[ Yes. He would realize it -- if not for the gravity-well brewing in his belly, an irrational impotent rage that calls to mind the scars clambering up his body, and the echos of his past screaming in his ears. He's been left out of the loop before. He's been betrayed by those he trusted. He's never been able to hold on to what he loves. He's told himself he could tolerate the idea of sharing Korra with Asami. Not because he wants her growing close to the other woman. But because he wants her to be happy. And if part of that's having Asami in her life, so be it. ]
[ But a baby is different. He's terrified that whatever fragments of closeness he shares with Korra will be sliced to pieces into by a child. He's afraid he'll be an unfit father -- just as he's an unfit human being. He's a killer, and he understands payback -- literal and cosmic. You pay what you owe, or you're forced to pay, in ways that leave you gutted and spineless afterward. Once it's over, you can only crawl. ]
[ Korra's voice, floating up behind him, is so small and sad, impossibly young. The softness of it tears at him. But he doesn't let her see. Instead he takes out a bottle of papaya juice, so he'll have something in his hands to keep from punching things. He never looks like he intends to punch Korra, not lately, but maybe the broad gestures with bottles and the wadding of dish towels help. ]
[ He doesn't meet her eyes. He just leans against the counter, the bottle placed before him, forming a small wet ring on the polished marble surface. Each word, when he speaks, is a hard little thing, spit out like a bitter olive pit. But truthful, in the way he so rarely is. ]
It's not the shared responsibility I'm worried about. I just want you to think a minute. A baby of mine. Nothing on the slate except my genetics. It's a bad idea. Children bring their damage with them from the womb, from the day they leave the womb. Already in the cradle they're soaking up their parents' fuck-ups.
[ And I am a fuck-up. I've made horrible mistakes, and worse choices. I'm not someone you should have a child with. I'm unclean and wrong and whatever I feel for the baby may not be enough. ]
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Date: 2015-02-15 10:58 pm (UTC)[ But a baby is different. He's terrified that whatever fragments of closeness he shares with Korra will be sliced to pieces into by a child. He's afraid he'll be an unfit father -- just as he's an unfit human being. He's a killer, and he understands payback -- literal and cosmic. You pay what you owe, or you're forced to pay, in ways that leave you gutted and spineless afterward. Once it's over, you can only crawl. ]
[ Korra's voice, floating up behind him, is so small and sad, impossibly young. The softness of it tears at him. But he doesn't let her see. Instead he takes out a bottle of papaya juice, so he'll have something in his hands to keep from punching things. He never looks like he intends to punch Korra, not lately, but maybe the broad gestures with bottles and the wadding of dish towels help. ]
[ He doesn't meet her eyes. He just leans against the counter, the bottle placed before him, forming a small wet ring on the polished marble surface. Each word, when he speaks, is a hard little thing, spit out like a bitter olive pit. But truthful, in the way he so rarely is. ]
It's not the shared responsibility I'm worried about. I just want you to think a minute. A baby of mine. Nothing on the slate except my genetics. It's a bad idea. Children bring their damage with them from the womb, from the day they leave the womb. Already in the cradle they're soaking up their parents' fuck-ups.
[ And I am a fuck-up. I've made horrible mistakes, and worse choices. I'm not someone you should have a child with. I'm unclean and wrong and whatever I feel for the baby may not be enough. ]