[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.]
[ Hei leans into the kiss with a half-smile, biting back a wry retort: Thanks for not burning my kitchen. His hands shift to fit in the curve of her waist, tugging her closer. His mouth is insistent on hers, as if he's changed his mind about a sequel; as if he's halfway prepared to yank her back indoors and pick up where they left off in the kitchen. Everything in him surges towards it, resolve eclipsed by old habit and selfishness. ]
[ Instead he breaks the kiss on a slow exhale. Loosens his hold on her, putting her back lightly but firmly. The corners of his lips quirk -- both It was nothing and I have no idea what I'm doing here. ] Hm. [ Articulate as always. ]
[....seriously, you're the worst. You give her something to think about and then you drive all the thoughts out of her head with a kiss like that. She blinks owlishly at him when he pulls away and tries to remember how to speak.]
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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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[ Instead he breaks the kiss on a slow exhale. Loosens his hold on her, putting her back lightly but firmly. The corners of his lips quirk -- both It was nothing and I have no idea what I'm doing here. ] Hm. [ Articulate as always. ]
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...bye.
[She leaves, a little dizzy and very confused.]
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[ Now please excuse him. He has some, ahem. Steam to let off. ]