[ In the time it takes to handle the last of the paperwork, and let Korra out, Hei has become intimately acquainted with the black vinyl chairs, the white floor tile, the buzzing fluorescent lights, the bitter coffee dispensed by a gurgling machine into thin paper cups, and a few dogeared magazines on the table. There's a mirrored door directly across him; he avoids looking at his own reflection -- the red-rimmed eyes with shadows extending halfway down his nose, and cheeks gray with stubble. His whole body is leaden from exhaustion, and throbbing with old wounds as he slumps forward, elbows on knees. ]
[ But his gaze stays fixed on the door ahead. ]
[ When Korra finally steps through, he offers no reaction. But inside, a weird pity for her disheveled appearance wells up, squelching like slime around a boot. He wants to match her anger; being angry is easier. Rising to his feet, he half-expects that someone will collar him -- there's so much accusation in that simple You. In fact, he almost wishes, as he steps over to her, hands clenched in pockets, shoulders high, that someone would. ]
Come on. [ His voice is uncharacteristically small. Without glancing at her, he begins heading for the exit. ]
[She almost doesn't. She almost turns around to go back into the jail cell. She can see the officer giving her a funny look as she lingers too long, and Korra wonders how much she'll tell Chief Bei Fong.
In the end, she follows. Not because she doesn't want to explain things to the Chief, but because his tiny, quiet voice tugs at her.
She hates him for that.
She doesn't speak until they're a good distance from the station.]
[ Hei senses her hesitation without having to glance behind him. He doesn't blame her. The girl is probably furious at him anyway, after he'd half-demolished her bar and treated her so brutally and fled into the night. That was real mannish of him for sure. He wants to look back to see if she's following, but doesn't. Steps out instead, counting to himself as he goes. Feels the tug of the invisible lead -- yeah. Here she comes. In another moment she's drifting after him; he can feel her movements in his spine, along the back of his neck, same as with Amber or Pai. ]
[ The streets are half-deserted; there are no lights glowing in the windows around them. Only colored streetlamps and shadowed corners, that make an abstract pattern across Hei's face when he glances at her. The gaze he returns for her stare is mild, neutral. ] Bailing you out. [ No angles, no ulterior motives. There's a beat in which he turns a trayload of words around -- Are you okay? and What happened to Chekov? and Have you told Bei Fong? before settling on, ] If you want to head home, you can. [ There are things he needs to discuss with her. But he tells himself they can wait. ]
[She crosses her arms protectively. She doesn't want to go home, but she doesn't want to be with him. She doesn't want anything that's actually possible -- that tonight never happened, that he wouldn't be so cruel, that her parents were here, that she had her bending back. There isn't any point to doing things based on what she wants right now.]
Why?
[She doesn't believe he has no agenda. She's known him for almost a year now; she knows better. He always has something up his sleeve, some game he's playing, though she can rarely figure out what it is.]
[ To her credit, she's right that he's rarely without an agenda. But tonight -- after the disaster at the bar -- the concreteness of his self-preservation, his designs, is fading by the hour. He's running on autopilot, adrenaline bubbling at the corners to feed a listless daze. Part of him almost wants to sweep her up, to beg her pardon, be forgiven, then fucked back into a more cheerful state of mind. No recollections of the past night; zero worries about any future. There's a lot to be said, isn't there, for living in the ever-present moment, casting eyes neither forwards nor backwards? She makes him feel human, if not happy -- and isn't that better than nothing? Isn't that all there need be to it? ]
[ Be nice to the girl. Work. Play. Could be a pleasant stay, while he's in the City. ]
[ Or it would be, if he weren't so inherently unfit to be near her. He's not a person. He's an infection eating away at Korra's corners, acidic, relentless, ready to devour any scrap of warmth until she's completely emptied. ]
[ She will end up empty, if this continues. ]
Why bail you out? Or why should you head home? [ He sounds so tired, like it's more effort than he can summon just to pronounce his words. But he answers both questions without waiting for clarification. ] Because you were in prison thanks to what I started. And because it's been a long night. You have no reason to hang around me.
[No, she doesn't, though it pisses her off to hear him say it. Even when exhausted and beaten down, he acts like he's the freaking Fire Lord or something, as though where she is, what she does, is under his control. Giving her "permission" to leave him, telling her she has no reason to stay. (The sentiment isn't entirely fair, but he's always been so controlling that it can be hard to see his behavior in any other light. Especially tonight.)
There are a million good reasons to leave. Her only reason to stay is a vague feeling that he wants her gone, a suspicion that it would be easier for him if she left and she doesn't want to make things easier for him. She watches him silently, waiting for something, her eyes stabbing him with anger and hurt.
(Perhaps what she's really waiting for is for him to say something that will make her own pain go away, but that is far from her conscious thoughts.)]
[ Hei can't help the peremptory way he addresses her; it's not deliberate, simply a byproduct of decades in combat, snatching at control and learning to wield its nuances against enemies. (Maybe if she were older, more perceptive, she'd recognize his manner as that of a young man who'd always had to assert himself, to seem scarier than he was. Black Reaper -- that was the appellation he'd earned, and what he'd had to style himself as, for Pai's benefit. He'd learnt to wear the mask until it fit better than his own skin ever could.) ]
[ But no, he doesn't want her gone. Not really. It's true, he plans to introduce a difficult conversation. One he'd rather avoid. But tonight is a night for disasters and difficulties anyway. What's another one to go with the pile? Her eyes are so bright they almost sear, and he averts his gaze for a moment. His hands flex in his pockets; he chews the inside of his cheek, mapping his next step. ]
[ Finally, ]
Will you walk with me? [ It's quiet and unpressing, but stops just short of arrogant indifference. Because he does care if she refuses, but it's not his place to force her. ]
[(If she were older, maybe. She's not lacking in perception, but there's a limit to what you can understand when you've seen as little of the world as she has.)
It's hard to make a decision when you don't like either of your options. After a long moment's hesitation, she nods yes, simply because he asked, with no hint of manipulation or attempt to control.
She keeps her distance as they walk, her body taut, ready to defend itself at any moment from whatever threat he might make. But she's listening.]
[ Maybe one of these days, Hei will tell her not to be so transparent with her feelings. Teach her to play it cool, to understand the benefits of concealment. As it is, he can feel every iota of tension radiating along his flank as she walks beside him. But he doesn't remark on it. He's not her teacher, her friend, her anything. It's not his place to pass opinions or dole out advice. ]
[ They pass by shuttered stores, empty crossways and streets glittering with a light aftermath of rain. Hei doesn't speak, but once or twice, just at the moments when he's most aware of Korra's restiveness, he glances at her, mild and calm, and keeps walking. Eventually he leads her to the park, away from the streetlamps, to the edge of the pond. Ducks float on the bank. The stars are reflected in the water. The whole place is silent. ]
Come here. [ A request, not an order. Brushing a few wet leaves off the bench, he settles down. Gives her a sidelong glance, and pats the space beside him -- not too close, but enough to study her from his vantagepoint. ]
[She doesn't sit on the bench. His tone might be a request, but the words still feel like an order. Instead, she settles her sore limbs on the ground (more comfortable with floor sitting than chairs & benches anyway) and faces him head on.]
[ There's a quirk to Hei's lips that might or might not pass for a smile. He leans forward, hands folded in his lap, and regards her. His level gaze inquires, assesses, though his head is pounding and exhaustion and nausea makes his stomach churn. There's a patch of thoughtful silence, unbroken except by the susurration of water, before his gaze falls. ]
I wanted to ask, [ he says, affecting a nonchalance despite the tension in his jaw ] if I said right now, that I won't come near you again, that taking up with you was a mistake, that I made a bigger one by refusing to acknowledge that, what would you do? [ A slow breath. ] Would you be relieved? Or just angry that I'm taking your choices away?
[His phrasing confuses her. She stares at him, running his words through her head over and over, trying to make sure she understands them, but it's not the same as rereading the same passage of a book until the words make sense. The more she thinks about it, the more confused she gets.]
Are you dumping me again?
[Because it's beginning to sound a lot like the last time he dumped her. All the same statements, this time dressed up as questions but still statements. It pisses her off.]
[ Hei resists the urge to rub his temples. There it is again, that defensiveness, that emotionalism, so unconcealed, and it makes him exhausted and apprehensive and frustrated all at once. He cuts his eyes to the side, watching the pindots of stars on the rippling water, not checking Korra for reactions. ]
I'm not 'dumping' you. [ Such a highschoolish word. Dumping. But it's an effort to remember that she's only eighteen. ] But I do wonder if that's such a bad thing. Not dumping you but agreeing to end ... this. [ A vague gesture, to encompass what this signifies -- ambiguity, futility, limbo. ] After what's happened tonight, can you honestly say being around me is good for you? For your friends? Or that you find me even remotely likeable? [ His face is so flat now, his eyes so dull, that his stare has something horribly empty about it. ] There might be moments where you think you like me. But it's no better than Stockholm Syndrome. You're stuck with someone awful, so you try to focus on positive things about them. But it doesn't take away from the truth of what they are.
That doesn't make any sense. [The words rip out of her. It's only after she speaks that a distant part of her realizes she hadn't been breathing.]
If we're stuck together, then we can't choose to end things. And if we're not stuck together, then that whole Stockhome thing is stupid! It's a total contradiction!
[Frustrated, she grabs a stone and hurls it at the bench (not him). It bounces off the back and flies towards the water, disturbing the ducks. She takes a shuddering breath, trying to marshall her words, her thoughts, around her, and if he tries to interrupt her, she will punch him.]
I don't always like you. Especially right now. You can be really, really awful. And you can be okay. [It's been a long, agonizing 10 months, but if there's anything she has finally learned here, it's that people are complicated. The world isn't as simple as "good" and "bad."] You can kinda be nice.
I'm not "stuck" with you. [She'd felt that way once, like the City kept throwing them together and she didn't have a choice in the matter. But she hasn't felt that way in awhile, not since that night when they looked up at the stars and kissed under the mistletoe.] I'm not trying to make the best out of a sucky situation.
There are things I like about you and things I don't. [How they balance out now, whether tonight has tipped the scales towards "end this," she's not yet sure. But this idea that her feelings are a delusion, just some kind of twisted coping mechanism... she wants to nip that in the bud right now.]
[ When she picks up the stone, Hei braces himself to be pelted. It's not with a sense of dread, or even expectation. Just a passive sense of waiting, the way he sometimes used to wait, after Pai's disappearance, for his own death. Each time the bullets whizzed too closeby, each time the night was too suffocatingly still, some obscure part of him, that was ever-ready to take a swandive into release, struggled against struggle, saying, Just let it happen. ]
[ Except he'd never listened to that voice. His retort was always: Why should I? ]
[ He prepares to dodge, but the stone ricochets off the wooden slats. It skitters near the pond, and the ducks fly off, but Hei isn't paying attention. His focus is on Korra. He lets her explode. Lets her get what she needs to off her chest, to reveal whatever rationale she's clinging to. Whatever justifies this bizarro hookup of theirs. He can tell how strongly she resists the idea that it's a coping mechanism, even though, from a detached viewpoint, it's true in a lot of respects. ]
[ But Hei is aware that clinging to your own worldview is an intellectual imperative, the mind's equivalent of fighting, feeding and fucking. People will eagerly twist facts into wholly unrecognizable shapes to fit them into existing suppositions. They'll ignore the obvious, select the irrelevant, and spin it all into a tapestry of self-deception, solely to justify an idea, no matter how impoverished or self destructive. ]
[ Isn't that what you're doing too? ]
I don't mean 'stuck' like two people in a box, Korra. [ He doesn't snap it; his voice is quiet and reasonable. ] I mean two people who are obviously ill-suited for each other. But there's an idiotic alchemy stopping them from making the smart choice and splitting ways. [ He scrubs a hand through his hair, suddenly impatient. ] I've threatened to kill your friends. Threatened -- and nearly succeeded -- in killing you. Those aren't trivial issues. I know this is a tiresome conversation. And I don't want to give you the wrong impression. But think for a minute. Wouldn't you be better off with someone safer? More age-appropriate?
[Maybe he's right; maybe it is self-deception. Or maybe she's just tired of other people putting her into their own little boxes.
Korra, the spiritual failure. Korra, the half-baked Avatar. Korra, the reckless thug. Korra, the little ballbuster. Korra, the pathetic girl clinging to a bad relationship.
All of it true, and none of it the entire picture, but everyone she's met tries to shove her inside their favorite box, confused and frustrated when she just won't fit.]
What impression are you trying to give me? [The words come out angry and eerily calm.]
Because the impression I'm getting is that you're disgusted with yourself, but instead of trying to fix your behavior, you're trying to change mine. You're acting like you're some big force of nature and I can either move my hut or stay and die, but you're not. You're just a person.
[She stands up and brushes the dirt off her pants. A part of her is ready to walk away, and another part of her simply refuses to sit beneath him like a student before a teacher.]
[ Her words are pellets of acid, splattering his face. Hei jerks back, then quickly goes steely. ] 'Change.' That's an easy word to toss around. People talk about it all the damn time. But they just clang along doing the same stupid stuff year in and year out. [ Ice creeps into his tone. ] But believe me, I haven't. If you knew me five years ago, you'd think I was as foul as they come. And you'd be right. This person -- whose behaviour, according to you, needs fixing -- is here because he decided to 'change.'
[ But there's still enough filth left in him to leave nothing of you. That, he doesn't say. There's no need to. It makes a headache pound behind his eyes. Because however much he changes is irrelevant; they'll always be wrong for each other, and by that logic, they should finish this. The whole damn thing is nothing but diseased and inflamed, like a slashed wound that won't scab over. ]
[ At the same time, a voice, so much like Amber's, intrudes: Why is everything so negative with you? It's because you've never been tied to something larger than yourself, outside of Pai's safety. You don't believe in anything anymore. So you can't imagine someone who does. They must be either deluded or lying or naive. ]
[ He's been alone for so long, he's begun to conceive of himself that way. But slowly and inevitably, the conception has begun to include other people. The knowledge scares him, so some wretched part of him always searches for rationalizations, excuses, whatever it needs to pat itself on the back and say, See? You can't trust anyone. I've always told you. ]
[ Hei exhales a breath through gritted teeth. His whole body aches, and he can't account for the incredible sadness that suddenly comes up in slow bubbles that burst painfully in his chest, over and over. Exhausted, he says, ] You want me to say that I need someone's shoulder to cry on? An intervention? Because I'm not going to do that, Korra. [ His eyes drift to hers then. There's a tinge of pain there. ] I can keep trying to change though. [ He's never stopped. ] But there's no guarantee I'll change into something that suits you.
[It takes her a few moments to speak, her throat is so tight with unshed tears and exhaustion and disbelief that he could miss her point so completely.]
I just want you to say you're sorry.
[I'm sorry for hurting you, not You're broken for wanting me. At this moment, she doesn't care whether he learns to cry or talk about his problems or finds healing or peace or whatever. He can stay as broken as he wants. She just wants him to stop trying to control her when he hates himself.]
[ The look Hei gives her then is soft and blindish and bewildered, like he can't believe how dense she is. His body feels hollow now, a cold wind blowing through him even as his skin feels clammy in the still air. Remorse and I'm Sorrys have never been for the likes of him. But part of him feels them all the same, with a yearning sort of incomprehension, like an academic half-wit in a roomful of A graders, full of stymied willingness to try. His voice is suddenly cut down to the force and volume of a kewpie doll's. ]
I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sorry. [ For hurting her. For carrying on this mess with her. For touching her in the first place, that night in the shed. All of this could've been avoided, if he'd kept less alcohol and more wits about him. ]
[The confusion on his face makes her want to slap him and hug him all at once. Then just say so! ("I'm sorry" is one of the few things she rarely has trouble saying.)
She does neither. Instead, she shoves her hands in her pockets and lets out a shuddering breath.]
Then you're forgiven. This time. [She's reckless and naive and young, but she's not that soft. If something like this ever happens again, she will end things herself, completely and irrevocably. There is something of Avatar Kyoshi in the way she holds herself right now, the calm promise in her voice. Something of Master Katara too. Aang had the tender heart that offered Fire Lord Zuko another chance, but Katara had had the love & wisdom to demand that the exiled prince work for it.
Whether Hei decides to work for it or not is up to him. There is nothing sad or pleading or helpless in Korra's manner. If he chooses to throw in the towel at this point, it's to protect himself, not her.]
[ Perhaps it's just as well that she doesn't touch him. He's not sure he'd permit contact -- not sure he could endure it -- just then. Instead he nods dully, offering her an oblique look out of tired red-edged eyes. Her anger has something magisterial to it now, with that eerie calm unclouding the blueness of her eyes. Hei can be imperious too, but that's not what this is about, really. It's not about tossing a rabid mongrel a scrap of meat on the stern warning to Behave next time, either. ]
[ It's nothing more or less than a second chance. He tells himself he ought to be grateful. ]
[ Still, there's something he needs to clarify. Boundaries he needs to establish. It's not a warning but a reminder, that she's been party to some bad choices too. ] I don't know if you were cursed or not. But don't sneak into my flat again. [ His tone isn't accusatory, but it drops to a low, flat register. ] I'm not Chekov or Bolin. I don't have it in me [ maybe I never will?] to not retaliate to tricks. There wasn't a lot of 'playtime' where I grew up.
[You're going to order me -- The words don't come out, because a part of her knows it's...not fair, and not right, but... acceptable. She and Chekov had known going into it that Hei would be pissed off by the prank. They knew they were crossing a boundary.]
I'm sorry. [Her crime may be small compared to his, but it still warrants an apology.]
[ A nod, not churlish but weary. He doesn't have it in him to contain all that resentment just now. His exhaustion is sudden and terrible; he can't feel his limbs. His gaze isn't steely but it's careful, studying the planes of her face, trying to reach some decision within himself. ]
[ When he finally speaks, the words are thick and blocky as if yanked from dried mud. ]
I'm going to give you some time to think this whole night over. If you're still sure you want to continue this [ because if there's one thing he's learnt, it's that distance and a full night's sleep can make you reassess a lot of choices made in the heat of the moment ] then I don't think we should carry on the way we have been.
[ Changes. That word again. There'll have to be changes made. ]
[ Hei takes her twitch for what it is -- a gesture indicative of imminent departure -- and manages a barely-there nod. He occupies the bench almost deadweight now, the bags under his eyes, the almost imperceptible sagging of his whole body, projecting his exhaustion. ] Go hom-- [ He starts to say, but he yawns quite suddenly, one of those wide spasmic seizures that signal the body's had enough of everything. ]
[ There's a very palpable threat of him dozing off on the bench. ]
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[ But his gaze stays fixed on the door ahead. ]
[ When Korra finally steps through, he offers no reaction. But inside, a weird pity for her disheveled appearance wells up, squelching like slime around a boot. He wants to match her anger; being angry is easier. Rising to his feet, he half-expects that someone will collar him -- there's so much accusation in that simple You. In fact, he almost wishes, as he steps over to her, hands clenched in pockets, shoulders high, that someone would. ]
Come on. [ His voice is uncharacteristically small. Without glancing at her, he begins heading for the exit. ]
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In the end, she follows. Not because she doesn't want to explain things to the Chief, but because his tiny, quiet voice tugs at her.
She hates him for that.
She doesn't speak until they're a good distance from the station.]
What are you doing here?
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[ The streets are half-deserted; there are no lights glowing in the windows around them. Only colored streetlamps and shadowed corners, that make an abstract pattern across Hei's face when he glances at her. The gaze he returns for her stare is mild, neutral. ] Bailing you out. [ No angles, no ulterior motives. There's a beat in which he turns a trayload of words around -- Are you okay? and What happened to Chekov? and Have you told Bei Fong? before settling on, ] If you want to head home, you can. [ There are things he needs to discuss with her. But he tells himself they can wait. ]
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Why?
[She doesn't believe he has no agenda. She's known him for almost a year now; she knows better. He always has something up his sleeve, some game he's playing, though she can rarely figure out what it is.]
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[ Be nice to the girl. Work. Play. Could be a pleasant stay, while he's in the City. ]
[ Or it would be, if he weren't so inherently unfit to be near her. He's not a person. He's an infection eating away at Korra's corners, acidic, relentless, ready to devour any scrap of warmth until she's completely emptied. ]
[ She will end up empty, if this continues. ]
Why bail you out? Or why should you head home? [ He sounds so tired, like it's more effort than he can summon just to pronounce his words. But he answers both questions without waiting for clarification. ] Because you were in prison thanks to what I started. And because it's been a long night. You have no reason to hang around me.
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There are a million good reasons to leave. Her only reason to stay is a vague feeling that he wants her gone, a suspicion that it would be easier for him if she left and she doesn't want to make things easier for him. She watches him silently, waiting for something, her eyes stabbing him with anger and hurt.
(Perhaps what she's really waiting for is for him to say something that will make her own pain go away, but that is far from her conscious thoughts.)]
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[ But no, he doesn't want her gone. Not really. It's true, he plans to introduce a difficult conversation. One he'd rather avoid. But tonight is a night for disasters and difficulties anyway. What's another one to go with the pile? Her eyes are so bright they almost sear, and he averts his gaze for a moment. His hands flex in his pockets; he chews the inside of his cheek, mapping his next step. ]
[ Finally, ]
Will you walk with me? [ It's quiet and unpressing, but stops just short of arrogant indifference. Because he does care if she refuses, but it's not his place to force her. ]
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It's hard to make a decision when you don't like either of your options. After a long moment's hesitation, she nods yes, simply because he asked, with no hint of manipulation or attempt to control.
She keeps her distance as they walk, her body taut, ready to defend itself at any moment from whatever threat he might make. But she's listening.]
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[ They pass by shuttered stores, empty crossways and streets glittering with a light aftermath of rain. Hei doesn't speak, but once or twice, just at the moments when he's most aware of Korra's restiveness, he glances at her, mild and calm, and keeps walking. Eventually he leads her to the park, away from the streetlamps, to the edge of the pond. Ducks float on the bank. The stars are reflected in the water. The whole place is silent. ]
Come here. [ A request, not an order. Brushing a few wet leaves off the bench, he settles down. Gives her a sidelong glance, and pats the space beside him -- not too close, but enough to study her from his vantagepoint. ]
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Do you ever just get to the point?
[She's not feeling very indulgent.]
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I wanted to ask, [ he says, affecting a nonchalance despite the tension in his jaw ] if I said right now, that I won't come near you again, that taking up with you was a mistake, that I made a bigger one by refusing to acknowledge that, what would you do? [ A slow breath. ] Would you be relieved? Or just angry that I'm taking your choices away?
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Are you dumping me again?
[Because it's beginning to sound a lot like the last time he dumped her. All the same statements, this time dressed up as questions but still statements. It pisses her off.]
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I'm not 'dumping' you. [ Such a highschoolish word. Dumping. But it's an effort to remember that she's only eighteen. ] But I do wonder if that's such a bad thing. Not dumping you but agreeing to end ... this. [ A vague gesture, to encompass what this signifies -- ambiguity, futility, limbo. ] After what's happened tonight, can you honestly say being around me is good for you? For your friends? Or that you find me even remotely likeable? [ His face is so flat now, his eyes so dull, that his stare has something horribly empty about it. ] There might be moments where you think you like me. But it's no better than Stockholm Syndrome. You're stuck with someone awful, so you try to focus on positive things about them. But it doesn't take away from the truth of what they are.
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If we're stuck together, then we can't choose to end things. And if we're not stuck together, then that whole Stockhome thing is stupid! It's a total contradiction!
[Frustrated, she grabs a stone and hurls it at the bench (not him). It bounces off the back and flies towards the water, disturbing the ducks. She takes a shuddering breath, trying to marshall her words, her thoughts, around her, and if he tries to interrupt her, she will punch him.]
I don't always like you. Especially right now. You can be really, really awful. And you can be okay. [It's been a long, agonizing 10 months, but if there's anything she has finally learned here, it's that people are complicated. The world isn't as simple as "good" and "bad."] You can kinda be nice.
I'm not "stuck" with you. [She'd felt that way once, like the City kept throwing them together and she didn't have a choice in the matter. But she hasn't felt that way in awhile, not since that night when they looked up at the stars and kissed under the mistletoe.] I'm not trying to make the best out of a sucky situation.
There are things I like about you and things I don't. [How they balance out now, whether tonight has tipped the scales towards "end this," she's not yet sure. But this idea that her feelings are a delusion, just some kind of twisted coping mechanism... she wants to nip that in the bud right now.]
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[ Except he'd never listened to that voice. His retort was always: Why should I? ]
[ He prepares to dodge, but the stone ricochets off the wooden slats. It skitters near the pond, and the ducks fly off, but Hei isn't paying attention. His focus is on Korra. He lets her explode. Lets her get what she needs to off her chest, to reveal whatever rationale she's clinging to. Whatever justifies this bizarro hookup of theirs. He can tell how strongly she resists the idea that it's a coping mechanism, even though, from a detached viewpoint, it's true in a lot of respects. ]
[ But Hei is aware that clinging to your own worldview is an intellectual imperative, the mind's equivalent of fighting, feeding and fucking. People will eagerly twist facts into wholly unrecognizable shapes to fit them into existing suppositions. They'll ignore the obvious, select the irrelevant, and spin it all into a tapestry of self-deception, solely to justify an idea, no matter how impoverished or self destructive. ]
[ Isn't that what you're doing too? ]
I don't mean 'stuck' like two people in a box, Korra. [ He doesn't snap it; his voice is quiet and reasonable. ] I mean two people who are obviously ill-suited for each other. But there's an idiotic alchemy stopping them from making the smart choice and splitting ways. [ He scrubs a hand through his hair, suddenly impatient. ] I've threatened to kill your friends. Threatened -- and nearly succeeded -- in killing you. Those aren't trivial issues. I know this is a tiresome conversation. And I don't want to give you the wrong impression. But think for a minute. Wouldn't you be better off with someone safer? More age-appropriate?
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Korra, the spiritual failure. Korra, the half-baked Avatar. Korra, the reckless thug. Korra, the little ballbuster. Korra, the pathetic girl clinging to a bad relationship.
All of it true, and none of it the entire picture, but everyone she's met tries to shove her inside their favorite box, confused and frustrated when she just won't fit.]
What impression are you trying to give me? [The words come out angry and eerily calm.]
Because the impression I'm getting is that you're disgusted with yourself, but instead of trying to fix your behavior, you're trying to change mine. You're acting like you're some big force of nature and I can either move my hut or stay and die, but you're not. You're just a person.
[She stands up and brushes the dirt off her pants. A part of her is ready to walk away, and another part of her simply refuses to sit beneath him like a student before a teacher.]
You're the one who needs to change. Not me.
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[ But there's still enough filth left in him to leave nothing of you. That, he doesn't say. There's no need to. It makes a headache pound behind his eyes. Because however much he changes is irrelevant; they'll always be wrong for each other, and by that logic, they should finish this. The whole damn thing is nothing but diseased and inflamed, like a slashed wound that won't scab over. ]
[ At the same time, a voice, so much like Amber's, intrudes: Why is everything so negative with you? It's because you've never been tied to something larger than yourself, outside of Pai's safety. You don't believe in anything anymore. So you can't imagine someone who does. They must be either deluded or lying or naive. ]
[ He's been alone for so long, he's begun to conceive of himself that way. But slowly and inevitably, the conception has begun to include other people. The knowledge scares him, so some wretched part of him always searches for rationalizations, excuses, whatever it needs to pat itself on the back and say, See? You can't trust anyone. I've always told you. ]
[ Hei exhales a breath through gritted teeth. His whole body aches, and he can't account for the incredible sadness that suddenly comes up in slow bubbles that burst painfully in his chest, over and over. Exhausted, he says, ] You want me to say that I need someone's shoulder to cry on? An intervention? Because I'm not going to do that, Korra. [ His eyes drift to hers then. There's a tinge of pain there. ] I can keep trying to change though. [ He's never stopped. ] But there's no guarantee I'll change into something that suits you.
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I just want you to say you're sorry.
[I'm sorry for hurting you, not You're broken for wanting me. At this moment, she doesn't care whether he learns to cry or talk about his problems or finds healing or peace or whatever. He can stay as broken as he wants. She just wants him to stop trying to control her when he hates himself.]
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I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sorry. [ For hurting her. For carrying on this mess with her. For touching her in the first place, that night in the shed. All of this could've been avoided, if he'd kept less alcohol and more wits about him. ]
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She does neither. Instead, she shoves her hands in her pockets and lets out a shuddering breath.]
Then you're forgiven. This time. [She's reckless and naive and young, but she's not that soft. If something like this ever happens again, she will end things herself, completely and irrevocably. There is something of Avatar Kyoshi in the way she holds herself right now, the calm promise in her voice. Something of Master Katara too. Aang had the tender heart that offered Fire Lord Zuko another chance, but Katara had had the love & wisdom to demand that the exiled prince work for it.
Whether Hei decides to work for it or not is up to him. There is nothing sad or pleading or helpless in Korra's manner. If he chooses to throw in the towel at this point, it's to protect himself, not her.]
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[ It's nothing more or less than a second chance. He tells himself he ought to be grateful. ]
[ Still, there's something he needs to clarify. Boundaries he needs to establish. It's not a warning but a reminder, that she's been party to some bad choices too. ] I don't know if you were cursed or not. But don't sneak into my flat again. [ His tone isn't accusatory, but it drops to a low, flat register. ] I'm not Chekov or Bolin. I don't have it in me [ maybe I never will?] to not retaliate to tricks. There wasn't a lot of 'playtime' where I grew up.
[ Only violence and death and one-upmanship. ]
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I'm sorry. [Her crime may be small compared to his, but it still warrants an apology.]
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[ When he finally speaks, the words are thick and blocky as if yanked from dried mud. ]
I'm going to give you some time to think this whole night over. If you're still sure you want to continue this [ because if there's one thing he's learnt, it's that distance and a full night's sleep can make you reassess a lot of choices made in the heat of the moment ] then I don't think we should carry on the way we have been.
[ Changes. That word again. There'll have to be changes made. ]
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Gee, thanks. [Not that it's not a good idea, but... she's still hyper-sensitive.
Shaking off a wave of exhaustion and irritation, she turns to leave. It's been a rough night. She's ready to be done with it.]
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[ There's a very palpable threat of him dozing off on the bench. ]
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