fuse_box | across time & space

Entry tags:

universe: after the city

across time & space

WHO: Hei & Korra
WHAT: Hei’s been missing for years.

[Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? As Korra watches Mako walk down the beach path, she kind of regrets telling him she was fine. The air feels a lot chillier without his companionable warmth. But he's no better at comfort sex than Bolin is; they're both too romantic. Of all her friends, Asami's the only one who really understands the occasional need for intimacy without its attendant baggage. Too bad Asami's out of town.

Korra smiles and shakes her head as she opens the front door. It doesn't matter. Nights like this are why she remodeled the house so Naga could come inside. The polar bear dog's warm, solid presence is like a campfire, a soft blanket, and hot tea all in one affectionate package.

Speaking of — Naga pokes her head out of the bedroom door and whines a question.]

I'm sorry, girl. She didn't make it. [Even with Korra to stabilize her wounds and the best vet in Republic City, Cat's injuries from the hit & run accident were too severe.

One by one, everything that connects her to Hei is vanishing. A few months after he was officially declared dead, Yin went missing. Her black cat died, and some guy with a poodlebird from Future Industries took all the computer equipment. She's had to renovate the house a few times, due to storms and other emergencies. And now Cat.

It makes Korra feel sad, but mostly it makes her feel old. The normal bumps and pains that occur over a lifetime have been crammed into less than a decade; she's still a few years shy of thirty, but she feels like she's her mother's age sometimes.

Naga nuzzles her shoulder comfortingly, and Korra takes the invitation to wrap her arms around her and bury her face in the polar bear dog's fur.]

I'm tired of losing people.

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[ He wishes that time would drip into stillness. Wishes everything that's pincering him in different directions would narrow down to one thing. Just this.The warm weight of her hand on his arm, as if nothing exists between them or around them, but those thrumming cells leaping off his skin beneath her palm. ]

[ Because if he focuses on anything else, it is difficult to imagine how, after three years, they'll relate. What they'll say to each other. Whereas most of their relationship the actions and emotions have pounded themselves out, sometimes spectacularly, sometimes messily, the intimacy and sex piling up as fast or faster than life can offload them, like planes at a terminal lined up for take-off. This is challenging, to have been separated for such an enormous chunk of time, the distance wringing such emotional exhaustion out of them both that he is at a loss how to move them forward. ]

[ Especially because he is mindful of not wanting to succumb to the old bad habits of fast sex and stunted talks, the easy immediate choices of physicality with no subtext. ]

[ Maybe a reconciliation will happen in clumsy little steps. Or maybe in terrible lurches. He doesn't know -- but he's careful not to push or presume. He just wants to be honest, for them to have a conversation the way normal people do instead of him always carefully constructing the most suitable sentence for the moment. ]

[ He waits a beat, then two, before his hand closes on hers, lifting it to press her warm little fingers to his lips. ]

[ In a half-whisper, ]

All the while I was trying to get back, sometimes it made it easier. Thinking you were waiting. Other times I'd catch myself thinking that you couldn't be expecting me, and it didn't matter if I floated off to nowhere. [ His lips twitch, a dry self-deprecation. ] Lucky for you I'm not the float-off-to-nowhere type.

[She kicks his ankle.] Of course it would. [Even if he's not the float off to nowhere type, she doesn't like the idea of him even thinking about it.]

So, if I ask you to tell me what space is like, would you try to give a real answer? [He's always been terrible at telling travel stories.]

[ That kick, her childlike curiosity, suffuses him with such a sense of bittersweet excitement. He doesn't want to shift an iota, lest it dissipate or be withdrawn. But she's asking him about space, a little girl expecting to hear a marvelous story, and he has no idea what to tell her. His travels resist the translation into speech; mostly they're tactile. ]

[ He's been places where the thin little tissue of his psyche, of a human consciousness, had no meaning. Would be smashed like an egg yolk, spilling goo and insanity everywhere. The universe was such a weird place -- like a dark wasteland that had been abandoned forever, but there were still lights glittering inside, and so much gorgeous overspilling garbage, discarded fragments of impossible dreams, cogs and gaskets from the innards of infinity. On board the enterprise, constantly surrounded by other people, beset by responsibilities, driven by their mission, he would always crave solitude. But gazing at the soundless belly of space, all that freedom and possibility everywhere, hadn't afforded him a sense of peace. Perversely, he'd wished he was tethered to something solid -- real gravity, real ground, a promise that he was where he should be -- not floating in the ether, his center misaligned. ]

[ He's always stayed on the move, always been a creature of swift momentum and deep restless energy. But space travel isn't for him. Skating along on something that touches him, but that he can't touch. It's no better than Nietzsche's goddamned abyss. ]

[ Finally, in a gentle deflection, ]

You want to give it a shot? You'd look good in a spacesuit.

I'll pass, thanks. [A tinge of annoyance in her voice. She knows a deflection when she sees it.] I just want you to tell me about it. You've been gone for three years. I want to fill the gap.

[ Hei lets off a slow exhale, wondering how much of this distance between them is hers, how much is his. She'd thought he was dead, mourned him, lived for months and months devoid of anticipation or hope that he'd return. And now he's come back, unlooked-for, and of course she wants to know about his life, so she doesn't feel so confused and uninformed and out of her depth. ]

[ But he senses the fear in his own reticence. He doesn't want, he realizes, to talk about the Enterprise. Wants that time to be as unrecalled and blurry as his days in kindergarten. It hadn't been unpleasant, with Chekov there. But he'd felt, as days passed, like his sanity was bleeding out of him. He hadn't liked the tepid surfaces, the imperfect stillness, the mechanical rumblings, the way the bridge would sing dissonantly around him. Everything seemed the wrong color, warped and glowing, and the odors of the place were sanitized and hellish. He'd felt that way a few times, in hospitals; he'd forgotten just how bad it could get, the cabin-fever that was like an internalized madness. The crew gave him cards for meals, fresh from the food synthesizer, four or fives times a day -- but nothing tastedreal. His stomach snatched at nourishment and always keened for more. Even when gorging on ice creams and bowls brimming with noodles, plump slabs of steak and dripping dumplings, he'd felt like something was missing. Had fantasized in weaker moments about thick breads piled with cheese and beef and fried onions. A stir-fry with everything. ]

[ He rubs her palm slowly with his thumb, before placing it down. The effort is palpable, to be firm but not cruel. ]

It ... didn't suit me as much as being here does. That's all I'll say.

[Wow, she really hadn't missed this. Korra doesn't scowl, not like she used to, with all the petulance and anger clearly tattooed on her features. But she doesn't try to hide her annoyance either as she takes their empty dishes over to the sink.] Okay, so we're sweeping the three years I thought you were dead under the rug. Is there anything you can talk about?

[ Fuck. He's going about this all wrong. As usual. ]

[ She sets the dishes with a clatter in the sink, and the sound feeds a spark through his always-wired nerves. She's changed so much since his absence. She used to radiate the innocence of a moody little girl, all big-eyed and pouty-lipped as if she was being excluded from Grown Up Mysteries. That's gone now. In its place is a very adult anger, three parts stone to one part slow-burn, with all its awful, decisive, womanly grace. Such intelligence shining out of her eyes, and the competent curve of her lips and cheek. A strong woman, determined and resourceful. But soft too, like her own mother.]

[ It makes Hei want to smile, at once proud and awkward. But now is not the time to tempt Korra's readiness to cuff him. ]

[ Rising, he sidles close to lean over the stove, which he'd set into the countertop kitchen-island when moving in, years ago, to reduce his likelihood of having his back to a door when cooking. That was how his mind worked -- tactically. Still does. ]

[ Except where Korra is concerned. ]

[ Softly, his gaze vague with something like contrition, ]

I'd rather hear about you. How you've been getting on. What you've been upto. [ A beat, then, ] If you know where Yin is.

[She is, perhaps, a little more sympathetic to his reticence as she tries to figure out where to start the story of three years. Three years blessedly unmarked by world-ending chaos. But at least world-ending chaos would be something to talk about.

She's not sure whether she's relieved or distressed when he brings up Yin.]

I don't. I looked for her after she disappeared, but I couldn't find any sign of her. There wasn't any sign that she was taken against her will or hurt. I thought maybe she just needed some space to grieve. [Like I did. Though Korra didn't have the luxury of vanishing to nurse her ache in solitude. She'd already done that once, and Kuvira had almost taken over the entire Earth Kingdom.]

[ Hei's breath feels stuck in his chest. Korra's answer is what he'd expected. But that doesn't make the disappointment and guilt any less crushing. While Hei was here, he'd kept an unwavering focus on his network, his allies, his affairs. The closest to an omniscient Argus that any normal person could achieve. He'd made it his priority to be keenly aware of all things that concerned him -- and Yin most assuredly concerned him. ]

[ Where could she be? The idea of her slipping into the gaps of the city, seeping like water between the dirty cracks, makes him feel as though the eggshell of his self-restraint will at any moment smash to pieces, allowing the offensive stink of human depravity to invade his nostrils. Except it's a luxury -- like grieving -- to allow himself to conjure ugly scenarios, to be sick with fear. Right now he's just exhausted, light-headed, distant from everything. ]

[ Everything except Korra. ]

[ He doesn't meet her eyes. Instead he studies his hands, splayed out across the polished countertop. They're paler than they used to be; all of him is, from his year spent in the perpetual dark of space. For a moment, planted in this sunlit kitchen, it's difficult to recognize himself: too many timelines converging and melding together, disorienting him. ]

[ In the next breath, he shakes it off. ]

I'll have to find her.

[ Coded ads placed in newspapers and the radio. Messages secreted in that empty office where the missive had led him. Jinora's assistance in determining spiritual signatures. Whatever it takes, until he's sure she's safe. ]

[When Korra was younger, more insecure & selfish, she would've felt a little jealous at how quickly his thoughts turned to Yin — a young woman who's known him longer, better, and who loves him completely. But she's not so petty now. Yin is her friend too, even if they've spent little time together since coming to this world.

She reaches out & squeezes his hand.]

Anything I can do to help.

[ He doesn't smile, but there's a softening in his expression, something flickering across his eyes, the line of his mouth. Gratitude, maybe. Everything's crumbled around him, in the three years he's been away, but Korra is still here, steadily shining as the moon the caught in a net, warm and solid to the touch. ]

[ He lets his fingers lace with hers, squeezing them gently. ]

Maybe you can use the vines. Narrow out her energy.

[ He hopes Yin is somewhere safe. Hopes the cat is with her, keeping an eye out for her. The alternative is something that he can't bear imagining. He doesn't meet Korra's gaze. But he edges closer, putting no care or ceremony into it. Just closing the gap between them, his hand still knitted with hers, the other coming up to trace its fingertips along her jawline, before palming her face, a slow cradle, letting her decide if the touch is okay. (Maybe telling her I'm sorry but also Thank you, because he can't trust his voice not to betray him on either counts.) ]

I can try. I'm still not really good at it, unless she's in the swamp or somewhere in the spirit world. You'd have more luck with Jinora... [Her voice stutters slowly to a halt as he cups her face. She's missed him so much... She can feel the ache of it deep in her belly. Missed his smell, missed the way his touch could tell her so much. Missed having sex with him and feeling like they were building something.

She hasn't spent three years celibate. In the first few months after she thought he was dead, she made some really stupid sexual choices with people who, fortunately, nobody would ever believe got to fuck the Avatar. After that, she became a bit more discerning, occasionally releasing the tension with an attractive, well-behaved stranger, and — more frequently — Asami, after a late night discussion about Future Industry's foray into sex toys led to a mutual admission of sexual frustration and a mutual willingness to help the other work it off. But that's all it was — good friends helping each other let off steam, like maintenance on a satomobile. They weren't making anything together.

She doesn't want to rush this. She doesn't want to pretend that this three-year wound can be healed with one good fuck. But oh man, does she want to fuck him. Just yank her pants down and pull him inside so she can feel that he's back in her deepest places. She manages not to do that, instead leaning forward to hesitantly kiss him.]

[ Her face, cradled in his palm, feels hot and moist. So much stymied energy fritzing in the air around her. It calls to him the same as ever, with a rush like the Pacific undertow pulling the sand out from beneath his feet. It makes his mind reel. Three years. They've had long separations before, in the City and here. But this situation isn't the sort he can master so easily. There is no war brewing on the fringes, no curse or fresh cataclysm to fling them together, to knit an adrenalized bond of trust between them -- because it is hard to stay distant and petty in the middle of disaster. ]

[ Here there is no enemy to fight. There is nothing he can do at all, really, except endure, and hope that the old spark and warmth between them will resurface from under the layers of tense reserve. ]

[ When she kisses him, something lurches dizzily inside his chest. His lips feel so cold against hers. He imagines it must be like kissing snow. Except there is a deep flare inside him -- a hot hunger for Korra -- that doesn't stop burning. His doubts unshackle slowly, one by one, just as the splintering stiffness in his spine dissolves, vertebra by vertebra. When he kisses back, it's not chaste. But there is something tender in the way he gathers her closer, smoothing the fine hairs along her brow, lips parting against hers to chase the ghosts of their breakfast inside her mouth. ]

[ Surreal, doing this, but so natural. Especially with how long it's been. He's mostly kept to himself the whole year on Enterprise -- except for a few blindish, heated fumbles in a dark corner of the shuttle carousel, with a sweet snub-nosed engineer who'd smelled incongruously of old-fashioned lily talcum powder, and who had hastily pulled away and the next morning requested a transfer; or that blowjob in the hangar high-bay when he'd made desultory talk with that pretty tac officer scheduled to go on leave in a few hours, who had touched his shoulder and so he had angled his body towards her, and something fleeting and prickly-hot had passed between them; and just that once with that gristly operations manager in her plain little room, trying -- and failing -- to feel some enthusiasm about her wan stick-insect's body. ]

[ None of it was like this -- the white-hot greed of pressing close to Korra -- tasting her mouth over and over. ]

[His lips are cold — and dry, and a little thinner than she's gotten used to. But they feel so good, and she wraps her arms around his neck, almost wanting to cry at how perfect everything is.

Well, except for how gross her teeth feel. And the lingering remnants of breakfast, which never used to gross her out until Asami got her into the habit of cleaning thoroughly before sex. She smiles a little wryly as she breaks the kiss, pulling back just far enough to speak.]

We should probably brush our teeth.

[ He's off-balance, breathless, when she pulls away. With a blink, he tries to process her words. Teeth? He's never known her to be particularly fastidious. She tastes fine to him -- better than fine. She tastes good, like something he could gorge endlessly on -- tea and crunchy fried food and echoes of spice. He'd expected, from prior experience, that she'd press for sex; she'd always been so constantly revved up when he'd lived with her, cheerfully, innocently seductive that he'd always ended up succumbing to her and never been able to stop. Even in City, every time he saw her, she'd tried sweetly, cheekily, for whatever she could get. ]

[ But it's been three years. Maybe they've reshaped her patterns? Maybe her reluctance has to do as much with keeping a measured pace to this strange reunion, not rushing interactions that contain within them so much tension and articulated loss, as with a quiet fear? Maybe, even as she yearns for the sameness as before, she can't let herself believe it's there, because they're so out of sync after so much time apart? ]

[ He doesn't know. Instead he leans in and kisses her. Once, and then again. His own mouth still tastes like toothpaste, even under the salty detritus of breakfast: he's always taken obsessive care of his teeth, as if to avoid the risk of evil dentists and medical notice in general. The third kiss is deeper; he falls into it, what his mouth has longed for, but doesn't linger enough to be pushy. ]

[ Drawing back, he breathes, ]

I guess so.

[ It's curious but humoring. Like this is an unexpected new tic, but one he's ready to indulge. ]

Edited 2014-12-06 23:32 (UTC)

[She'd explain, but it's oddly embarrassing to say I’ve picked up a few new habits having sex with other people. Even if he's the last person in the world with any right to judge. She settles for a quick peck to his lips.]

Might as well grab a shower while I'm at it.

[ You can shower when I'm done with you. Hei almost says it aloud. But he lightly bites his tongue and clasps her closer. Nuzzles the feathery heap of her hair, inhaling her scent, as his hands slide along her waist, the sweet solidity of her hips, the skin-warmed fabric tingling across his palms and suffusing him with a drugged, lax wine of bittersweet happiness. But also a desire that seems to transcend simple arousal and satiety. ]

[ He's waited almost a year, drifting like a cosmic dust-mote through space, to be near her again. Now that he is, fifteen minutes or fifteen hours of waiting don't make a difference. Not as long as they culminate with her being close to him, so he can greedily sink into all of her deliciousness that his throbbing body now demands, hopefully with nothing of their usual insecurities and grief to cloud the experience. ]

[ He kisses the soft rim of her ear, before detaching, ]

Whatever you need.

[ Space. Slowness. She seems jittery, clearly excited, but full of apprehension too -- and it makes him cautious in turn. ]

[She squeezes his hand and heads into the bathroom. She feels tingly and aware of her body in a way she hasn't been for awhile as she strips out of her clothes. Excitement. Not just need, not just tension, but actual excitement. And nervousness. She hasn't been nervous about sex in a long time. It's been perfunctory and utilitarian.

She resists the urge to touch herself, more out of self-consciousness than any kind of plan or necessity. Hesitates when she gets out of the shower — towel or clothes back on? Back on.

Clean, tingly, re-dressed, she heads back out.]

[ What Hei feels isn't nervousness. But he's aware of his body humming with a zitzing energy like before a fight, a thrum just below the surface of his skin. They've rarely done this, he and Korra. Never let events unfold at such a sweet and decorous pace. Every encounter has been fed by a propulsive physical hunger that's always escalated quickly, giving way to messy kisses, incoherent words, torn clothes, bruises and rattling furniture ]

[ This ... is more like Civilian Dating 101. It is so far away from anything he's ever remotely done, yet the anticipation, the refusal to jump headlong into disaster, is so very near to what he simply, burstingly, feels. ]

[ While she showers, he doesn't wait in the bedroom. He prowls through the house as if on a reconnaissance run, gauging changes in the layout, any structural or tactical weakpoints, any hint that the house is less than the foolproof vault it was when he'd first layered it with security systems, special proofing for the windows, state of the art locks, meticulously-placed alarms. In his absence, Korra hasn't kept up the maintenance. But that's no surprise. She's never been as paranoid as he is. ]

[ If anything, the lax security is a sign. Even if she's seen plenty of danger these three years, it hasn't followed her home. ]

[ When Korra comes back out, he isn't in bed. He's sitting next to the worktable where he'd usually tinkered on new weapons -- cross-legged on a chair in the way that only a bendy, limber man can achieve, facing the door, reading a dusty volume of Airbender koans. The blinds are drawn, and the room takes on an underwater grayness, carved here and there by glittery impossibly thin threads of sunlight. ]

[ In the moment Korra drifts in, Hei looks up from the parchment-fine page to capture a perfect, heightened vision of her in which the familiar and unfamiliar mixes: hair a short fluffy tumble, the cut of her face sleeker, but with those same burning-blue eyes. It may eventually be possible for him to look at Korra and see her only as she is in the present moment. But right now he sees all the Korras. The whole history of her, playing out in the semi-darkness, around the woman breathing softly in front of him. ]

[ There's a blink, his gaze unfocused, almost rueful. Then, with a surge of something like collapsed restraint he reaches out for her hand, desperate to keep hold of her this time. ]

[It's for a cute moment, snuggling up on his lap after he tugs her hand. But she stops when her legs press against against his (though she won't resist if he tugs her down).]

It's kind of surreal. I didn't think I'd see you at this table again.

[ He doesn't tug her. But he puts the book down and his feet on the floor, opening himself up to her, his body swaying against her warmth as if magnetized on a deep and nuclear level. It's not much of an embrace; his free arm is a loose curl around her waist, his head slumped against her torso the way he might slump against a wall, forehead to breastbone, eyes shut and stomach fluttering. Yet it's so familiar, so uncannily good, he feels as if he's opened some long unseen Portuguese book, and can parse out the complex text without a dictionary. ]

[ At her words, he swallows dryly, lips tracing the slope of her belly, the fabric hot from her skin. ]

For you, it's been a while. But ... not so much for me. Time's supposed to dilate when you're in space. It's faster when you're away from a large mass, like a planet. Not slower. Except that's what's happened to me. [ Temporal anomalies. He'sure the bright minds on the Enterprise would be piqued. Chekov especially. He wonders what the kid is up to right now. ]

[ Quieter, an almost imperceptible catch in his words, like he's unused to the honesty, ]

Everything is so strange. How can ... you even want this anymore?

[Korra blinks, arousal muffled by confusion. It's been awhile, Hei, but you should really know better than to hit her with weird confusing science information and then ask her deeply emotional questions. Particularly while touching her.]

What do you mean?

[ Hei squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Hugs her waist closer, cradling soft handfuls of her weight, and rubs his cheek against her belly. Something hot scalds the back of his eyes, even as his throat briefly closes up against words, against breath. How can he explain, that after three years apart, at least for Korra, he's incredulous that she still wants this. That whatever she felt for him before he'd been snatched away, is still inside her. Still real. Comprehension of other people's emotions is always fleeting -- he'd figured that out a while ago -- but with those you love most -- and he loves her terribly -- it ought to be possible to, if not know one another, at least get a good glimpse. ]

[ Except he can't feel anything beyond his own gut-clenching anxiety. Korra is so close, right up against him. So familiar. Yet the sensory vividness is so strong it's almost unreal. Or too real. Does that make any sense? ]

[ Fuck, he has to stop overthinking this. Shouldn't think at all. Nothing good comes of it. ]

[ He glances up at her then, his palms sliding up, resting looped around her neck, one hand threading through her hair. ]

[ Softly, ]

I guess ... it's just a surprise. That I'd turn up in three years to find you're still thinking about me after all this time. I worry it's just you being surprised to see me. Like ... nostalgia.

...you're an idiot. [Said with mild disbelief and affection.] We were together for what, eight years? You don't just forget that.

[She tugs him up and towards the bedroom.] Come on.

[ Eight years. He can feel his thoughts galloping inside. Resistance and uncertainty, making a united stand, poising him to break and run, or collapse. He's quite for a long moment, his hand lax but somehow heavy as she tugs. ]

[ But then a sound escapes him, halfway between a huff and chuckle -- a release of tension even as he gathers his self-possession. She hasn't changed. To her, the extraneous details don't matter. As if a leap through the space-time continuum is nothing between them. As if they're fused, from their years spent together, the atoms and molecules between them sustaining a private current of intimacy during their time apart. ]

[ He wouldn't credit it. But the way she's drawing him toward the bedroom feels like a lifesaving handhold, stopping his decent into utter desolation. His mind is percolating with worries and what-ifs. That's how it's designed: it won't stop. But as long as he has her attention, some sort of attention, he knows he'll be all right. ]

[ He follows her into the bedroom, awkward but unfaltering. Even before he's crossed the threshold, he's right up tight behind her, feet on either side of her, the cool length of him pressing close with his hands on her shoulders, hungrily mouthing her nape through the fluffy heap of her hair. He yearns to go slowly, but after so much cautious postponement and rationalization, he can't surf the wave of his want. He's drowning in it, submerging inch by inch. ]

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wow i thought i had posted this oops

<33

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