprise.

"What're you talking about?"

He tilted his head at her, scratching dark violet stubble that in the darkness could be mistaken for bruises.

"Playing dumb is a waste of both of our time, Maeve. You've been trying to drive me out ever since I decided to accompany you."

"I blocked off that part of my mind, how did-"