love builds prisons

[anatural]

WHO: Hei & Korra
WHAT: After losing the baby, Korra sneaks out of the metal clan city to find Zaheer.

[Korra walks quickly and quietly down the corridors, using every technique she'd learned during the civil war to remain unnoticed by the guards. Snow and metal were two entirely different elements, but when you looked beyond the surface differences, the techniques for one can guide techniques for the other. She's heading for one of the isolated service doors that open up to the world outside the metal clan's city. Naga's already outside — earlier that day Korra had gone for a ride with her, and returned on foot after the guards had changed shifts. Her escape has been carefully, meticulously planned. The only person who could stop her is Hei, and he's not going to notice. He's been off in his own little dark world since she lost the baby. He doesn't see her at all.

Nobody does. Tenzin, Bolin, Mako, even Asami... They're so caught up in their pain for her that they can't see they're drowning her. Every time they say Korra, I’m so sorry, all she can think is Why? She's never wanted to be a mother. The Red Lotus is gunning for her and every other world leader. It's honestly for the best that the baby is gone. She knows there's a part of her that's grieving, but she can't feel it. That numbness and detachment frighten her, but there's no one she can talk to about it because all she'd get is more sympathy and orders to rest. Take it easy. Stay inside. Love will once again build her a prison — but she doesn't plan on giving it the chance. More than anything else, she's the Avatar, and she's not going to just hide inside a metal fortress while the world burns because she's "recovering." Even if she has to do it alone, she's going to find Zaheer and stop him.

She reaches the service door and lets out a relieved breath. Almost there.]

Comments

[candothat]

[There isn't time for Chekov to be confused when his molecules reassemble on what appears to be a battlefield. He instinctively drops to the ground--not bravest course of action, but projectiles and debris are flying through the air, it's dark, and the lieutenant knows better than to fling himself blindly into a fray.

Blindly being the operative word. Some kind of orange light flickers nearby, but it's nothing compared to the bright white of the Enterprise's transport room. The eighteen year-old reaches for his phaser as he wills the dim shapes around him to resolve themselves into something recognizable. His training tells him that he shouldn't draw his weapon before taking stock of his situation. The imminent threat of death, however, overrides rules and regulations; the Prime Directive is remarkably unimportant in the midst of explosions, incoherent yelling, and--

Lava?

Chekov scrambles to his feet as the ground begins to shake, roil, and crack. All he can do is hope that he's dashing to safety instead of a different kind of death.

The explosion directly in front of him kills that hope. Earth and rocks pelt him in the wake of the explosive boom and he tucks his head and limbs in close to minimize the chances of injury. There's no time, no time for self-assessment, and Chekov is running again with his phaser drawn. If he's injured, slowing down to think about it isn't going to help him. He has to reach some kind of safety and hail the ship.

His eyes are adjusting to the dimly-lit nightmare in which he has found himself. He veers away from what appears to be the heart of the battle, away from lava and explosions and the cacophony of unintelligible voices--and right into an unyielding dark mass. The lieutenant tries to redirect himself at the last second and succeeds only in crashing to the ground, knees-first. Pain doesn't register. He has to keep going, has to see what he hit, and he rolls onto his back and brings the phaser to bear on the potential threat.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Teeth gritted, Hei has one slick hand flexed around the lavabender's throat, the other frantically reaching to regrasp the plunging knife-hilt. At his back something flashes; in a mad moment, he thinks it's more like a portal opening than another flare of lava. He has no time to think of it further, though. Ghazan tries to shake him off before he can dispense an electric shock. A pellet-full of rocks fly at him, grazing his arm and cheek; he is getting seriously singed. His opponent is losing his footing though. With the earth cracking open under them, spewing hot froth, Ghazan will probably be killed on impact within the chasm. But then so will Hei. ]

[ He can't let that happen. To come this far, only to die crisped and blackened like a five-style chicken-wing? ]

[ How fucking futile. ]

[ That is the idea in his mind until one of Ming Hua's watery tentacles snag his wrist. In a blink, he's wrenched off Ghazan, his blade skidding across the other man's arm in a slick red zigzag. Ghazan hollers in pain; the tentacle swings Hei up and snaps him, like a towel. Before Hei can let off an electric surge, he's flung away at breakneck speed. The blurred landscape of the battle flies past him before he drops, bones crunching on hot concrete. ]

[ Pain radiates through his body's meridians. But he refuses to focus on that. A breath, a few blinks, and he's back on his feet. Before he can rejoin the battle, though, he collides with something. Hei's clothes are dirt-and-blood-streaked, a very thin carpeting over solid adrenalized muscle. So there's no mistaking the thud as the two hard hurtling objects collide. The lighter of the two falls back. ]

[ Head tilted, Hei blinks once, then twice, as if readjusting his vision from dark to bright. At his sides, his fists clench and unclench, two throwing knives still gripped between his fingers. He eyes the newcomer for a long moment, his stare blank but focused, too. Suddenly he's not sure what he's seeing, or even where he is. It's been almost a year since he's seen that particular face, after all. ]

[ A moment passes. Finally, flatly: ]

What the hell are you doing here?

[ Not the warmest welcome. But given the circumstances, Hei's social finesse isn't at its best. ]

[candothat]

[Chekov's attention is drawn initially to the subtle movement of hands and the knives in their grasp, but that voice...

Hei. Although his words are in a language that the lieutenant can't understand (was his universal translator damaged?), he is instantly recognizable. Not a threat, his brain provides, and he lowers the phaser incrementally even though he knows that that isn't true.

Now is not the time to gawk or question reality. Chekov regains his feet and turns his back to Hei--too trusting, perhaps, but that is a personal flaw that he has yet to overcome--in order to assess the situation. It takes a split second for him to focus on a man and a woman, and only a breath longer to identify them as the most immediate threat. The Chekov that Hei last saw wouldn't have so much as considered shooting two unarmed (literally, in the woman's case) opponents. This Chekov, however, sets his phaser to stun and opens fire.

He can question Hei when they're not staring death in the face.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ This makes two people who have altered dramatically since they left the City. ]

[ Hei blinks as Chekov swivels to open fire on Ghazan and Ming Hua. Somewhere along the line, the boy's shed the hinkiness that seemed to claim him everytime he tripped and fell into a disaster-zone, and picked up the confidence he needs, which appears composed at least as much of his training as of his ability to fix on the pulsepoints of a crisis and take it apart with the same incisive quickness he handles machinery. ]

[ The phaser packs a nasty punch. Hei realizes, watching the laser slice through the air, that he's forgotten the neat effectiveness of firearms -- especially after a year in Korra's world. Ming Hua dodges the blast like a skittering spider. Ghazan, bloody and disoriented by Hei's earlier attack, is less lucky. ]

[ Hei watches him go down -- before he makes his move. A year ago, this would've meant leaving Pavel to fend for himself, and rejoining the conflict. Possibly stealing his phaser, to give himself an edge. Instead, he assumes the rearguard position. Lets Pavel cover his exposed flank, while he deals with the scurrying shape of Ming Hua, her water-tentacles like a whip-scorpion's legs, lashing at him with brutal speed. Hei dodges, a quick one-two-three, then lets fly a wire, aiming to snag one of her legs and bring her down with a sizzling blue volt. ]

[ He has questions to ask Pavel. He has concerns about Korra's safety. But it'll have to wait. No sense getting distracted. ]

[candothat]

[One down. The man should be out cold for an hour at the very least, provided he isn't accidentally killed before then.

Chekov falls into step, phaser ready should anyone else move to attack, keeping a wary eye on the woman with the water arms. Hei is as quick and merciless as ever, he notes with grim satisfaction; the woman is almost unnaturally fast, but he doesn't doubt that the assassin will be able to disable her.

He scans the area, dismayed to find that it's impossible to determine who he should consider an enemy when no one is directly attacking him. He also searches for Korra and Naga, fully expecting them to be nearby. It might be ludicrous to assume that they're around when he had thought that he'd never see them again, but Hei is present and the battle's participants are clearly benders. This has to be Korra's world, and so she must be around. The alternative is unthinkable.

It's best not to think.

Another woman catches Chekov's attention. Although she's not particularly close, the marking on her forehead and her combat-ready stance make her stand out. There's an uncanny correlation between the direction of her gaze and the explosions, but she has no weapons and, if she's bending, she's not doing so in a way that's apparent to him. No, she has to be controlling the explosions. She's well out of phaser range...

The lieutenant glances back at Hei and briefly considers abandoning his position to get closer, get a shot in. Briefly--loyalty inevitably wins out over heroism.

The woman with the mark on her forehead looks their way.

An instant later, a blast tears the air and earth in their vicinity apart.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ The air flows with violent potential, both natural and extraordinary. But Hei is in his element by now, all thought dissolving into the heat of brutal instinct. Ming Hua whips a tentacle at him and he leaps off the ground. Knees tucked like a schoolkid playing skip-rope, letting it sweep under him. In the same breath he spins clockwise, still airborne, a wire in his right hand, crackling with electricity, spinning like the world's nastiest lasso. ]

[ Ming Hua's reaction is instantaneous and shows a vicious cunning: she brings a watery arm up to the right side of her face, turtles her shoulders, drops through her hips, and, most importantly, jerks back, beyond the arc of the wire. But Hei has anticipated this. Action beats reaction every time. Between the length of his arm, the length of the wire, and the force of his trajectory, he has more room to maneuver. He whirls, a mid-air pirouette, and the wire snakes around and lashes across her neck like a bullwhip. ]

[ Ming Hua spasms with a shriek, then drops; the electricity leaves an acrid reek in the air. ]

[ But there's no time for satisfaction. Hei's gaze cuts sideways, past the pale disc of Pavel's tense face, to P'Li. Who has them in her crosshairs. Two perfect bullseyes. ]

[ Shit. ]

[ Grabbing Pavel by the scruff of his neck, Hei swings a wire with his free hand. It snags a masonry-spire on a nearby building. In the next breath, he and Pavel are weightless, sail-planing, swooping through the bright murk of the air as a huge globe of fire detonates beyond them, juddering with a deafening roar as flaming umbrellas open in the sky, tinting the area every colour of red. ]

[ They tumble clear of the flying debris. Hei's limbs scramble for purchase, realigning his weight before they've even hit the ground. His eyes scan the terrain, a calculated 360 degrees, before concern digs in. ]

Where's Zaheer?

[ It's muttered to himself, not Pavel. Hell, he doubts the younger man can understand a word he's saying. ]

[candothat]

[As dreadfully undignified as being hauled around like an errant kitten is, it beats dying a fiery death. A slightly-singed (but otherwise intact, thanks to Hei) Chekov lands with less grace than the assassin, staggering a few feet after the jarring impact with the ground. He stays in an upright position and the phaser wasn't lost mid-flight, so he's willing to consider this whole mess a success thus far.

So much for an uneventful diplomatic mission.]

What are you looking for?

[Chekov asks the question in Russian. Pleasantries can wait until whatever danger they're in has passed.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ The way Hei looks past Chekov is askew, his eyes trailing across the scenery, alert for threats. His nerves spit white-hot fire, and the space of his brain feels exponentially vast and open and boiling with darkness; energy crackles at his edges, but it seems to meld with the eruptions and the stamp and clang of battle. ]

[ It's a strange sensation. Feeling both intensely at home and impossibly on-edge. ]

[ When he glances at Chekov, it's with a perfectly blank face. (Adrenaline often exaggerates other peoples' expressions. Hei's, it irons flat.) The dialectal hybrid of Cantonese and Japanese, so common in Korra's world, is on the tip of his tongue, before he thinks Russian instead. ]

An airbender with a shaved head. He and his group are after Korra.

[candothat]

[There is something off about Hei. Then again, when is there not? Chekov dismisses his suspicions. It has been some time--nineteen months for him--and people inevitably change. There will be time to think about that later. Right now, it sounds as if Korra is in trouble.

Some things don't change.

Chekov acknowledges Hei's answer with a nod, eyes wide and expression serious, already searching for the target. There's no sense in admitting that he doubts he could identify an airbender on sight, as Hei undoubtedly realizes. A shaved head isn't that much to go on, but it will have to do.]

I'll follow your lead.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Something off? If asked, Hei wouldn't offer details. Reticence remains a cardinal aspect of his nature. Fuck, he privately wouldn't know where to start. Readjusting to a completely different world. Being involved in another war. Watching Korra defeat Unalaq and usher in a new spiritual era. Getting her pregnant. Watching her lose the baby. Staying on red-alert every moment for threats from the Red Lotus. His psyche is rusted by anxiety and fresh disappointment, his baggage like a rickety streamliner -- full of holes and crusted with filth. ]

[ He refuses to think about it. ]

[ He should be thinking about Chekov, and why he's here. The How bears less importance. He's well acquainted with the technology of the younger man's world. He understands Starfleet's mission statement. Dimly, he wonders if Enterprise is in the same dimension as Korra's, or if the two forked dimensions have accidentally converged. He worries, a coil of anxiety unleashing itself inside him, if they're all going to end up sucked back into the City. ]

[ He hopes not. Letting his mind loosen its grip on the What-Ifs and sink its claws into the Right-Now, he focuses on Chekov. The boy has a phaser. That, coupled with the element of surprise, may allow them to deflect the Red Lotus' attack. Push them into a retreat. ]

[ He slips a hand into his jacket. Draws out a laughably small platinum stick. Though only eight inches recoiled, when he flicks his wrist, it telescopes to six feet -- an interlocking series of pipes tipped with a sharpened sickle of diamond. He plans to shove the business-end into P'li's third-eye, if he gets close. ]

[ He glances toward the battlefield. The chaos tugs at an invisible string inside him. He can read its ebbs and flows like sheet music -- gaining brutal intensity as it surges to a crescendo. It's a moment before he spots Zaheer. Caught in a showdown between the Beifong sisters. Several yards off, P'Li blasts the metalguards to smithereens, creating an effective barrier of flying bodies and flames. ]

[ Finally, without looking over at Chekov, ]

We need to take out the Amazon. Be ready to jump in and distract her while I go for her Third Eye.

[candothat]

[Chekov, in some part of his brain that isn't caught up in the fight, has been contemplating how and why he is where he currently is. The odds of relocating Hei and Korra by chance are infinitesimally small. Perhaps being pulled to the City had a subtle effect on them on a quantum level, altering the rate at which their subatomic particles vibrate. Transporters are notoriously sensitive to even the slightest shift...

The collapsible weapon that Hei produces is impressive--not entirely unlike Sulu's katana. Hopefully it's just as sturdy.

He follows Hei's gaze. The man with the shaved head looks considerably less threatening than the woman who can make things explode, but there's something about him that sets Chekov on edge. He has a calm, confident air even as he fights--the air of someone who believes that what he is doing is right and has no intention of losing.

But the woman is the most immediate threat while the man is occupied. She's slower than the woman with the water arms had been; not so slow as to make stunning her with the phaser a wise move since missing would mean death, but Chekov would only need to be quick enough to avoid being killed.]

I can do that.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei doesn't trust Zaheer's stillness. Doesn't trust that resounding peace about him, especially after what he's learnt about the Red Lotus' raison d'etre. The idea of chaos as a representation of free will, ultimate empowerment and self-determinism ... It might've appealed to Amber, who thrived in chaos, but who also possessed a method to her madness. She was the one who'd explained to Hei, long ago, that order might underlie chaos, but within chaos, there is order. To tip the scales toward either extreme jeopardizes all balance. ]

[ Life with chaos might be fair, but it would would be fairly bad. And while life with order might be unfair, it is unfairly better. ]

[ All things considered, Hei is convinced that Zaheer is a special brand of insane. ]

[ Insane or not, he'a aiming to get the man's attention. To succeed, he needs to do some damage to his reputed lover. ]

[ At Chekov's words, Hei regards him for a moment -- a gaze of both blank focus and cold-hot precision. Scanning the boy's face, smart enough to search for any hesitation, trusting enough of his abilities to want to believe none is there, insightful enough to see that none is. In a brief flicker of nostalgia, he thinks: Same old go-getter. ]

[ Then he nods, and says, ]

Aim for her left. That's her blind spot. Fire before she has a chance to focus on you.

[ By which time, Hei will already have made his move. ]

[ There is nothing else to discuss. One quick signal, then he's racing into the blazing-red fray. A zigzag maneuvering, followed by a sharp thrust with his weapon like a pole-vaulter, all accomplished in smooth sync, like gears in a precision timepiece. Closing in on P'Li, between the lulls of each explosion, ready for Chekov to make his move. ]

[candothat]

[All Chekov knows about their opponents is that they are after Korra. He has no proof of this, but he doubts that Hei would lie about such a thing.

They've said all that needs to be said. Chekov moves away from Hei and towards the woman, quick and low to the ground, approaching her from her left. There's another explosion; judging by its location relative to the woman, her attention is firmly focused away from him. He takes the opportunity to straighten, aim and fire.

Chekov is too far away to ensure accuracy and the phaser bolt goes wide. The woman turns in his direction, however, and the lieutenant bolts, moving erratically to prevent her from predicting his position.

Three rapid-fire explosions tear up the earth behind him. He flings himself forward, well out of the way of the resulting fireballs, and hits the ground with more force than he had intended. His ears are ringing. Smoke and dust are thick in the air, impairing breathing but providing cover. Chekov regains his feet and backtracks. The woman will undoubtedly expect him to continue in the direction in which he had been running; with any luck, he'll be able to get another shot in before she determines where he is.

If he's even luckier, Hei will close in on her and take her out in the next few heartbeats.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He's forgotten how spry Chekov is -- a fluid little tornado of a boy with the tight-packed frame of a circus acrobat. Crouched near a smoking heap of rocks, his stance wide and low, Hei monitors his progress. The first phaser shot is well-off its mark. P'Li wastes no time in narrowing out the irritant and opening fire. He watches Chekov weave away from the blasts. Flames mushroom out behind him like lit gasoline unfurling across a calm sea. The plumes of smoke provide ample cover -- but also a barrier that prevents Hei from ensuring Chekov is unhurt. ]

[ Not that he's waiting around to check. ]

[ The moment P'Li's back is turned, he makes his move. Skidding into range, it takes him seconds to reach her. It takes barely a split-second more for her to wrench her attention off Chekov, and notice him closing in. Except Hei's already made his move. P'Li's bloodcurdling scream -- more like a banshee's wail -- swoops up and shatters in the air as the point of Hei's spear meets her Third Eye -- a messy red collision. ]

[ In his peripheral vision, there is a blur of movement. In the next breath Zaheer is right in front of him, blocking his path to P'Li. A stunning wind-blast hurls Hei twenty feet off. He slams back-first against a charred remnant of wall, his spear clattering away. Bright spots burst before Hei's eyes. Something thick and hot dribbles down the back of his neck. When he touches the spot, his palm comes away bloody. ]

[ Half-blinded with pain, he watches Zaheer conjure up a massive sphere of wind. It sucks up all the Red Lotus members -- the twitching mass of Ghazan, the smoking curl of Ming Hua, and the bleeding, swaying spire that is P'Li. In the next beat, a powerful gust of wind nearly knocks Hei back. Dust, smoke and bright orange fireflies of embers fly everywhere. ]

[ It dissipates as quickly as it started. Blinking, Hei refocuses on the scene. Guttering flames. Crisped and mauled bodies. Twirling smoke. ]

[ But no Red Lotus. They've vanished as if into thin air. ]

[candothat]

[When one is small, lithe, and about as acrobatic as a spider monkey, one must tailor one's combat style to suit one's strengths.

The woman's shriek cuts through the smoke and dust; Hei must have reached her. Chekov changes course and runs blindly towards her, eyes watering and back protesting. Even if Hei has successfully incapacitated the woman, the airbender is bound to notice him.

The dense haze parts abruptly, sliced apart by Zaheer's powerful attack. As soon as he realizes that his cover has been compromised, Chekov falls into a low crouch, narrowly avoiding the tail end of the blast. He's running again before he can order his feet to move. The airbender is in plain sight! If he can get a clear shot--

A vortex of swirling wind whips up around Zaheer and pulls in his companions. Chekov only manages to fire his phaser twice before a wall of air knocks him back to the ground. The unnaturally bright discharge of nadion particles disappears into the cloud of dust and smoke that envelopes the scene and masks the enemy.

Near-silence, broken only by quiet murmurs and the crackle of dying flames, settles as the air clears. The airbender and his allies are gone. For a delirious moment, Chekov wonders how they managed to harness the power of a transporter, but no--that technology is far beyond even the brightest minds here. The Russian stands up again and looks for Hei, forcibly ignoring the crumpled bodies in his vicinity. Dressed and armed as he is, he can't afford to be seen, even if that means disregarding the injured and dying.

Hei is slumped against what was until recently a wall. The boy, still running on adrenaline and numb to any pain, darts over to the assassin. Subtle eye movements assure him that Hei isn't dead.

He drops to his knees next to him, keen on identifying any critical injuries.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ So close, Hei thinks bitterly, as an imperfect silence settles in. We almost had them. ]

[ His pulse is slow with the throb of rage and pain, but it's a running river that cannot be stopped. Blinking slowly, he watches the first rays of sunlight creep across the landscape. Lush and vibrant, the valley's green canopy is etched in ebbing shadow, the sky now a dull pink, a lingering band of brightness tracing the Earth's curve. ]

[ For one brief moment, he's reminded of Heaven's War. That moments after the battles were done. Before the crying and screaming of the wounded began. He'd always come to look forward to that bubble of sweet silence, in which he'd find that without too much effort he could concentrate on the present and forget the grisly past or the uncertain future. In which he'd learnt that you can get used to anything, in time. ]

[ He stirs when Pavel rushes in. Everything smells like soot and copper and charred flesh. Around him, the metalguards are in rough shape. A freckle-faced kid squirts blood from his femoral artery. Another man with his armor scorched off nurses a sucking chest wound, eyes bugged out and glassy; he screams for someone named Aiguo. A kid lies on a bed of crushed leaves sans right leg, chest pin-cushioned with so many chunks of broken rubble he resembles a porcupine. Others are in shock, their faces ashen, beyond the realm of pain. ]

[ Hei's better off than most. His clothes are singed, but for the most part, intact. His burns are mild, the edges of his hair crisped and palms and cheekbones reddened from the explosions. A handful of minutes pass before he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, streaking dark-brown across his lips and down his jaw. He stands unsteadily, sways -- but it doesn't take him long to align his balance. (Break enough bones and lose enough blood and, over the years, you learn to suck it up and keep moving.) ]

[ He glances at Chekov, a faint flicker of tension in his shoulders that's there and gone again when he realizes the boy is mostly intact. Rolling his shoulders with a dull pop, until something slides in place, he says, ]

We need to find Korra.

[ Something twists in his gut as he says her name; he ignores it. No point wasting time and energy in worrying. He has to take this one step at a time. ]

[candothat]

[When Chekov becomes fully aware of the devastation, he experiences the same frustrated helplessness that he had come to know too well during the Khan debacle. Engineering had been falling apart and casualties had been mounting; Chekov, then acting head of the department, had determined that fires, exposed wiring, and off-again on-again artificial gravity made the belly of the ship too dangerous for personnel. He'd had neither the time nor the medical skills to assist the most gravely-injured engineers. Only twelve people were unable to escape--impressively few, all things considered, but leaving them behind had been torture.

There's not much more that he can do here without violating the Prime Directive. Even if he discarded his uniform tunic and handheld devices, he'd still stand out enough to draw unwanted attention.

None of Hei's injuries appear to be immediately life threatening and he's able to remain on his feet, which is good enough for the moment. Chekov does a brief self-inventory and determines that he's close enough to fine, as well. The artificial fibers of his undershirt are burned to his back in places, his right ear is still ringing, and he has more scrapes and blossoming bruises than he cares to think about. Nothing's broken, nothing is sufficiently torn or stretched or sprained to be of concern right now.

Find Korra. Yes.]

Where was she when you--

[The words last saw her are largely swallowed by a nearby moan. It's the kid with freckles, his leg punctured and bleeding far too much. He hasn't lost enough blood to slip into unconsciousness and his face is twisted in agony.]

A moment, please. You don't need to wait for me.

[It shouldn't surprise Hei when Chekov's bleeding heart overwhelms common sense. The teenager shoots him an apologetic glance, shrugs the remains of his scorched golden tunic off (the clothing took the brunt of the fire damage), and slips over to the kid. His black undershirt is far more inconspicuous, and he thinks that he has accumulated enough grime to avoid being detected for the moment. A femoral artery can exsanguinate a man in under three minutes, but tourniquets aren't difficult to apply. The injured boy might lose a leg. It's a high price, but it beats hemorrhaging.

Chekov begins to tie the tunic around the kid's leg, muttering nonsense syllables to quiet him. It won't take long. He's confident that he'll be able to catch up with Hei.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei watches Chekov scurry off to help the fallen. His expression -- sharp and immobile -- might convey either complete indifference or a weary disdain. But all Hei is, is contemplative. Far as he's come in allowing those brief, tremulous shudders of kindness under his surface to blossom into action, he still lacks the ready empathy to help anyone beyond his private orbit. Chekov's helpfulness is pure saccharine. But what that means to him is moot. ]

[ (It makes the younger man predictable. Makes him easier to exploit. Once, Hei would've been glad he was incapable of either tactical failing. Now he resolves only to wear aces up his sleeves, never his heart. It's safer that way -- for him, and for those he cares about.) ]

[ The meat of the metalguard's thigh is ragged, most of the flesh blown clear off the bone. The femur shines wetly in the crisp sunlight, red muscle encased in a thin layer of adipose tissue. He can see a white blood vessel sticking out of the mess, blood spritzing from the vein like water from a spigot. Hei has seen wounds like this past counting, in all their gruesome variety. The making of them is his profession. ]

[ He knows the kid will die, no matter how high or tight the tourniquet is. In Chekov's place, he'd be more inclined to zap the kid -- flipping his lights off like a switch. Mercy is better than a slow death. ]

[ Instead, he says flatly, ]

Don't fall behind.

[ Without a glance, he takes off -- heading for the city's exit. Dealing with the casualties isn't his concern. Korra is. He needs to find her -- and make sure Zaheer hasn't gotten his hands on her. ]

[candothat]

[What Hei thinks is irrelevant; no decent Starfleet officer with even the most rudimentary medical knowledge would leave someone to die if there's a slim chance of saving them (or so Chekov thinks. In truth, the possibility of violating the Prime Directive and unlikelihood of making a difference would deter many sensible officers).

Chekov ties the tourniquet high on the leg, nimble fingers slipping as blood pours out of the gaping wound. By the time it's secure and the flow of blood has been reduced to a trickle, the kid is unconscious. He's too pale, too far gone. The odds of him waking aren't good. It would be a kindness to stun him, maybe, but Chekov can't bring himself to entertain the thought. There's nothing else to do.

The Russian sets off after Hei, the dying kid's blood drying into a tacky mess on his hands and forearms. There are other casualties who might be saved, but not without falling too far behind.

Korra, focus on Korra.

He catches up to Hei and falls into step behind him without a word.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei doesn't glance around when he hears Chekov's footsteps. But that doesn't mean he's ignoring the boy. (It's one of those things you have to get used to. Once Hei has determined there are no threats in the periphery, he lapses into a lupine self-absorption. He takes his time when he can.) Nor does he tell Chekov that trying to save that kid was a waste. Maybe it was futile, but that doesn't matter. Chekov is what he is. He does everything he can to save another person's life, even if it sometimes means skating the edge of danger himself. ]

[ Hei's learnt not to burn precious energy forcing someone -- whose matrix is shaped in exact opposition to his -- to function differently. ]

[ Quietly, he drifts through a dense green grove of papaya trees. His boots barely crush the rotting fruit underfoot; the air is already filled with their sickly sweetness. By his estimation, the tunnel passing under the metal city ends a few feet beyond the grove. He hopes Korra and Asami are there. Hopes they weren't waylaid before they'd even reached the cellar. ]

[ He doesn't bother to turn around to speak, gaze fixed straight ahead. But there is something idle, almost conversational in his cadence, when he says: ]

You're the last person I expected to see. But I can't complain.

[candothat]

[They may not be wholly out of danger; being quiet is likely in their best interest, and there's no sense in arguing about whether or not trying to save strangers is a worthwhile endeavor. Chekov and Hei have fundamentally different modes of operation. Neither will convince the other to change.

The cloying smell of overly-ripe fruit is stifling. There's too much nature here and it makes Chekov almost as uncomfortable as the battlefield that they left behind. There are too many places to hide in this grove and too few avenues of escape.

Hei's voice is a welcome break in the oppressive silence.]

I'm glad that my appearance wasn't an inconvenience.

[anatural]

[Far from an inconvenience — but certainly unexpected. Which has pretty much been the theme of the night. Neither Korra nor Asami had expected to be confronted with metalbending guards as they ran from the conflict...guards who turned out to be Red Lotus members in disguise. They'd gotten separated in the ensuing fight. Korra made it to the cellar on her own, and was debating whether to go out in search of Asami.

On the one hand, she can't just hide here and do nothing while her friend's in trouble. On the other hand, Asami outright told her to go hide, and the other girl was more than capable of taking care of herself. Probably moreso than Korra right now if she's honest with herself.

The sound of footsteps approaching makes her internal debate null; she gets ready to attack just in case.

.............why are they speaking gibberish? And why does that one voice sound so familiar?]

[mortemscintilla]

I'm hoping Korra will agree.

[ Hei tells Chekov, though what he really means is If she's alive. ]

[ The grove unfolds in a dozen shades of green around them. Carefully, Hei scans the terrain. All five senses tuning in, as if collecting the molecules shaken loose by other shapes, alive and moving. He feels the wind engaging millions of pine needles on their branches, like clattering whispers. A rabbit careening through the grove, dashing through dry leaves. Fifty feet. Birds, too many to count, dotted among the trees, flapping, swooping across the foliage. Thirty feet. A heavy shifting, possibly a threat, possibly an ally. Fifteen feet. ]

[ Hei goes perfectly still. His gaze fixes on the spot where a shadow flickers between the lush foliage, something settling across the planes of his face and in the set of his shoulders. Distrust is the best skill anyone can learn -- especially during a time like this. If it's an enemy out there, there are two expected responses. One is an old-fashioned Who's there? The other is silence. Either would betray wariness, and therefore embolden the enemy to attack. The correct move is a non sequitur, something incongruous that will momentarily occupy the enemy's cognition while his brain tries to process the unanticipated response. ]

[ And, if it's an ally, something this wildly off-track will coax them to show themselves. ]

[ so, instead of attacking, Hei inflicts the airwaves with a familiar song -- as croaky and tuneless as ever. ]

[candothat]

I can't imagine why she wouldn't.

[The subtle signs of wildlife, wind, and company are lost on Chekov. He is accustomed to monitoring his surroundings through sophisticated equipment or, when necessary, relying on his senses indoors. While he can readily pick out the sound of a malfunctioning warp coil or the hum of a dilithium crystal converter assembly that isn't working within established parameters on a ship, nature baffles him with its organic, chaotic noises.

To say that the Russian is startled when Hei begins singing would be a gross understatement.]

I will assume that you're doing that for a reason.

[anatural]

[Okay well that horrific voice can only be Hei, and he's going to draw attention here if he keeps that shit up. Korra scowls and emerges briefly from hiding, just long enough to bend a rock prison around him to muffle that horrible racket.

And then she sees a strange, almost alien looking person. His skin, beneath the grime of battle, is ruddier than any she's seen in this world, his eyes too pale. She doesn't recognize him until she notices the strange, curly hair.]

Chekov?