[You are a cruel, cruel man, Hei. Breathless and hot, Korra can't tell if she's being dismissed or invited for more. His erection says "stay" while his mention of the neighbors seems designed to have her out the door as fast as possible. And what does he mean, "I'll expect a sequel later"? Here? Somewhere else? Involving lunch?
Don't even get her started on that "hook up with you next" comment. It kind of weirds her out. If asked, of course she'd say she doesn't expect this thing between them to last forever. That doesn't mean she wants to think about when it's over (again). It makes her kind of uncomfortable that he is.
She can't tell if she's more annoyed or turned on.]
[ It may seem like an unfair tease. But Hei's withdrawal has little to do with keeping a decorous pace to this weird impulsive affair, to not spoiling interactions that contain a level of honesty that's so rare is his history. It has more to do with a private resolution not to treat Korra like a call-girl. Even in Tokyo, he was more comfortable with the women from the mizu shobai, the water trade, as Japan liked to call its demimonde, than with regular girls. The straight cash basis that exemplified those relationships kept everything simple. They were used to being 'kept women' and 'mistresses.' They didn't question a naturally aloof nature, or periodic absences, or a tight lipped demeanor. ]
[ Of course none of that applies here. He's making an effort to recognize the distinction. ]
[ Firmly setting her upright, he half-smiles at her bewilderment, leaning in so his nose nudges briefly against hers. If it were anyone else, they'd either chuckle or drop dead in horror at the idea Eskimo kisses with the Black Reaper. He presses a light kiss to the corner of her mouth, murmuring, ] You'll know when you'll know. [ Cryptic, a threat or promise vibe hanging in the air between them, before he detaches to clear the table. In a different tone, ] Help me clean this up.
[You'll know when you'll know ARGH he really is the most aggravating person in all of the world. She makes a face at his back, but gathers up the dirty dishes without hesitation or complaint. It beats standing around, turned on and confused. She dumps them in the sink and looks around for a sponge and a towel.]
Would you rather wash or dry?
[If he has a dishwasher, she doesn't notice. She doesn't do dishes often, but she's always done them by hand.]
Wash. [ The answer is flat and immediate. Ordinarily he'd never pass up letting someone else tackle the dirty dishes. But he's used to doing everything his way, and the rush of the water makes for good white-noise. (As children, the arrangement between him and Pai was similar. Everytime she'd wash, she did such a sloppy job that he had to re-rinse the crockery, although he'd always pretend she'd done a good job. I spoiled her, Hei thinks dimly, but not without a rueful smile.) ]
[ Rolling up his sleeves, he's elbow deep in the sink in a minute. He sets each dish draining on the rack before moving on to the glasses and cutlery, the thin veins of his hands shifting with every swipe. With the scent of food and detergent hanging in the air, and Korra buzzing nearby like a cheery little whirlwind, he thinks that it'd be easy to get used to this atmosphere. ]
Okay. [Korra hesitates for a moment as Hei puts the dishes on the drying rack, then shrugs a little and looks around for a towel. The scene makes her nostalgic too, for different reasons. When she was younger, her parents used to wash the dishes and then Korra would bend the water off of them so they were dry. Her parents would act so amazed every time, and little Korra had loved the chance to both show off and be helpful. She would do that in the training compound sometimes too, although by that point she had hit the peak of teenage selfishness and was more interested in practicing her bending forms than helping out. She can't do that anymore.
...there's still airbending. She stops to consider this. Air can dry things too. That's the principle behind hair driers, after all. She picks up one of the dripping dishes and frowns thoughtfully as she tries to figure out the best way to do this. (She's been learning the traditional air bending forms from Jinora, but none of those include dish drying.) She decides a small, hot gust of air should do the trick.
Unfortunately, her gust of air is hot but not quite as small as it should be. It blows the water off the dish, but hits the sink full of water as well. The initial slosh sends water straight towards Hei, and then Korra gets hit as the water sloshes back. The front of her shirt gets covered in warm, soapy water.
She looks at Hei with a nervous grin, tempted to laugh but not ready to do so until she knows what his reaction is going to be.]
[ The splash hits Hei's face as well as his shirt. Sputtering, he swipes the soap off. For a moment he just squints at Korra, hair all slicked down around his expressionless face, water dripping off his nose and chin. His eyebrow twitches but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't think there's a way for those second-skin type shirts she always wears to leave even less to the imagination, but it turns out he's definitely wrong there. The pretty sight doesn't soften his irritation; he knows she's only trying to help, but her dependency on bending for every little task grates on him sometimes. He wonders if they have a Benders Anonymous for addicts in her homeworld. ]
[ He can't think of anything to say, and lobbing his sponge at her won't accomplish anything. Instead he scowls, his cupped hands coming up menacingly from the water. He turns, matter-of-factly -- and crowns her head in a massive garland of bubbles. His innocent look mirrors hers to the dot. ]
[The twitchy, nervous smile fades as his hands rise up, and her stance shifts just slightly so she can defend herself if necessary. (Something which she can do just fine without bending, thank you very much. The only thing she depends on her bending for is her identity.)
The last thing she expects is for him to dump soap bubbles on her head. She looks up at them as though questioning whether they're really there. But when he says "oops," she breaks down and starts laughing.]
Sorry.
[Is she apologizing for splashing him, or for the fact that she's currently taking off her "crown" and trying to put it on his head?]
[ Hei angles his body away from the retaliatory bubbles, flicking a jet of water at her. When she laughs, her pretty teeth bared and head thrown back, the line of her throat is vulnerable -- an open target for his blade in another life. Instead he watches her with an idle amusement. It's interesting, the way she segues between woman and child. Lush in body and direct in gaze; yet full of awkward jitters and flights of fancy. He realizes he hasn't seen her act so girlish and bubbly in a long time. ]
[ Partly that's due to recent circumstance. Partly, well -- he's not the most effusive company. Her bursts of giggles, snatches of smiles, are still rare enough around him to be noted. Why put her off them? ]
You're cute when you laugh. [ He states it plainly, tracing her cheek with soapy fingers, before smoothing the damp hair back off her forehead. Then, without missing a beat, ] But I'm banning you from drying dishes. Get out of here. [ Go bother the lizard while he cleans up. ]
[The laugh fades into a smile and a blush when he traces her cheek and calls her cute. She wouldn't normally find it much of a compliment, but they're so few and far between with him.
She makes a face when he banishes her.]
I said I'm sorry! I promise I'll use a towel this time.
[They're having a good moment. She doesn't want to let go of that.]
[ Privately Hei doubts she'll remember the "good moments" when things go south between them. What you remember of a fling -- he uses the word generously -- is how it ends, not how it began, or the fragments in between. Not until later. Maybe that's better, though? He doesn't enjoy the idea of her falling into the insidious mindset where a few shared laughs or kisses, a brunch, a fuck, can almost wipe the slate on past unkindness. If she's that way around him, she'll be that way around lovers who come after him. Just because events pile on each other so quickly is no reason not to keep up with the continuity. The moment you start running it all together -- eliding it -- you lose focus of how often you've been hurt, abused, deceived by the other person. Instead of remembering the limits you should set for them, it just becomes a washy stream of sensations that traps you in. ]
[ He doesn't want her to forget what he is. He wants her to keep him at a relative distance. Never trust him too much. ]
[ Because inevitably, he knows he'll disappoint her. ]
[ He doesn't say that though. Instead he regards her -- sidelong, suspicious -- before handing her a towel. ]
[That's the tricky part, isn't it? Recognizing the thin line that separates being compassionate from being a victim. Learning when forgiveness is a weakness and not a strength. There's no hard and fast line that applies to every person. Situations that would break one person might have little affect on another -- like the difference between hitting a piece of china or a punching bag. (And, of course, even punching bags get worn down.)
Like everything else in her life, Korra will have to learn that the hard way.
For right now, she smiles and takes the towel from him. He can be as suspicious as he likes. She picks up the plates and dries them without further comment.]
[ Hei is aware of the situational distinctions. But he's also aware that emotional abuse is emotional abuse, regardless of whether it's dished out to a weakling or to a fighter. They might react to it in different degrees, but the bottom line doesn't change. He can already see the telltale marks of past his cruelties in Korra. The way she verbally tiptoes around him, the undercurrent of tension that never quite fades when they finish fucking. Everything he might tell her -- that he gets angry at her only because he's angry at himself, that his past has taught him to smell traps in every pleasure, fatal miscalculations in every softness; that he's plunged in hesitation after the waste of his team -- all that might make emotional sense, might rouse her sympathy. ]
[ But it won't fix anything. His baggage, his limitations, will still be there. They'll keep cutting him inside, and cut her in turn, because that instinct to defend himself, to hold himself away from comfort, is so much a part of him that it's never not there. ]
[ For the second time, Hei thinks: What am I doing here with her? ]
[ One by one, he rinses the glasses and mechanically passes them over to her. His manner is controlled, but the eyes regard her in brief glimpses that might pass for wistfulness. ]
[She catches those glimpses as she takes the glasses from him to dry. She doesn't comment on them, remembering what he said earlier. You keep reminding me of something. And that comes with little gusts of being happy and sad at the same time. She's learning how to be mindful of people -- what Hei sees as tiptoeing -- to consider her words and the impact they'll have.
When they finish the last of the dishes, Korra uses towel to get the last of the soap suds out of her hair.]
[ Drying his hands off on a dishtowel, Hei brushes past Korra, laying a hand on her arm, so lightly she'd barely feel the touch before he withdraws it. In the end, tactile reassurances, gratitude, reminders, are easiest for him to dish out. He's aware of the dangers of being left alone to his thoughts for too long. He'd rather make use of whatever lightness he has going with her. He doesn't bother asking himself how long that will be. This is the present, one of a series of moments like a string of beads, and he won't waste time counting beyond the one he holds in his palms now. ]
Quasimodo is still in the fridge, [ he says, the quirk to his mouth not a smile, but close enough. ] Do you want to take it with you? To eat later?
Fine. I'll eat it. [ More snacks for him. ] A touching memento of your first foray with a vegetable peeler. [ You'll get better with practice, Korra. Don't take it personally. ]
[ Hei's smile returns, a tiny tug at the edge of his mouth and then gone again. Scooping up a kitchen rag, he moves to the table, all his odd jobs as a waiter coming through in the way he swipes it clean with a minimum effort for maximum effect. He's halfway through when he asks bluntly, ]
Have you spoken to Pavel yet?
[ It's phrased as an offhand question, but he's slipped into elicitation by dint of training. ]
[That name is like an icicle through her heart. Just like that, she can feel the warmth and laughter bleed out of her.]
No.
[She leans against the kitchen counter and crosses her arms protectively.]
I've gone to his house a few times, but his roommate won't let me see him.
[And, honestly, she could try harder. She could use the stupid network device, or try to find him at work, or talk to Lucy. If she was really determined, she would find a way. But in her heart of hearts, she's still frightened and ashamed, and so she sets herself up for failure.]
[ He senses the mood in the quality of her silence. From easy and mellow she becomes distant, brittle, shuttering herself as if in rejection of a fact too horrible to face. She reminds him not of a grown woman but a child who has made a wretched mistake, and knows it. ]
[ He still doesn't look up, sweeping the table's surface so it's spotless. But inside he reigns in a dim curiosity. He's been numbed-out for so long, it startles him like a cold slap on the back of his neck, to want to know anything about anything. Especially where it concerns these kids. But it seems a pity, to watch them crash around and into each other, senselessly causing damage, like deaf-and-blind insects of misery. ]
There's other ways to speak to him. [ Again: blunt. Observational fact rather than an accusation. ] If you seek him out, he'll listen to you.
[And say what? I'm sorry I killed you seems so inadequate. She can't change the past. She can't make promises for the future. Every time she thinks about Chekov, she just feels helpless.]
[ Hei sets the rag aside. His expression, even from a short distance off, reveals nothing. He's not about to push; if there's anyone who knows how to apologize for atrocities, it isn't him. To be brutally honest, the idea is laughable. I'm sorrys don't fix anything. Especially not in his profession, where the daily double-murder isn't even personal, but a beeline to a paycheck. Even during in-faction quarrels, how many times has he deceived or tried to kill a teammate, or vice versa? ]
[ But neither Korra nor Pavel are part of that world. They inhabit completely different mindsets and expectations. They're not ready to reconcile yet, too shaken to their cores. The trust between them isn't just rattled -- it's broken off. But the ugliness has happened, and they have to live through it, moment by moment. They can't do that unless they confront what gutted them to begin with. ]
[ Quietly, Hei says, ] I hope that rift between you two smooths itself out. It won't happen overnight. But everything's so temporary and awful here anyway. Why add more to it when you don't have to? [ Advice he'd never taken himself in his entire life. Especially not when Amber betrayed him, and he never saw beyond his hatred to try and understand her reasons. ]
[ But maybe Korra and Pavel would be different. Maybe. ]
[He's right, of course. When Korra thinks about Chekov never being her friend again, it makes her queasy and sad. What happened between her and Mako before he left the City had been painful enough. She doesn't want to lose another friend.
She just doesn't know how to keep him.]
I should probably go. [She needs space to think. About Chekov, and what to do.]
Sure. [ A nod, then silence. Hei has no need to say anything else. (That's what you do with assets when you want them to make independent choices; you plant a seed and let it take its own course, because the outcome only concerns you peripherally. Except that's not a fair descriptor in this situation. He knows what it's like to feel crushed and unmoored. Knows too, that surviving in the wake of disaster is harder than enduring the disaster itself.) ]
[ (This is his style of secondhand support.) ]
[ Quietly, he steps out of the kitchen to see her out. Hei has spent decades decoding the intricacies of body language, so he sets his shoulders and expression differently, letting the posture read as calm and comfortable (Not benign; they're a little past that stage, he muses wryly. Just -- friendly.) ]
[ Overall it was a nice afternoon. No mishaps, no carnage, a few laughs, then he broke up the mood. But the final score -- dishes cooked: three, punches thrown: zero. For them, a satisfactory game. ]
[It's probably for the best that the mood was broken. Korra can't keep running from this situation with Chekov forever, and the tiny part of her that acknowledges she's running knows it.
She stops by the door and leans up for one last kiss.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Don't even get her started on that "hook up with you next" comment. It kind of weirds her out. If asked, of course she'd say she doesn't expect this thing between them to last forever. That doesn't mean she wants to think about when it's over (again). It makes her kind of uncomfortable that he is.
She can't tell if she's more annoyed or turned on.]
What kind of sequel are you thinking about?
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[ Of course none of that applies here. He's making an effort to recognize the distinction. ]
[ Firmly setting her upright, he half-smiles at her bewilderment, leaning in so his nose nudges briefly against hers. If it were anyone else, they'd either chuckle or drop dead in horror at the idea Eskimo kisses with the Black Reaper. He presses a light kiss to the corner of her mouth, murmuring, ] You'll know when you'll know. [ Cryptic, a threat or promise vibe hanging in the air between them, before he detaches to clear the table. In a different tone, ] Help me clean this up.
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Would you rather wash or dry?
[If he has a dishwasher, she doesn't notice. She doesn't do dishes often, but she's always done them by hand.]
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[ Rolling up his sleeves, he's elbow deep in the sink in a minute. He sets each dish draining on the rack before moving on to the glasses and cutlery, the thin veins of his hands shifting with every swipe. With the scent of food and detergent hanging in the air, and Korra buzzing nearby like a cheery little whirlwind, he thinks that it'd be easy to get used to this atmosphere. ]
[ It's a realization that makes him cautious. ]
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...there's still airbending. She stops to consider this. Air can dry things too. That's the principle behind hair driers, after all. She picks up one of the dripping dishes and frowns thoughtfully as she tries to figure out the best way to do this. (She's been learning the traditional air bending forms from Jinora, but none of those include dish drying.) She decides a small, hot gust of air should do the trick.
Unfortunately, her gust of air is hot but not quite as small as it should be. It blows the water off the dish, but hits the sink full of water as well. The initial slosh sends water straight towards Hei, and then Korra gets hit as the water sloshes back. The front of her shirt gets covered in warm, soapy water.
She looks at Hei with a nervous grin, tempted to laugh but not ready to do so until she knows what his reaction is going to be.]
....oops?
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[ The splash hits Hei's face as well as his shirt. Sputtering, he swipes the soap off. For a moment he just squints at Korra, hair all slicked down around his expressionless face, water dripping off his nose and chin. His eyebrow twitches but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't think there's a way for those second-skin type shirts she always wears to leave even less to the imagination, but it turns out he's definitely wrong there. The pretty sight doesn't soften his irritation; he knows she's only trying to help, but her dependency on bending for every little task grates on him sometimes. He wonders if they have a Benders Anonymous for addicts in her homeworld. ]
[ He can't think of anything to say, and lobbing his sponge at her won't accomplish anything. Instead he scowls, his cupped hands coming up menacingly from the water. He turns, matter-of-factly -- and crowns her head in a massive garland of bubbles. His innocent look mirrors hers to the dot. ]
....Oops.
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The last thing she expects is for him to dump soap bubbles on her head. She looks up at them as though questioning whether they're really there. But when he says "oops," she breaks down and starts laughing.]
Sorry.
[Is she apologizing for splashing him, or for the fact that she's currently taking off her "crown" and trying to put it on his head?]
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[ Hei angles his body away from the retaliatory bubbles, flicking a jet of water at her. When she laughs, her pretty teeth bared and head thrown back, the line of her throat is vulnerable -- an open target for his blade in another life. Instead he watches her with an idle amusement. It's interesting, the way she segues between woman and child. Lush in body and direct in gaze; yet full of awkward jitters and flights of fancy. He realizes he hasn't seen her act so girlish and bubbly in a long time. ]
[ Partly that's due to recent circumstance. Partly, well -- he's not the most effusive company. Her bursts of giggles, snatches of smiles, are still rare enough around him to be noted. Why put her off them? ]
You're cute when you laugh. [ He states it plainly, tracing her cheek with soapy fingers, before smoothing the damp hair back off her forehead. Then, without missing a beat, ] But I'm banning you from drying dishes. Get out of here. [ Go bother the lizard while he cleans up. ]
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She makes a face when he banishes her.]
I said I'm sorry! I promise I'll use a towel this time.
[They're having a good moment. She doesn't want to let go of that.]
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[ He doesn't want her to forget what he is. He wants her to keep him at a relative distance. Never trust him too much. ]
[ Because inevitably, he knows he'll disappoint her. ]
[ He doesn't say that though. Instead he regards her -- sidelong, suspicious -- before handing her a towel. ]
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Like everything else in her life, Korra will have to learn that the hard way.
For right now, she smiles and takes the towel from him. He can be as suspicious as he likes. She picks up the plates and dries them without further comment.]
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[ But it won't fix anything. His baggage, his limitations, will still be there. They'll keep cutting him inside, and cut her in turn, because that instinct to defend himself, to hold himself away from comfort, is so much a part of him that it's never not there. ]
[ For the second time, Hei thinks: What am I doing here with her? ]
[ One by one, he rinses the glasses and mechanically passes them over to her. His manner is controlled, but the eyes regard her in brief glimpses that might pass for wistfulness. ]
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When they finish the last of the dishes, Korra uses towel to get the last of the soap suds out of her hair.]
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Quasimodo is still in the fridge, [ he says, the quirk to his mouth not a smile, but close enough. ] Do you want to take it with you? To eat later?
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I won't let it win next time.
[There's only one thing to do when you lose, after all, and that's try again.]
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Have you spoken to Pavel yet?
[ It's phrased as an offhand question, but he's slipped into elicitation by dint of training. ]
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No.
[She leans against the kitchen counter and crosses her arms protectively.]
I've gone to his house a few times, but his roommate won't let me see him.
[And, honestly, she could try harder. She could use the stupid network device, or try to find him at work, or talk to Lucy. If she was really determined, she would find a way. But in her heart of hearts, she's still frightened and ashamed, and so she sets herself up for failure.]
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[ He still doesn't look up, sweeping the table's surface so it's spotless. But inside he reigns in a dim curiosity. He's been numbed-out for so long, it startles him like a cold slap on the back of his neck, to want to know anything about anything. Especially where it concerns these kids. But it seems a pity, to watch them crash around and into each other, senselessly causing damage, like deaf-and-blind insects of misery. ]
There's other ways to speak to him. [ Again: blunt. Observational fact rather than an accusation. ] If you seek him out, he'll listen to you.
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Nn.
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[ But neither Korra nor Pavel are part of that world. They inhabit completely different mindsets and expectations. They're not ready to reconcile yet, too shaken to their cores. The trust between them isn't just rattled -- it's broken off. But the ugliness has happened, and they have to live through it, moment by moment. They can't do that unless they confront what gutted them to begin with. ]
[ Quietly, Hei says, ] I hope that rift between you two smooths itself out. It won't happen overnight. But everything's so temporary and awful here anyway. Why add more to it when you don't have to? [ Advice he'd never taken himself in his entire life. Especially not when Amber betrayed him, and he never saw beyond his hatred to try and understand her reasons. ]
[ But maybe Korra and Pavel would be different. Maybe. ]
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She just doesn't know how to keep him.]
I should probably go. [She needs space to think. About Chekov, and what to do.]
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[ (This is his style of secondhand support.) ]
[ Quietly, he steps out of the kitchen to see her out. Hei has spent decades decoding the intricacies of body language, so he sets his shoulders and expression differently, letting the posture read as calm and comfortable (Not benign; they're a little past that stage, he muses wryly. Just -- friendly.) ]
[ Overall it was a nice afternoon. No mishaps, no carnage, a few laughs, then he broke up the mood. But the final score -- dishes cooked: three, punches thrown: zero. For them, a satisfactory game. ]
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She stops by the door and leans up for one last kiss.]
Thanks for lunch.
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