[BUT HE USED THE PAST TENSE, OKAY. THEY WERE NOT FRIENDS THEN.]
Yes, okay, so we are both to blame for every stupid thing that happens to us! Derr'mo, maybe this is evidence that we should never do potentially idiotic things together, which clearly rules out everything.
[Her chin trembles. She's been working so hard to curb that tendency; it hurts to have it thrown in her face. Hurts even more from him, in a situation like this.]
Just go.
[Naga whines softly, looking between the two of them, uncertain what to do about the tension in the air. She likes Chekov. Chekov isn't a threat. But right now, Chekov is the source of Korra's distress.
At the end of the day, Korra is Naga's top priority. The polar bear dog steps between the two of them, not a bodyguard so much as a wall. She butts her head against Korra's shoulder, trying to comfort her.]
[A refusal is on the tip of his tongue until Naga interferes. He isn't mad at Naga; with the target of his anger effectively out of sight, he doesn't know what to do with the rest of the emotion simmering under his skin.
And so he hits the nearest inanimate object, which is a vaguely beachy-looking tree. The tree, arguably, hits back harder, and the sting is... refreshing. With rational thought returning, Chekov realizes, belatedly, that he had wanted Korra to hit him--to give him a good reason to be mad.
Because he hadn't had a good reason. October got to him more than he has been willing to admit and he needed an outlet (the "fight" with Meyer may have been an unconscious attempt to find that outlet, but that had been anticlimactic). Korra had been a reasonable target because she has made him angry in the past, most recently by not helping with the monster. But she hadn't deserved that kind of anger or those low blows.
Misdirected anger. This is something that Chekov has been guilty of before.
He doesn't know what to do now. Part of him wants to go around Naga and apologize profusely; a much prouder part of him thinks he should leave this as it is. Korra is not his only friend, and certainly not the best at being a friend. Maybe he had had some valid points. With no clear answer and a sudden drain of emotion and energy, he stays between Naga and the tree, too tired to analyze the situation further.]
[He moves as far as Naga's head before he draws to a halt again. Wounded pride urges him to leave. His fear that he was cruel tells him to apologize regardless of what Korra says.]
[She's so tired. Tired of being sad, tired of being angry, tired of being ashamed, tired of being tired. She wishes he had stayed angry; at least that would have fueled her own conviction. Now that he's changed his mind, she doesn't know what to feel.]
What do you want from me? [The words aren't angry; rather, they're plaintive. Nothing makes sense and everything hurts.]
[He doesn't know. He wants them to be friends and have fun; he wants to know that Korra has his back in a crisis and that he will back her up as well, whatever the situation; he wants to tell her that he's not so stupid that he doesn't know about Hei and that the relationship seems to have made Korra sadder. Chekov wants a lot of things, including a punch to the face for taking out a month's worth of anger out on a friend.
But he can't get any of those things from Korra. Not really.]
Nothing. [He tries to pack as much sincerity into the word as he can.] I only want to tell you that I'm sorry. You're a good person.
[As if being a good person has anything to do with this conversation, but he felt that it needed to be said, even if it only serves as a reminder to himself that, while she may not always be a good friend, Korra is good.
Chekov pauses to see if she replies. If she doesn't or if she asks him to leave again, he will.]
[MONKEYFEATHERS, he's just like Hei. Blowing up at her, and then saying it's not her fault, so she can never tell what is or isn't wrong to do. Is this the way all human friendships go? Do you always have to walk around like you're treading on ice? How do people live like that?]
You said you meant almost none of it. What parts of it did you mean?
[Will somebody just tell her the fucking rules so she knows what she's supposed to do?]
Chekov remains on the opposite side of Naga, looking for a diplomatic answer. That's what one does once one has incited hostilities, after all--isn't it? Honestly, Chekov feels like he spends half of his life trying (often unsuccessfully) to be diplomatic and keeping everyone happy. Obviously, that is not a tactic that will work here; Korra isn't going to buy platitudes and kind words that have no meaning behind them.
Since he can't possibly make a greater mess of the situation, Chekov forces himself to stop analyzing everything, including his words.]
I did mean that we are remarkably good at creating minor disasters when we are together. I don't know why. Maybe we are different kinds of stupid that, when combined, have an explosive reaction.
Also, I get very frustrated with you when I can't predict what you will do. I thought that you would be eager to help me chase the monster, and then you refused which I cannot understand because you like taking action when you are upset--or so I thought. [His tone isn't accusatory so much as contemplative and vaguely annoyed, as if he's trying and failing to find a solution to a problem out loud.] And I never know when I am to leave you alone and when I should do something, or if I should look for you when I don't hear from you or if absences are to be expected. And then sometimes you are very caring and attentive, and at others I feel that you are too self-obsessed to think of anyone else.
Additionally, I do wish that you would punch me. Not hard, but the way you used to when I annoyed you. And I don't understand why you joke less and laugh less and why talking to you without trying too hard to be careful is difficult.
[That... went above and beyond Korra's question, admittedly, and he didn't give her much time to interrupt him between thoughts. It feels kind of good, though--like punching the tree, only less stupid.]
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Yes, okay, so we are both to blame for every stupid thing that happens to us! Derr'mo, maybe this is evidence that we should never do potentially idiotic things together, which clearly rules out everything.
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What?
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When we do something, one of us nearly always ends up in the hospital or upset or dead.
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[She knows. She's just hoping he means something else.]
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[He almost sounds rational. That takes a special kind of out-of-control.]
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Just go.
[Naga whines softly, looking between the two of them, uncertain what to do about the tension in the air. She likes Chekov. Chekov isn't a threat. But right now, Chekov is the source of Korra's distress.
At the end of the day, Korra is Naga's top priority. The polar bear dog steps between the two of them, not a bodyguard so much as a wall. She butts her head against Korra's shoulder, trying to comfort her.]
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And so he hits the nearest inanimate object, which is a vaguely beachy-looking tree. The tree, arguably, hits back harder, and the sting is... refreshing. With rational thought returning, Chekov realizes, belatedly, that he had wanted Korra to hit him--to give him a good reason to be mad.
Because he hadn't had a good reason. October got to him more than he has been willing to admit and he needed an outlet (the "fight" with Meyer may have been an unconscious attempt to find that outlet, but that had been anticlimactic). Korra had been a reasonable target because she has made him angry in the past, most recently by not helping with the monster. But she hadn't deserved that kind of anger or those low blows.
Misdirected anger. This is something that Chekov has been guilty of before.
He doesn't know what to do now. Part of him wants to go around Naga and apologize profusely; a much prouder part of him thinks he should leave this as it is. Korra is not his only friend, and certainly not the best at being a friend. Maybe he had had some valid points. With no clear answer and a sudden drain of emotion and energy, he stays between Naga and the tree, too tired to analyze the situation further.]
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[She wants to cry but she will kill herself before she does it where he can hear.]
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[He moves as far as Naga's head before he draws to a halt again. Wounded pride urges him to leave. His fear that he was cruel tells him to apologize regardless of what Korra says.]
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Naga turns and chuffs quietly at Chekov. Leave.]
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What I said--I meant none of it. ...Almost none of it. I'm-- [this word is so difficult to say right now] --sorry.
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What do you want from me? [The words aren't angry; rather, they're plaintive. Nothing makes sense and everything hurts.]
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But he can't get any of those things from Korra. Not really.]
Nothing. [He tries to pack as much sincerity into the word as he can.] I only want to tell you that I'm sorry. You're a good person.
[As if being a good person has anything to do with this conversation, but he felt that it needed to be said, even if it only serves as a reminder to himself that, while she may not always be a good friend, Korra is good.
Chekov pauses to see if she replies. If she doesn't or if she asks him to leave again, he will.]
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You said you meant almost none of it. What parts of it did you mean?
[Will somebody just tell her the fucking rules so she knows what she's supposed to do?]
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Chekov remains on the opposite side of Naga, looking for a diplomatic answer. That's what one does once one has incited hostilities, after all--isn't it? Honestly, Chekov feels like he spends half of his life trying (often unsuccessfully) to be diplomatic and keeping everyone happy. Obviously, that is not a tactic that will work here; Korra isn't going to buy platitudes and kind words that have no meaning behind them.
Since he can't possibly make a greater mess of the situation, Chekov forces himself to stop analyzing everything, including his words.]
I did mean that we are remarkably good at creating minor disasters when we are together. I don't know why. Maybe we are different kinds of stupid that, when combined, have an explosive reaction.
Also, I get very frustrated with you when I can't predict what you will do. I thought that you would be eager to help me chase the monster, and then you refused which I cannot understand because you like taking action when you are upset--or so I thought. [His tone isn't accusatory so much as contemplative and vaguely annoyed, as if he's trying and failing to find a solution to a problem out loud.] And I never know when I am to leave you alone and when I should do something, or if I should look for you when I don't hear from you or if absences are to be expected. And then sometimes you are very caring and attentive, and at others I feel that you are too self-obsessed to think of anyone else.
Additionally, I do wish that you would punch me. Not hard, but the way you used to when I annoyed you. And I don't understand why you joke less and laugh less and why talking to you without trying too hard to be careful is difficult.
[That... went above and beyond Korra's question, admittedly, and he didn't give her much time to interrupt him between thoughts. It feels kind of good, though--like punching the tree, only less stupid.]
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