[ He feels the vibrations of her voice, full of a tipsy sadness, muffled in his jacket shoulder. Can feel her breath through the fabric when she exhales. He passes his arms more securely around her, rocking her very slowly from side to side. It's what he'd do, sometimes, for Pai. Like during the night when she was too wired for rest, her bloodstream crackling with post-battle adrenaline. Or when there'd be bombs erupting nearby, rattling the ground and gnawing at even Hei's superheated concentration. He winces at a flash of recollection -- the sound of the shelling he'd experienced in South America, the blasts and rumbles that drove him to tuck Pai deeper into the crook of his arm as they lay in a pallet, a few miles from the action. ('Pretend it's a thunderstorm,' he'd always tell her. 'It can't hurt you.' '... Unless it hits you, Carmine would mutter, slouched dull-eyed in her corner. 'Then you won't feel anything,' Amber would say, arch and singsongy, peering past the tent flap into the explosions coloring the dark night.)
[ (A lie, of course. Nothing died painlessly. Even a limb that's long gone keeps hurting.) ]
[ He wonders if that's how Korra feels, in the wake of Naga's death and resurrection. He wants to ask, but what's the point? What's done is done. Cradling her against him, her hair tickling his cheek, he lets a hum of energy buzz from his skin instead, heating his clothes, suffusing Korra's cooler skin. Right now, he has to concentrate on fixing this mess. ]
no subject
[ (A lie, of course. Nothing died painlessly. Even a limb that's long gone keeps hurting.) ]
[ He wonders if that's how Korra feels, in the wake of Naga's death and resurrection. He wants to ask, but what's the point? What's done is done. Cradling her against him, her hair tickling his cheek, he lets a hum of energy buzz from his skin instead, heating his clothes, suffusing Korra's cooler skin. Right now, he has to concentrate on fixing this mess. ]
[ By any means necessary. ]