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[She isn't angry, although it might sound that way. Korra's just shocked. Hei's done a lot of creepy things, but he's never actually snuck into her room before. And after the way things ended between them last time, he is honestly the last person she expected to see.
She had waited for him to come to her and explain. Had waited, even though it killed her, even though everything in her nature screamed for her to confront him about it, because if there is one thing she's learned over this past year, it's that Hei needs to process things on his own time. (And, okay, she was also more than a little scared. That blow up had been so violent, so out of nowhere, so completely inexplicable, for days after it happened, she felt uncertain about the very earth beneath her feet.) After the first week, she began to wonder if he was ever going to talk to her, or if she really would have to hunt him down.
So she's relieved that he's here, even under these weird circumstances. Relieved, and annoyed. I missed you, like she was the one who freaked out and then vanished for two weeks. Her brow twitches.]
And whose fault is that?
[Mocha whines, and Korra forces herself to take a deep breath, releasing her anger. When she speaks again, her voice is all quiet concern.]
What happened?
She had waited for him to come to her and explain. Had waited, even though it killed her, even though everything in her nature screamed for her to confront him about it, because if there is one thing she's learned over this past year, it's that Hei needs to process things on his own time. (And, okay, she was also more than a little scared. That blow up had been so violent, so out of nowhere, so completely inexplicable, for days after it happened, she felt uncertain about the very earth beneath her feet.) After the first week, she began to wonder if he was ever going to talk to her, or if she really would have to hunt him down.
So she's relieved that he's here, even under these weird circumstances. Relieved, and annoyed. I missed you, like she was the one who freaked out and then vanished for two weeks. Her brow twitches.]
And whose fault is that?
[Mocha whines, and Korra forces herself to take a deep breath, releasing her anger. When she speaks again, her voice is all quiet concern.]
What happened?
[ Hei's first instinct is to say I don't want to talk about it. But Korra isn't interested in his vulnerabilities, he knows. Not that way. Most people, in his lifetime, have wanted to believe that they can give him something; most people want to save or destroy something as dangerously volatile as him. Korra, Hei thinks, is more interested in what he can do for himself. She doesn't want to suffocate him sweet, kiss him whole. That's impossible, anyway. But facts are such a noose. Once you state them, they're so difficult to get around. ]
I ...
[ Hei parts his lips soundlessly, and too late realizes that it makes him feel more exposed than ever. He shouldn't have embarked on this at all. It's obscene and impossible He should just let Korra go. Already his relationship with her feels improbable, inapplicable, absurd. What can he have with her, anyway? What can he offer her? Getting caught in the stinging shrapnel of his explosive temper? Separate living-spaces in a strange city, thoughts and lives that he can't discuss? Whatever they have, he should let it go, another moment alchemized to memory. He should just accept it. Move on, alone. It's all he's ever good for. It's all he can really trust. ]
[ At once, a voice whispers: Coward. ]
[ Hei shrugs then, an irritable, uncertain movement, his eyes slipping to and from Korra's face. ] I'm not sure. [ Hilarious, his lethal brain seizing and all his hard-won syntax turning to mush so he can't even express himself. He swallows, trying again. ]
Happy. [ It comes out of nowhere. He repeats it, to make sure he understands, then fixes his gaze on her. ] That day ... I felt happy. And it blindsided me. Because it's never worked out for me before. I just ... had to get away.
I ...
[ Hei parts his lips soundlessly, and too late realizes that it makes him feel more exposed than ever. He shouldn't have embarked on this at all. It's obscene and impossible He should just let Korra go. Already his relationship with her feels improbable, inapplicable, absurd. What can he have with her, anyway? What can he offer her? Getting caught in the stinging shrapnel of his explosive temper? Separate living-spaces in a strange city, thoughts and lives that he can't discuss? Whatever they have, he should let it go, another moment alchemized to memory. He should just accept it. Move on, alone. It's all he's ever good for. It's all he can really trust. ]
[ At once, a voice whispers: Coward. ]
[ Hei shrugs then, an irritable, uncertain movement, his eyes slipping to and from Korra's face. ] I'm not sure. [ Hilarious, his lethal brain seizing and all his hard-won syntax turning to mush so he can't even express himself. He swallows, trying again. ]
Happy. [ It comes out of nowhere. He repeats it, to make sure he understands, then fixes his gaze on her. ] That day ... I felt happy. And it blindsided me. Because it's never worked out for me before. I just ... had to get away.
Do you always knock over furniture when you're happy? [The snark is probably ill-advised, but she can't help it.
Talk about being blindslided! He was happy?
Korra doesn't know what about that surprises her. That this was the first time he had ever been happy? Or that he had been happy at all? What about that night had been so different from all the other times they've had sex?]
Talk about being blindslided! He was happy?
Korra doesn't know what about that surprises her. That this was the first time he had ever been happy? Or that he had been happy at all? What about that night had been so different from all the other times they've had sex?]
[ Extremely ill-advised. ]
[ Hei's learnt to live with racing currents of hatred and need and want snarling beneath his skin and never touching his surface. Learnt to deaden himself to the world, but never to turn his back or his face on it. This situation ... is completely beyond his frame of reference. Because he and Amber never discussed their situation. Never spoke about the repercussions of attraction and attachment. They were in a war, two creatures of expediency. They learnt to snatch whatever distractions they could. Let what was too ponderous, too intense, float between them in an unacknowledged limbo. Not one blessed word about their profounder thoughts passed between them, if indeed they had any. Just practicalities. Orders. Banter. ]
[ At the time that felt perfect. But Hei regretted it now. All along he'd thought he understood Amber, which was why her plans against the Syndicate had swept the floor from under him. What he has with Korra isn't a repetition of that. But it runs every risk of becoming one -- if he can't express himself. ]
[ He opens his mouth to try. But a cold flare of anger spikes, and what comes out is, ]
Shut. Up.
[ Something about the phrase -- maybe something about how Hei uses it when he's run out of patience and is speechless and stupid with anger ... it should tell Korra plenty about his state of mind. He narrows his eyes at her. Not threateningly, but so she knows he's serious. Pushes himself into the silence, and continues, his voice hard, calm enough to beat back any internal warnings to withdraw. ] I'm not in the mood for jokes. Happiness isn't something I can have, back home. It makes you stupid. It gets you killed. You learn to subsist on nothing. To try to feel nothing, and you should believe it because I'm telling you. Because I've lived it. Every day since I was a child.
[ He swallows. It hurts to speak. ] Feeling happy again ... or at least remembering what happy was ... It shut my brain down. It made me feel helpless, and that ... terrified me.
[ He sounds almost pleading, like maybe she'll know what that means. ]
[ Hei's learnt to live with racing currents of hatred and need and want snarling beneath his skin and never touching his surface. Learnt to deaden himself to the world, but never to turn his back or his face on it. This situation ... is completely beyond his frame of reference. Because he and Amber never discussed their situation. Never spoke about the repercussions of attraction and attachment. They were in a war, two creatures of expediency. They learnt to snatch whatever distractions they could. Let what was too ponderous, too intense, float between them in an unacknowledged limbo. Not one blessed word about their profounder thoughts passed between them, if indeed they had any. Just practicalities. Orders. Banter. ]
[ At the time that felt perfect. But Hei regretted it now. All along he'd thought he understood Amber, which was why her plans against the Syndicate had swept the floor from under him. What he has with Korra isn't a repetition of that. But it runs every risk of becoming one -- if he can't express himself. ]
[ He opens his mouth to try. But a cold flare of anger spikes, and what comes out is, ]
Shut. Up.
[ Something about the phrase -- maybe something about how Hei uses it when he's run out of patience and is speechless and stupid with anger ... it should tell Korra plenty about his state of mind. He narrows his eyes at her. Not threateningly, but so she knows he's serious. Pushes himself into the silence, and continues, his voice hard, calm enough to beat back any internal warnings to withdraw. ] I'm not in the mood for jokes. Happiness isn't something I can have, back home. It makes you stupid. It gets you killed. You learn to subsist on nothing. To try to feel nothing, and you should believe it because I'm telling you. Because I've lived it. Every day since I was a child.
[ He swallows. It hurts to speak. ] Feeling happy again ... or at least remembering what happy was ... It shut my brain down. It made me feel helpless, and that ... terrified me.
[ He sounds almost pleading, like maybe she'll know what that means. ]
[She doesn't flinch, but she does bite her lip, a visual promise of silence. And she listens.]
I believe you. [How could she not? He's lied to her about almost everything, but he's never lied about his feelings. Hidden them, ignored them, but never lied about them.
She listens, she believes, but she doesn't understand. She's never been in that position -- never had to be afraid that she would lose something she so desperately wants.
What about those times you got back your bending? She doesn't know where the thought comes from, but it forces her to reconsider. She remembers how she felt after those weekends when she's gotten her bending back, the inevitable anger and grief that comes with once again losing that which defines her. She destroyed more than a few pieces of furniture herself each time.
Maybe she actually does understand.]
So what now? [At this point, she knows better than to say I'm sorry. It's not her fault, and it would help nothing anyway. Her sympathy doesn't matter. What matters is how they're going to move on from this.]
I believe you. [How could she not? He's lied to her about almost everything, but he's never lied about his feelings. Hidden them, ignored them, but never lied about them.
She listens, she believes, but she doesn't understand. She's never been in that position -- never had to be afraid that she would lose something she so desperately wants.
What about those times you got back your bending? She doesn't know where the thought comes from, but it forces her to reconsider. She remembers how she felt after those weekends when she's gotten her bending back, the inevitable anger and grief that comes with once again losing that which defines her. She destroyed more than a few pieces of furniture herself each time.
Maybe she actually does understand.]
So what now? [At this point, she knows better than to say I'm sorry. It's not her fault, and it would help nothing anyway. Her sympathy doesn't matter. What matters is how they're going to move on from this.]
[ She asks What now? And Hei's mouth goes dry, his stomach dropping and clenching. Cold prickles on his skin. ]
[ He prepares to say something, then visibly scraps it, shaking his head. What, after all, can he say? Say I let these feelings develop. Say I let myself get involved -- actually involved -- with you. Just floating the idea so specifically fills him so full of want and fear, he's buzzing with an instinct to attack. Where has this come from? Two years ago he was cool and dry and desireless as ... as a husk. An ass-kicking husk. It worked so well for him. He'd made a career, a reputation, out of it. ]
[ Everything in Hei's life has been about trying to prove something, even if he'll never acknowledge that. This isn't an exception to the rule, but this time it comes with fine print. It's not about proving something to himself, that he can be smarter and deadlier and sharper than everybody else in the battlefield. Hei might not know what love is, exactly, but he knows what the hell it feels like to feel something genuine rather than pretend you don't. ]
[ It's something he hasn't felt in a while. Because, he hasn't felt. Period. ]
[ He seems to clench and unclench his jaw for a moment, as if gnawing on the words inside his mouth. Blinks silently, and exhales something that doesn't even pretend to be a huff of laughter. Quietly, barely a murmur: ]
Nothing. That's all there is. [ All Korra has to do and read between the lines, and she'll have the power to -- not destroy him -- but kill some revived part of him. All over again. ] You can send me away. Or you can sleep on it. Or you can tell me you don't want to see me again. But you should know ... I feel -- satisfied -- closer to happy -- with --
[ But he stops himself. Drops his gaze, and tilts his head slightly, nodding to Korra as if to substitute that for being unable to say (what had he been going to say? ) you (you?). ]
[ He prepares to say something, then visibly scraps it, shaking his head. What, after all, can he say? Say I let these feelings develop. Say I let myself get involved -- actually involved -- with you. Just floating the idea so specifically fills him so full of want and fear, he's buzzing with an instinct to attack. Where has this come from? Two years ago he was cool and dry and desireless as ... as a husk. An ass-kicking husk. It worked so well for him. He'd made a career, a reputation, out of it. ]
[ Everything in Hei's life has been about trying to prove something, even if he'll never acknowledge that. This isn't an exception to the rule, but this time it comes with fine print. It's not about proving something to himself, that he can be smarter and deadlier and sharper than everybody else in the battlefield. Hei might not know what love is, exactly, but he knows what the hell it feels like to feel something genuine rather than pretend you don't. ]
[ It's something he hasn't felt in a while. Because, he hasn't felt. Period. ]
[ He seems to clench and unclench his jaw for a moment, as if gnawing on the words inside his mouth. Blinks silently, and exhales something that doesn't even pretend to be a huff of laughter. Quietly, barely a murmur: ]
Nothing. That's all there is. [ All Korra has to do and read between the lines, and she'll have the power to -- not destroy him -- but kill some revived part of him. All over again. ] You can send me away. Or you can sleep on it. Or you can tell me you don't want to see me again. But you should know ... I feel -- satisfied -- closer to happy -- with --
[ But he stops himself. Drops his gaze, and tilts his head slightly, nodding to Korra as if to substitute that for being unable to say (what had he been going to say? ) you (you?). ]
Come here.
[She doesn't quite cut him off, but it's clear she isn't waiting for him to finish. She already knows he won't be able to. She can't believe he's said this much. She reaches out to tug him down with her, so that she's lying face to face with his arm wrapped around her waist.]
[She doesn't quite cut him off, but it's clear she isn't waiting for him to finish. She already knows he won't be able to. She can't believe he's said this much. She reaches out to tug him down with her, so that she's lying face to face with his arm wrapped around her waist.]
[ Come here? Hei's gaze flickers, as if confused. When she draws him in, he almost tenses at it. It's fucked up, how for a moment he's genuinely fucking terrified, and then Korra's hands slide around him, and she draws him into that lovely warm declivity her body's made in the mattress. He thinks about shoving her off, but doesn't. Just her proximity makes it harder for him to resist. He has no control. The arm around Korra's waist speaks of it, no matter how affectionate, how protective it might be. ]
[ But now that he's lying down, he feels heavy, his brain slow, but excited too, by being here, by acting as if this is just the normal thing they do. He lets the seconds tick by. Drops his head to Korra's, then, and sighs a long sigh, breathing in the smell of her hair, because something about that particular warm crisp scent speaks of a short but bright existence made out of beginnings and beginnings and beginnings until the final end, which is far away. ]
[ Ir feels -- not like freedom and not quite like flying. (He knows better than to think a single person will ever be able to fill that gap, except Pai.) But fuck if it isn't close, if every part of him wants to pull Korra tighter in and have a repeat performance of that ruined evening, again and again, with the fiercest kind of longing. ]
[ Instead, angling his head, he kisses her the way he's never done yet, soft and lingering. Not the way he used to kiss Amber. Just the way he kisses Korra. He tries to put into it all the warmth he'd once longed for for himself. That he can no longer find anywhere, since the sky fell around him and Pai. ]
[ But now that he's lying down, he feels heavy, his brain slow, but excited too, by being here, by acting as if this is just the normal thing they do. He lets the seconds tick by. Drops his head to Korra's, then, and sighs a long sigh, breathing in the smell of her hair, because something about that particular warm crisp scent speaks of a short but bright existence made out of beginnings and beginnings and beginnings until the final end, which is far away. ]
[ Ir feels -- not like freedom and not quite like flying. (He knows better than to think a single person will ever be able to fill that gap, except Pai.) But fuck if it isn't close, if every part of him wants to pull Korra tighter in and have a repeat performance of that ruined evening, again and again, with the fiercest kind of longing. ]
[ Instead, angling his head, he kisses her the way he's never done yet, soft and lingering. Not the way he used to kiss Amber. Just the way he kisses Korra. He tries to put into it all the warmth he'd once longed for for himself. That he can no longer find anywhere, since the sky fell around him and Pai. ]
[She kisses him back -- warm and soothing and contented. She tangles her legs in his and her fingers in his hair. It's tempting, so tempting, to push this forward.
Then Mocha, who had leapt off of the bed as soon as she started lying down, whines piteously, and Korra breaks the kiss with a little laugh.]
Mocha, be quiet.
[With another little whine, the dog jumps up onto the foot of the bed and curls up stubbornly. She contemplates kicking him off, but a glance out the window reminds her that she really should get some sleep. She has an early shift at the Welcome Center.
So instead, she presses another kiss to his lips.]
Stay?
Then Mocha, who had leapt off of the bed as soon as she started lying down, whines piteously, and Korra breaks the kiss with a little laugh.]
Mocha, be quiet.
[With another little whine, the dog jumps up onto the foot of the bed and curls up stubbornly. She contemplates kicking him off, but a glance out the window reminds her that she really should get some sleep. She has an early shift at the Welcome Center.
So instead, she presses another kiss to his lips.]
Stay?
[ Hei does his best to ignore the stupid dog. Lets Korra curl against him instead, his body a warm bolster to fit herself against. He exhales, his breath tickling through her hair. Dips his head, melting into her kiss, and whispers against her parted lips, ]
All right.
[ The raspy words vibrate with a quiet trepidation, which he tries to force down. He lays a hand on her body, under her breasts; not a silent demand for anything more. Just for the contact. Listening to the steady cadence of her heartbeat, a strange thrill pulses through him, a peculiar closeness seeming to crackle darkly in the air between them, palpable even though he can't see Korra's face. He knows he ought to be wrapped around Pai, right now, sleeping the sleep of a well-fed, well-fought soldier. But for the past week, sleep has advanced and receded many times and finally pulled him down into a tense, trapped alertness. His dreams are grisly, phantasmagoric -- his mind containing fantastic netherworlds of bloodshed and sadism. They seep out in disturbing ways. Some night he awakens to find his hands curled loosely around Pai's neck, like she's an enemy. Other times, his eyes flutter open to find himself wrapped too-tightly around her, as if trying to protect her from a mortar blast. ]
[ He knows, with the secrecy of a premonition, that his nightmares are worsening. He's not sure why. But he doesn't tell Pai about it. Better to give her one less Hei-issue to puzzle out. ]
[ He won't sleep here, either. He knows that. Too risky. But it's enough to have Korra closeby. To scooch nearer, entwining their legs, and to parse out the tiny chemical changes fizzing around her, as she drops away in his arms. ]
All right.
[ The raspy words vibrate with a quiet trepidation, which he tries to force down. He lays a hand on her body, under her breasts; not a silent demand for anything more. Just for the contact. Listening to the steady cadence of her heartbeat, a strange thrill pulses through him, a peculiar closeness seeming to crackle darkly in the air between them, palpable even though he can't see Korra's face. He knows he ought to be wrapped around Pai, right now, sleeping the sleep of a well-fed, well-fought soldier. But for the past week, sleep has advanced and receded many times and finally pulled him down into a tense, trapped alertness. His dreams are grisly, phantasmagoric -- his mind containing fantastic netherworlds of bloodshed and sadism. They seep out in disturbing ways. Some night he awakens to find his hands curled loosely around Pai's neck, like she's an enemy. Other times, his eyes flutter open to find himself wrapped too-tightly around her, as if trying to protect her from a mortar blast. ]
[ He knows, with the secrecy of a premonition, that his nightmares are worsening. He's not sure why. But he doesn't tell Pai about it. Better to give her one less Hei-issue to puzzle out. ]
[ He won't sleep here, either. He knows that. Too risky. But it's enough to have Korra closeby. To scooch nearer, entwining their legs, and to parse out the tiny chemical changes fizzing around her, as she drops away in his arms. ]
Edited 2013-10-02 03:34 (UTC)
[ Several weeks later, Hei is forced to admit it. It's my fault Korra's stupid dog is dead. ]
[ He's tried to give her space, monitoring her intermittently from his safehouse. Tried to let the nights and days blend together, a phantasmagoric rill of insomnia and manic activity. He focuses on recuperating from his post-curse injuries. Spends time with Pai -- taking care of her, whisking her off on outings, cooking her favorite meals -- because she's one of the few people he can be easy with anymore. Someone who doesn't sling sugary dollops of comfort at him. Who lets him be, who grounds him with the anchor of her quiet, miraculous presence. He stays up late and gets up early and takes a lot of walks -- sometimes hand in hand with Pai, sometimes alone. He works double shifts at the cafes. He throws himself into grueling jiu-jitsu workouts. At first, he assumes he's having control issues not so different from what drives people with eating disorders. Then he thinks it's some kind of mortality-denial thing, because if you can do six hours of nonstop matwork in an airless room, it must mean you're invincible. But as the workouts grow more intense, resulting in a series of minor injuries, Hei realizes what's really going on. ]
[ He's trying to punish himself. ]
[ At nights, in the Underground, fighting enemies is one of the few times he gives Korra conscious thought. Sometimes one of the creatures might remind him of her -- a dancelike kick, a whoosh of momentum, a flash of angry eyes -- and he'll think, Oh. He tries to give no name to his both mistakes and desires. Let them be countless and faceless. Let them die an anonymous death. But one day, he does name them, and isn't surprised to find Korra's initials somewhere in both whirlpools. ]
[ It's late at night when he visits the Beach House. The starless sky, like a blank expression, matches the one on his face. But inside him, there's a fizzle as if from sparked fuses. Dread. Nervousness. Self-doubt. Since they've met, he's gnawed so many holes into Korra's life, corrosive as acid. She's forgiven him for so many wounds. But this one... ]
[ Hei isn't sure it's something you can forgive. ]
[ He's tried to give her space, monitoring her intermittently from his safehouse. Tried to let the nights and days blend together, a phantasmagoric rill of insomnia and manic activity. He focuses on recuperating from his post-curse injuries. Spends time with Pai -- taking care of her, whisking her off on outings, cooking her favorite meals -- because she's one of the few people he can be easy with anymore. Someone who doesn't sling sugary dollops of comfort at him. Who lets him be, who grounds him with the anchor of her quiet, miraculous presence. He stays up late and gets up early and takes a lot of walks -- sometimes hand in hand with Pai, sometimes alone. He works double shifts at the cafes. He throws himself into grueling jiu-jitsu workouts. At first, he assumes he's having control issues not so different from what drives people with eating disorders. Then he thinks it's some kind of mortality-denial thing, because if you can do six hours of nonstop matwork in an airless room, it must mean you're invincible. But as the workouts grow more intense, resulting in a series of minor injuries, Hei realizes what's really going on. ]
[ He's trying to punish himself. ]
[ At nights, in the Underground, fighting enemies is one of the few times he gives Korra conscious thought. Sometimes one of the creatures might remind him of her -- a dancelike kick, a whoosh of momentum, a flash of angry eyes -- and he'll think, Oh. He tries to give no name to his both mistakes and desires. Let them be countless and faceless. Let them die an anonymous death. But one day, he does name them, and isn't surprised to find Korra's initials somewhere in both whirlpools. ]
[ It's late at night when he visits the Beach House. The starless sky, like a blank expression, matches the one on his face. But inside him, there's a fizzle as if from sparked fuses. Dread. Nervousness. Self-doubt. Since they've met, he's gnawed so many holes into Korra's life, corrosive as acid. She's forgiven him for so many wounds. But this one... ]
[ Hei isn't sure it's something you can forgive. ]
[Korra doesn't go out anymore. Since Naga returned to the Beach House, City!dead, Korra has resolved never to leave the polar bear dog's side, or to make her do anything she doesn't want to.
She's probably been fired from the Welcome Center at this point, but she doesn't care. Hasn't seen Chekov in longer than she can think of, doesn't care. Doesn't even go shopping anymore -- she hunts & fishes for their dinner, and now that she's dead, Naga doesn't need to eat anymore. It's amazing what a relief that is on the budget (and Korra hates herself for thinking that). She spends just enough time inside to feet the cats, and the rest of her time is outside with Naga. Naga no longer has any body warmth to share, but Korra still sleeps with her at night, so she has a thick quilt that she wraps around her.
Instead of the stupid nothings that used to occupy her time, Korra trains. She wakes up before dawn and doesn't sleep again until well after sunset. She runs through all her forms, pushing herself until she can hardly move and then some. And she spends endless hours meditating. She doesn't have any problems sitting still anymore, no matter how frustrated she gets.
She needs to access that state again. She needs that power. Naga died protecting her because she was weak. Korra refuses to let that happen again.
She's meditating on the beach, letting the sound of the waves wash away any extraneous thoughts. Naga is dozing a few feet away. She raises her head as Hei approaches.
She catches his scent on the wind and growls softly, and Korra immediately stops what she's doing.]
What is it?
[Then she sees.]
Hei.
She's probably been fired from the Welcome Center at this point, but she doesn't care. Hasn't seen Chekov in longer than she can think of, doesn't care. Doesn't even go shopping anymore -- she hunts & fishes for their dinner, and now that she's dead, Naga doesn't need to eat anymore. It's amazing what a relief that is on the budget (and Korra hates herself for thinking that). She spends just enough time inside to feet the cats, and the rest of her time is outside with Naga. Naga no longer has any body warmth to share, but Korra still sleeps with her at night, so she has a thick quilt that she wraps around her.
Instead of the stupid nothings that used to occupy her time, Korra trains. She wakes up before dawn and doesn't sleep again until well after sunset. She runs through all her forms, pushing herself until she can hardly move and then some. And she spends endless hours meditating. She doesn't have any problems sitting still anymore, no matter how frustrated she gets.
She needs to access that state again. She needs that power. Naga died protecting her because she was weak. Korra refuses to let that happen again.
She's meditating on the beach, letting the sound of the waves wash away any extraneous thoughts. Naga is dozing a few feet away. She raises her head as Hei approaches.
She catches his scent on the wind and growls softly, and Korra immediately stops what she's doing.]
What is it?
[Then she sees.]
Hei.
[ Naga's growl is a splatter of psychic backwash. Hei remembers, with arresting vividness, the night he killed her. Bridled with the longing to seize, take, break. And at the same time it seems disgusting to him, how he'd sunk his teeth into the animal's resistant skin, tasting the funk, sweat, the thick hairs, stringy muscle, tearing through it and -- ]
[ He shakes it off. Around him, the sky is so dark, clouds trembling at the edges of the horizon. He doesn't come closer. Even if Korra doesn't know who attacked her that night, Naga does. The knowledge leaves him feeling suddenly untethered, as unbalanced as anyone playing tug-of-war would be to find their opponent suddenly letting go of the rope. This is so idiotic. What's the point? What can he say to Korra? To him, Naga's just a damned animal. But Korra, like all isolated children, hinges so much more on her pet's presence. A lynchpin of familiarity. A constant companion. It's not too different, Hei knows, from how he regards Yin. A personification of bittersweet times. Now he's horribly murdered that animal, and he isn't going to be able to offer Korra any comfort. Saying sorry isn't his way. Tears and pleading aren't remorse. He's faked them enough times to know. ]
[ His whole reason for being here is just utterly selfish, anyway. ]
[ But instead of turning -- instead of running -- he slips his hands into his coat pockets. Hesitates, before marshaling his features into calm, expressionless order. ]
We need to talk.
[ Words that -- for him and Korra -- presage disaster. ]
[ He shakes it off. Around him, the sky is so dark, clouds trembling at the edges of the horizon. He doesn't come closer. Even if Korra doesn't know who attacked her that night, Naga does. The knowledge leaves him feeling suddenly untethered, as unbalanced as anyone playing tug-of-war would be to find their opponent suddenly letting go of the rope. This is so idiotic. What's the point? What can he say to Korra? To him, Naga's just a damned animal. But Korra, like all isolated children, hinges so much more on her pet's presence. A lynchpin of familiarity. A constant companion. It's not too different, Hei knows, from how he regards Yin. A personification of bittersweet times. Now he's horribly murdered that animal, and he isn't going to be able to offer Korra any comfort. Saying sorry isn't his way. Tears and pleading aren't remorse. He's faked them enough times to know. ]
[ His whole reason for being here is just utterly selfish, anyway. ]
[ But instead of turning -- instead of running -- he slips his hands into his coat pockets. Hesitates, before marshaling his features into calm, expressionless order. ]
We need to talk.
[ Words that -- for him and Korra -- presage disaster. ]
[Naga's snarls ratchet up the closer Hei gets. The polar bear dog had adjusted quite well to being dead, really -- the heat no longer bothers her, although occasionally she will go tearing around like a lunatic, trying desperately to run hard enough to get her heart racing because she still doesn't understand where her heartbeat went. That doesn't mean she's forgotten the pain of dying, or who inflicted it on her.
Korra tangles her fingers in Naga's fur, trying to soothe her.] Shhhhhh, girl.
[We need to talk. The words would make her heart sink in her chest, except there's nowhere lower for it to go. She's numb. It's not the same numbness that afflicted her after killing Chekov; that had been brittle and easily broken, a thin sheathe of ice around a bleeding heart. This ice goes deeper, a thick coating re-inforced by resolve. Nothing else matters.]
About what?
Korra tangles her fingers in Naga's fur, trying to soothe her.] Shhhhhh, girl.
[We need to talk. The words would make her heart sink in her chest, except there's nowhere lower for it to go. She's numb. It's not the same numbness that afflicted her after killing Chekov; that had been brittle and easily broken, a thin sheathe of ice around a bleeding heart. This ice goes deeper, a thick coating re-inforced by resolve. Nothing else matters.]
About what?
[ Korra reminds him of an effigy, stiff and cold, holding herself together with a layer of scotch-tape and frostbite. Ironic, when Naga's the one who's dead. But inevitable too. He's been where she has, years ago. Floating, numb in the soft, cool cocoon of distance. Unloved and unloving. No great pains and no great joys. The tepid haze of time just slipping by, while he watched the world's stories unfold in the safety of distance. Every day, in the early months after Heaven's War, was like that. He'd whet his blades and make his kills at night, perform his katas and drink his tea at dawn, perch by the window in the evening and watch the rain make things grow and rot, and grow again. He'd sleepwalked away half a decade -- before he was reassigned to Tokyo. Before being around Yin, Mao and Huang had sparked a frisson of genuine interest in him. ]
[ But he's not here to compare notes with Korra. Been there, done that, got the I have post-traumatic emotional detachment, ask me how! T-shirt. Instead he meets her gaze calmly, feeling the cold inevitability of truth drip -- drip -- drip slowly down into the pit of his stomach. ]
About who killed Naga. [ The words echo flatly in his ears like a robotic drone. But he's already continuing, syllable by empty syllable. ] That monster who attacked you ... that was me. I was cursed.
[ The last remark is neither an excuse or a plea. It's a simple statement of fact. ]
[ But he's not here to compare notes with Korra. Been there, done that, got the I have post-traumatic emotional detachment, ask me how! T-shirt. Instead he meets her gaze calmly, feeling the cold inevitability of truth drip -- drip -- drip slowly down into the pit of his stomach. ]
About who killed Naga. [ The words echo flatly in his ears like a robotic drone. But he's already continuing, syllable by empty syllable. ] That monster who attacked you ... that was me. I was cursed.
[ The last remark is neither an excuse or a plea. It's a simple statement of fact. ]
[He's probably expecting her to be angry. She expects to be angry. She expects to feel furious, outraged, betrayed.
She doesn't. She doesn't even feel surprised. Of course it was him. Of course it was a curse. She can't blame him for it -- she remembers what it was like to kill Chekov. She had been powerless to stop herself. The curse was stronger than her, and stronger than Hei.]
It's not your fault.
[She strokes Naga's neck soothingly, the words directed as much to her as to Hei. He couldn't have stopped himself, any more than she could have stopped herself from stabbing Chekov. The person to blame is her. If she had been stronger, this wouldn't have happened.]
She doesn't. She doesn't even feel surprised. Of course it was him. Of course it was a curse. She can't blame him for it -- she remembers what it was like to kill Chekov. She had been powerless to stop herself. The curse was stronger than her, and stronger than Hei.]
It's not your fault.
[She strokes Naga's neck soothingly, the words directed as much to her as to Hei. He couldn't have stopped himself, any more than she could have stopped herself from stabbing Chekov. The person to blame is her. If she had been stronger, this wouldn't have happened.]
[ It's not your fault. ]
[ The remark bounces off Hei like a ball of wool, landing with a noiseless mushy plop at his feet. He isn't sure what he was expecting. A strangling, muscle-bunching rage, maybe. Curses, blows, tears. Anything that demonstrated that this was still Korra. That there was still a person in that dull-eyed body. He thinks of a line he once heard -- a song lyric or a poem, he isn't sure. After such knowledge, what forgiveness? But this isn't blame or forgiveness. It's resignation. He wishes she'd be angry; there is something too reasonable in her despair, as if she doesn't feel entitled to her own feelings. It reminds him, dimly, of his own rationalization for killing targets after tailing them. Admittedly rather simplistic ones, but they were especially true of fellow professionals. If he really wanted to live, I wouldn't have been able to get at him. He wouldn't have permitted himself that weakness/wrong move/slip up that did him in. ]
[ For a moment his concentration feels like it's ebbing, his thoughts stumbling out of order. Then he absorbs the implications of Korra's words. Understands, blink by blink, where her real anger is directed. ]
If you believe that. [ Not a dismissal, but not an acknowledgement either. Quieter, he says, ] But it's not your fault either.
[ The remark bounces off Hei like a ball of wool, landing with a noiseless mushy plop at his feet. He isn't sure what he was expecting. A strangling, muscle-bunching rage, maybe. Curses, blows, tears. Anything that demonstrated that this was still Korra. That there was still a person in that dull-eyed body. He thinks of a line he once heard -- a song lyric or a poem, he isn't sure. After such knowledge, what forgiveness? But this isn't blame or forgiveness. It's resignation. He wishes she'd be angry; there is something too reasonable in her despair, as if she doesn't feel entitled to her own feelings. It reminds him, dimly, of his own rationalization for killing targets after tailing them. Admittedly rather simplistic ones, but they were especially true of fellow professionals. If he really wanted to live, I wouldn't have been able to get at him. He wouldn't have permitted himself that weakness/wrong move/slip up that did him in. ]
[ For a moment his concentration feels like it's ebbing, his thoughts stumbling out of order. Then he absorbs the implications of Korra's words. Understands, blink by blink, where her real anger is directed. ]
If you believe that. [ Not a dismissal, but not an acknowledgement either. Quieter, he says, ] But it's not your fault either.
Yes it is. [There's the anger he's looking for. She doesn't look at him -- can't look at him. She clutches the fur of Naga's neck as though to hold herself in place, because if he keeps pushing the issue, she doesn't know what she'll do.]
I sat there, and I let her die.
I sat there, and I let her die.
[ Much better. ]
[ He prefers her angry. When she's angry, her emotions bristle to the surface. There's nothing to hide; nothing for him to calculate or gauge. He can map each star-pattern in the astrology of Korra's thoughts. And ... it allows his to sweep his own bullshit aside. The realization sparks like a matchstick glow in the dimness of his mind. He likes having someone he doesn't have to play a role for. She's seen so many of his shortcomings and frustrations, and taken so much of what he's dished out -- kisses and bites, caresses and blows. He's never known it would be possible to have a person who can really absorb his jagged edges, the full range of him. He keeps a lid on all the sharp barbs for Yin. He stays streamlined and steady for Pai. But not for Korra. That's new for him. And he finds he likes it. ]
[ He wants just one person in the City he doesn't have to play dress-up for. ]
I don't remember you 'sitting there.' [ It's flat but not cruel, despite the blankness in his eyes. ] I remember you waking up, disoriented. I remember that damn dog getting in my way [ My way -- not The monster's way -- because in his mind, the distinction is a thin one. ] I remember killing Naga. And planning to do worse with you. [ His eyes narrow for a moment, as if the disappointment of the aborted kill is still fresh in his memory. But then, almost gently, he says, ] I also remember you drove me off. I could have ripped everything here to pieces. Including you. But you made sure that wouldn't happen.
[ He prefers her angry. When she's angry, her emotions bristle to the surface. There's nothing to hide; nothing for him to calculate or gauge. He can map each star-pattern in the astrology of Korra's thoughts. And ... it allows his to sweep his own bullshit aside. The realization sparks like a matchstick glow in the dimness of his mind. He likes having someone he doesn't have to play a role for. She's seen so many of his shortcomings and frustrations, and taken so much of what he's dished out -- kisses and bites, caresses and blows. He's never known it would be possible to have a person who can really absorb his jagged edges, the full range of him. He keeps a lid on all the sharp barbs for Yin. He stays streamlined and steady for Pai. But not for Korra. That's new for him. And he finds he likes it. ]
[ He wants just one person in the City he doesn't have to play dress-up for. ]
I don't remember you 'sitting there.' [ It's flat but not cruel, despite the blankness in his eyes. ] I remember you waking up, disoriented. I remember that damn dog getting in my way [ My way -- not The monster's way -- because in his mind, the distinction is a thin one. ] I remember killing Naga. And planning to do worse with you. [ His eyes narrow for a moment, as if the disappointment of the aborted kill is still fresh in his memory. But then, almost gently, he says, ] I also remember you drove me off. I could have ripped everything here to pieces. Including you. But you made sure that wouldn't happen.
Not soon enough. [Torn between threatening Hei and comforting Korra, Naga's growls fade to a low rumble. Korra buries her face against the dog's fur. If she had just moved faster, if she hadn't let Amon take her powers, if she had been a better Avatar, this wouldn't have happened.]
[ Ifs. Buts. Maybes. They've never done Hei any favors. To him, they're a moron's mantra, talismanic sounds stripped of their animating magic. He functions on self-realization, not self-pity. He can't shrug his shoulders over what he did during the curse. He's bitter, but he's not that sort of brooding type. He'll have his moments of madness over it in the future, and has had his bad hours of flashbacks and nightmares since then. What he did to Yin, to Korra, to Chekov, even if he failed to do the worst -- that will always stay with him, and he means never to let himself off the hook for it. But the curse is over. He's made his mistakes. He can't forget them, but he refuses to let them paralyze him. That's as good as admitting defeat. ]
[ Naga's growl rumbles like a seismic quiver through the air. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on Korra. Simply: ]
Not this time, no. But that doesn't mean you'll be unprepared next time.
[ Because there's always a next time. Especially in the City. And because it's necessary in his line of work. Future visualization. Contingency plans. Holding your chin high and staring into the belly of the beast when all you have is riding on one inch of give in the rope at your wrist -- before you go plunging to hit rock-bottom. ]
[ Naga's growl rumbles like a seismic quiver through the air. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on Korra. Simply: ]
Not this time, no. But that doesn't mean you'll be unprepared next time.
[ Because there's always a next time. Especially in the City. And because it's necessary in his line of work. Future visualization. Contingency plans. Holding your chin high and staring into the belly of the beast when all you have is riding on one inch of give in the rope at your wrist -- before you go plunging to hit rock-bottom. ]
[It's a good thing he's not closer, because she would probably punch him. She's trying to make sure she won't be unprepared. She's training, and meditating, and working her ass off, and this isn't helping. He's just poking at things that hurt. He's a distraction she doesn't want and doesn't need.]
What's your point?
What's your point?
[ She was training, meditating, and working her ass off before, too. Determination -- amped up, supercharged -- is never the only solution. To win, it's necessary to switch tactics. Attrition isn't as effective as strategy. It certainly isn't as successful as change. Because change creates movement. And movement creates new opportunities. If Korra wants to access her Avatar state ... she has to try something wholly different. ]
[ Hei doesn't say that. It's not his purview to offer her advice, much less lecture her. She needs to learn things at her own pace -- just as he does. She already seems right on the edge of losing it. He's not certain whether she's going to lash out or break down or scream. It doesn't matter; Hei knows it's the same feeling inside. Like lava setting fire to your insides. Like those people they discover three days later in a chair, totally incinerated with pair of perfectly unblemished feet. ]
[ Then she says What's your point, and the words work on him like an incantation, like a key in the lock. He was tense and aloof a moment before. But now everything softens: his resistance, his spine, his clenched hands. He stares at her with a quiet, solid focus. His voice is the same, but with an undertone that's almost like pleading, ]
Nothing. I know it's easy to blame yourself. Like if you'd been better or stronger, none of this would've happened. I also know self-hate is easier than clarity. But you're fooling yourself, or trying to. You're recovering from a bad situation. You're upset about what's happened to Naga. I understand that. [ He doesn't say Because I've lived it. But he doesn't look away from her either. ] Just remember this is situational. It doesn't define what you are. Don't let it.
[ Hei doesn't say that. It's not his purview to offer her advice, much less lecture her. She needs to learn things at her own pace -- just as he does. She already seems right on the edge of losing it. He's not certain whether she's going to lash out or break down or scream. It doesn't matter; Hei knows it's the same feeling inside. Like lava setting fire to your insides. Like those people they discover three days later in a chair, totally incinerated with pair of perfectly unblemished feet. ]
[ Then she says What's your point, and the words work on him like an incantation, like a key in the lock. He was tense and aloof a moment before. But now everything softens: his resistance, his spine, his clenched hands. He stares at her with a quiet, solid focus. His voice is the same, but with an undertone that's almost like pleading, ]
Nothing. I know it's easy to blame yourself. Like if you'd been better or stronger, none of this would've happened. I also know self-hate is easier than clarity. But you're fooling yourself, or trying to. You're recovering from a bad situation. You're upset about what's happened to Naga. I understand that. [ He doesn't say Because I've lived it. But he doesn't look away from her either. ] Just remember this is situational. It doesn't define what you are. Don't let it.
[She needs this to define who she is, though. She needs the edges, the structure it provides. Otherwise who is she? A person who likes to fight? That describes about half the City's population. Take everything she knows about herself and she still could be just about anyone. It still doesn't tell her what to do with her life. Being a failure gives her a purpose -- to stop being a failure.
She doesn't actually realize any of this; that's a level of self-awareness she doesn't possess. All she knows is that his words make her cling tighter to her pain, as though she's afraid he'll take it away from her, like a doll that's gotten dirty. She hugs Naga's neck and breathes deeply, but the warm scent she's used to is cold & muted. Despite her best efforts, a few tears trickle down her face and into the polar bear dog's fur.]
She doesn't actually realize any of this; that's a level of self-awareness she doesn't possess. All she knows is that his words make her cling tighter to her pain, as though she's afraid he'll take it away from her, like a doll that's gotten dirty. She hugs Naga's neck and breathes deeply, but the warm scent she's used to is cold & muted. Despite her best efforts, a few tears trickle down her face and into the polar bear dog's fur.]
[ Here's the thing about Korra: She isn't a failure. She's just mired in screw-ups. ]
[ Hei isn't one to pull punches. He doesn't make a show of hiding his impatience, because why should he? He never brings it up, that If you're measured against someone who stopped a fucking war, you're always second-best. Even if you aren't, but he thinks it almost everytime he sees her. Korra's made screw ups of the grandest proportions, but she's also a survivor. And Hei respects that enough to curb his sharpness -- because he's been there. Self-hatred is its own trap; a driving-force, but also an excuse to lacerate yourself with your own mistakes, to magnify them in your memory, which is a failure in its own right. Granted, it's a strong motivator. Hei knows enough people who've been driven to the top by self-hatred. He was one of them. But a fuel that volatile is also tied to self-destruction. It impels you to take stupid risks, to make bad choices. It leaves you a miserable wreck because you're always running from yourself. And no matter where you go, there you are. ]
[ Screwing up is different. It means you made a mess, but you're fixing it. It's not what defines you. Your choices do. ]
[ He doesn't say that. Korra's face is obscured, but the air around her is thick with dammed-up tears. He doesn't move, but after a couple of beats, he says quietly, ]
I'll leave you alone.
[ The sentence is weighted in expectation of the But I'd rather be kissing you, which never comes, though he takes the breath before it. The absence of the remark leaves his words sounding unfinished; his feet feel planted to the ground. ]
[ Hei isn't one to pull punches. He doesn't make a show of hiding his impatience, because why should he? He never brings it up, that If you're measured against someone who stopped a fucking war, you're always second-best. Even if you aren't, but he thinks it almost everytime he sees her. Korra's made screw ups of the grandest proportions, but she's also a survivor. And Hei respects that enough to curb his sharpness -- because he's been there. Self-hatred is its own trap; a driving-force, but also an excuse to lacerate yourself with your own mistakes, to magnify them in your memory, which is a failure in its own right. Granted, it's a strong motivator. Hei knows enough people who've been driven to the top by self-hatred. He was one of them. But a fuel that volatile is also tied to self-destruction. It impels you to take stupid risks, to make bad choices. It leaves you a miserable wreck because you're always running from yourself. And no matter where you go, there you are. ]
[ Screwing up is different. It means you made a mess, but you're fixing it. It's not what defines you. Your choices do. ]
[ He doesn't say that. Korra's face is obscured, but the air around her is thick with dammed-up tears. He doesn't move, but after a couple of beats, he says quietly, ]
I'll leave you alone.
[ The sentence is weighted in expectation of the But I'd rather be kissing you, which never comes, though he takes the breath before it. The absence of the remark leaves his words sounding unfinished; his feet feel planted to the ground. ]
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