'Cause I'm a hazard to myself

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra and Hei
WHAT: A series of mildly unfortunate events.

[ Another family visit, Hei thinks acidly, faking a gentle smile and general pleasantries as Tonraq and Senna feign to depart. Their fourth drop-in this month. Ostensibly because they were 'in the neighborhood' -- and not, in fact, because they're here to pressure 'Li' to stop cohabiting with their darling daughter, and man up and put a ring on her finger. Or, in this case, a necklace around her pretty neck. ]

[ Too bad it means a noose around his. ]

[ While Korra prattles with her parents at the doorway, he clears the remnants of dinner (roasted duck stuffed with mushrooms and chilis and pickled carrots) from the table. Calm, cheerful -- but inwardly steeped in the foulness of his mood. Asami has dropped by too: he can hear her giggling at something Tonraq says, hers and Korra's murmurs braiding together in a lilting weave. The whole house is filled with girlish sweetness and family-friendly light, and it is making him unbearably disgusted. ]

[ Stewing, he rinses the dishes with sudsy fingers, watching the briskness of his own hands. They seem so unnatural cradling crockery. They always do. But lately everything else feels like a big pile of unnatural too: the factory-work too tedious, the Beach House's walls too close, the number of guests that drop by every evening too smothering, Asami buzzing around as if she lives here, Tonraq always blustering at Hei's elbow, brimful with manly advice and carefully-worded questions on Hei's future plans, while Senna pokes at every nook and cranny of the kitchen like some creepily Korra-shaped domestic!cop. ]

[ And here is the question: why doesn't he put his foot down? Tell Korra to stop letting Asami over so often? Demand that the 'in-laws' limit their pestering? It's his house too, and who would dare to argue it? It would be reclaiming his life along with it, because it is -- it is like a symbol of something. Of everything. No third wheels, no nosy parents. Why hasn't he? ]

[ Because Tonraq and Senna are nice and unfussy and down-to-earth. Because you don't mind having them around -- in limited doses. Because the same goes for Asami. She's a damn sight better than having Mako or Bolin or those obnoxious Air-Babies over. Also because they're Korra's family, and after all the ways she's accepted you, it's high time you return the favor. ]

[ A twinge of guilt flares. Hei deals with it the only way he knows how. He turns the radio on to the Jazz station, and cranks it up just high enough to cut into conversation. He can feel the others eyeballing him, and looks up winningly, wrist-deep in dishwater. ]

Have a safe trip back.

[ More farewells, more yadda yadda, and then Tonraq, Senna, and finally Asami are out the door, Korra closing it behind them. Hei snaps off the radio at once. Wiping his wet hands on a dishtowel, he mutters, to preempt Korra's prospective scolding, ]

Nice people. But after four hours, I prefer them off the premises.

Comments

[mortemscintilla]

[ He'll never deny she's witnessed brutality, or suffered unimaginable extremes of it. Sometimes at his own hands. But her very position grants her heights of privilege, of freedom, that ensure that she will enjoy benefits, head-starts and open doors that are impossible for anyone else. That she will remain untouched -- not necessarily by negative societal mistreatment, but by the exclusion that is its worst sort of dehumanization, where her sufferings, her self, are invisible. She doesn't realize that no matter what her sacrifices, she is in the seat of power. It cannot be taken away from her -- despite how relentlessly her enemies have tried. Whereas it's all too easy to take everything away from the pariahs and dregs. Most don't have anything to begin with -- and very little to lose. ]

[ He won't bother to explain that. Or attempt to sympathize with Mako and Bolin. He knows the nitty-gritty of their childhood. Bolin blabs about it often enough. But suffering is not a competition, and rarely stands up to comparison. The boys existed at the fringes as street-urchins -- but they were people in their own right. They were able to snatch at that much. Hei and Pai weren't allowed even that sliver of autonomy. They were not part of the real world. They were like wraiths, locked away in dank tombs and summoned only to dispense destruction and death. Not people, but creatures confined to the shadows. Someone like that has no common language with those who thrive in the light. ]

[ He can feel Korra's righteous anger threatening to dissolve into the burn of violence. (Funny. For her, it's a matter of whether she can beat him or not. Whereas for Hei ... He's killed for less, and could do so as easily as breathing. Such a pity he won't. Love has washed him under and left him a boneless corpse where his self-respect is concerned.) ]

[ He doesn't answer her. Simply steps out of the way, a loose fan of fingers in a gesture of weary dismissal. She's free to go swanning around with the Happy People, to imagine her trials and tribulations are some twisted measure of recompense for the downtrodden, or whatever special little Avatars do to assure themselves they're just like everybody else. ]

[anatural]

[Thank you, kind sir, for your most magnanimous dismissal. She is humbled by your willingness to tolerate her offensively entitled presence. You are truly the most open-hearted of men.

(And no, for Korra, it's not a matter of if she could beat him or not. She knows that, if she went into the Avatar state, she could destroy him. He fights dirty, but so did Unalaq, so did Kuvira, so did Amon, and she has defeated them all. The question is whether she could beat him without destroying everything.)

She slams the door behind her, the only violent release she'll allow herself until she gets to Asami's. There she'll probably render her friend's punching bag into dust before curling up and bursting into great, wracking sobs. How can he love her and think so little of her?]

[mortemscintilla]

[ How? Because if he blinds himself to her flaws -- and the girl has a handful -- he might as well shoot himself through the head in a spray of red confetti. Take away his critical faculty, his ability to judge and measure with both eyes open, and you've taken away Hei. A lobotomy would be preferable. ]

[ Not that it matters. The girl has her flaws -- but Hei is perfectly aware his own cast a monolithic shade over them. ]

[ He listens to the door slam, and something heavy shoots down his spine like a ballistic missile. He can't tell if she was out of line, or if he was. Somehow it's besides the point. They need a buffer of space between them to stew and then cool down. It's what he's learnt to do -- to be patient, to bide his time, to let the mass of conflicting impulses inside him -- remorse, resentment, hurt, anger -- cancel themselves out and leave him quietly drained. They always do this, he and Korra. Bypass any number of several smaller, more harmless fights, and instead bear straight for the championship match, a big rude bloodbath of shouts and angst. ]

[ Distantly, he thinks: This can't be healthy. But there's not much in his life that is, so it's a pretty low bar. ]

[ He doesn't stay in the Beach House. Once he's determined Korra is at Asami's (big surprise), he hits the town. A cool mizzle hangs in the air, and he gets shit-faced at the tavern near the factory and, on old impulse, goes out prowling for live targets, more interested in the fight -- the more knock-down-drag-out the better -- than in the kill. But his kill rate the first few hours is enough to get the word out. Some low-lives flee their usual haunts. Others step up brazenly to the challenge. ]

[ Each hard fight for his life is crowned with that vivid lusty feeling of triumph, sheer joy in existence, strength, cunning. In being himself. Each battle in a smelly back alley is another incremental battle with himself. I'm fucking well here and here is where I don't hang my head. ]

[ That largeness doesn't last. He lurches into the Beach House in the morning, and crawls into the rumpled, empty bed with an ache on his heart, in his head. Dawn is his lowest time. His dreams are grotesque and viscerally ugly: he doesn't remember them when he jerks awake, covered in cold sweat, except for the frightful image of Korra sprawled kissingly-close, white as the sheets, with blood pulsing in thick streams between her thighs. ]

[ In the afternoon, bruised, hungover, he pads into the kitchen. Dustmotes shimmer in the elongated rectangle of sunlight flowing at the window. Blinking blearily, he begins to assemble breakfast. He has no idea if Korra will return or not. But if she does, she will find an apology, offered in his own way. A bowl of lychee yuan xiao in the fridge. ]

[ Not a complete admission of I'm sorry, but an insinuating one. ]

[anatural]

[He's the only one impressed with critical facilities. Korra certainly doesn't think much of them, and if Asami has any opinion, she wisely doesn't say anything. She lets Korra cry herself to sleep in her arms, neither saying anything in Hei's defense when she rages, or anything against him that might compel Korra to defend him when she just wants to vent. When morning comes, she has a big breakfast sent up, and tells Korra they're going shopping before she can suggest angry revenge sex. These are just some of the reasons Asami is the best friend ever.

They stick to the high-end shops in Republic City, both out of Asami's natural inclination, and because Korra doesn't want to be anywhere near Hei's seedy haunts, knowing what she knows about how he lets out stress. They skip dinner at Kwong's and instead get fruit cups from a street vendor.

As the sun starts to set, Asami says You still need to go home and tell him. And Korra says I know.

Going home is hard. The closer she gets, the more she wants to throw up everything she ate in the bushes. She has to stop on the front porch to make sure she isn't going to lose it all on the floor. Finally, because she can't put it off any longer, she opens the door.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's been a long day at the factory. He's stepped out stoop-shouldered and hollow-eyed, carrying the smell of metal and ozone in the weave of his clothes. Before the beginning and ends of their shifts, most of the workers loosen stiff joints using the exercises the productivity expert has taught them: deep knee bends and hip swivels. They look like an old-timers football team prepping to take the field. Knuckles and knees cracking, elbow joints popping -- Hei has learnt to tell whose elbow or knee without even looking: each man's body had its own disconcerting sounds. ]

[ Drifting home in the slanting evening sunrays, he knows he's going to quit by the end of the month. The place was fine for settling on his feet after his Lost In Space saga. But he needs a more stimulating job -- or else he's going to stab someone from the monotony. ]

[ He arrives at the Beach House to find the place empty. No sign of Korra. Ignoring a tiny pang of disappointment, he lumbers upstairs to shower and change. In the kitchen, he pours himself a cup of sake, then two, before promptly appropriating the whole bottle. Settling crosslegged by the window, he sips slowly, staring blankly into space. Unsure what to do with himself next. Laundry. Housecleaning. Supper. A book. The minutiae of his domestic sphere are uncompelling. The silence and the sunlight holds him fast. ]

[ It's a long time before he hears the subdued clinks and scrapes of the door opening. His heart tumbles sickly, ears straining. The key might as well be scraping out the lock of his gut the way his body hollows itself at the sound. ]

[ When the door opens, he doesn't get up. He remains where he is, bottle dangling between loose fingers, as he monitors Korra from a few diplomatic yards of distance. ]

[anatural]

[The bottle is the second thing she notices, and it puts her on high(er) alert. Sometimes — not often, but sometimes — liquor makes him playful and affectionate. More frequently, it makes him nasty. If he's too drunk, she'll put off giving him the news for another night, though now that she's home, she'd rather get it over with, the sooner to start picking up the pieces.]

How much of that have you had? [Her tone is more cautious than accusatory. She's just trying to get the lay of the land before she steps on another landmine.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Getting it over with is a good idea. But it will still take a horse-pill of courage, considering Hei's red-rimmed eyes, the low-wattage intensity of his gaze. He's not the mean-drunk variety of bleary. Just soused enough that everything is hazy at the edges. He likes the Beach House. But it is always the wrong texture and shape when he's alone too long. The lamps make a muted geometry of triangular glows; the couches have a stuffed, intrusive presence; everything fits together neatly and too well, which he can usually ignore but tonight can't. The bowl of apples, the embroidered throws, the tasseled peppers on the kitchen wall. Domesticity, domesticity, everywhere he looks. ]

[ It asks for chaos, which is why chaos creeps out from the corners of his brain. ]

Enough that I won't ask how your visit to Asami's went.

[ His voice is at its most toneless, creating a distance cultivated for Korra's sake. Or for his own. (Or, simply because he is an asshole. Hei tolerates her flitting to and from Asami's place most days, but today the idea that the women were within ten feet of each other makes something in him sour.) ]

[anatural]

[We didn’t have sex But she's not going to justify herself to him. He's the one who opened the door to a more "open" relationship, and while they've redefined their boundaries, made clear what is & isn't acceptable for them, neither of them have made promises of exclusivity.]

I wouldn't tell you even if you did. [The last word is clipped off — she regrets speaking as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but of course it's too late then. She shakes her head and takes a breath.] Look, there's something I need to tell you.

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's not the exclusivity he's concerned about. It's the knowledge -- crippling, mournful -- that Asami is better suited to Korra than he is. The fact that Asami will be better at fulfilling Korra's needs, many of which Hei either overlooks in his default self-absorption, or which elude him so completely he dismisses them as irrelevant. Whereas Asami is sweet and solicitous, ever-willing to cater to Korra's flights of fancy, to smooth over any wrinkles and rough edges with her special brand of honeyed tact. ]

[ What, in comparison, does Hei have to offer? Lychee desserts? ]

[ Knock it off. He's picking at his own anxieties. ]

[ He ignores the bite in Korra's words. Ignores the sting that blooms then dies beneath a cloying gulp of alcohol. Just one swallow -- before he sets the bottle aside. Now isn't the time to be holding counsel with his good friend CH3CH2OH. Especially not when Korra is practically brimming with portent. He's not sure how he's aware of it. But he is, by subliminal degrees. Something about the way the air hums between them. Some instinctual understanding of the way tension bends space, altering gravity. ]

[ He doesn't know. He lets a breath out and waits. He waits, he realizes, the way he waits for the end of his life -- without expectation or desire. Just waiting. Resigned to whatever shape the thing will take. The familiar blankness is unsettling, but also unsurprising. ]

[ Flatly, ]

What?

[anatural]

[She doesn't like that look or tone either. When he's blank, he's unpredictable. When he's blank, he's even more dangerous. She doesn't like that blankness, but she's not afraid of it, not the way she was in the beginning, when their relationship was at its most toxic & twisted. He used to seem so large to her — stronger than her, a better fighter than her, darker than she could ever hope to wrap her mind around, with so much to teach her. Now he's only human, messy and complicated and just as lost as everybody else.

We’re all lost, she reminds herself, and it makes it easier for her to be patient with him.]

I'm pregnant. [Left unsaid, but obvious in her manner, I want to keep it.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's funny. For her, he's stopped being a dangerous enigma. But for him, she'll always be that shining, sweet-seventeen miracle. When they eat together, when they fuck, when they talk, that burning imprint of her never fades. She'll angle her head as she lies on the pillow, cant her hips a certain way as she leans across the counter, and the outline of her bone structure will seem more than just purely arousing to him. In his eyes, she's still Korra -- the older and younger versions mixing. Her hair not yet leeched a lighter shade by the sunlight. Her hands not yet filmed with fine callouses. Her face still padded to a beguiling softness. And he'll look at his own self and his body will no longer seem that scar-hardened, calcified thing, either. It is as if their young selves reappear when he's with her ... the strangest thing. ]

[ But those younger, other selves are never really gone, are they? All their possibilities. Why would they be? They're only waiting for you to chase them down and reclaim them. ]

[ She speaks, the words strung in a row like a bandoleer of grenades. But Hei can barely absorb them on account of the searing roar that fills his skull. Not an explosion. The opposite. Heat-vacuum. A rushing emptiness. But it's not because he doesn't feel anything. He's cycling through too many emotions, too fast -- terror, disgust, happiness, suspicion -- that they've dissolved in a blur. Dimly, he's aware of the stillness of his face, its look neither sharp nor stressed. ]

[ Why, he thinks, hadn't he seen this coming? He'd grown entirely too complacent these few months. Of course one big flaming pinwheel of a disaster would crash in on his life, destroy the peace. A baby is a disaster. The first pregnancy was traumatic enough. A presaging of Bad Things To Come, giftwrapped in sickening sentiment. Her miscarriage, the Red Lotus, her illness, her depression -- It was one of the bleakest eras of their relationship. Even as that time did nothing but seethingly brand into his psyche how deeply he loved her. ]

[ He does love her. Terribly, completely. Enough that he can't bear to lose her to a child. To anything. He's not going to let a stupid mistake given flesh come between them. ]

No.

[ Hard and emphatic. His gaze is black -- not burning but icy. No to the baby. No to keeping it. No to this whole surreal situation. ]

No.

[anatural]

[The sad fact is, if he loses her to anything — it's going to be himself. The ice in his voice hits her like a weapon, straight through her chest, but this time she's staying calm. Last night her temper — drained by socializing with her family, and by trying to cover for Hei's ill humor — got away from her. Today she's (a little more) in control.]

Sit down [She gestures to the chair nearest her] and we can talk about this.

[She can be flexible about it this time. The baby doesn't have a heartbeat yet; according to Southern Water Tribe custom, she can still terminate the pregnancy. She's willing to hear him out, weigh the risks and benefits as a couple, but she is not going to bow down to his knee-jerk autocratic instincts. She is not going to change her mind unless he indicates that he understands and respects her position.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He hates when she's like this. Clear-eyed and calm in the face of his whirling inner-storm. It makes self-disgust race through him, delineating that monster within in a mordant-hot green that sizzles like acid. Already he feels like he's gone too far, sunk in too deep, when he hadn't meant to embark on this affair at all. Now suddenly -- a baby? No way in hell. It is obscene and impossible. He's not fit to be around one. He's certainly not going to let it drive a wedge between Korra and himself. ]

[ He doesn't drift closer. He stays where he is, cross-legged, knotted with tension. His mind is racing. But when he speaks the words come out dangerously flattened, paper-thin. ]

There's nothing to talk about.

[ In the back of his mind, unhindered by churning anxieties, ideas click together with the clarity of operational default. Why she'd brought up marriages yesterday. Why she'd been so punchy and defensive in the face of his corrosive criticisms. ]

[ He doesn't temper the bite in his gaze. ]

Does your family know? Is this why they kept dropping in? [ Sharper, ] Did you tell Asami too?

[anatural]

[If there's nothing to talk about, then why are you asking so many questions? She resists the urge to meet his nasty with nastiness.]

No, my family doesn't know. I didn't even know until yesterday morning. [She doesn't touch his comment about Asami. This isn't the conversation they need to be having right now.]

Come over here so we can talk about this.

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's is exactly the conversation they should be having. Because her silence is a resonating Yes. She'd told Asami, her best friend -- but not him, the goddamn sperm donor. It's Asami she goes to when she's distressed. It's Asami she confides all her tenderest and prickliest secrets to. Asami might be the chief occupant of her thoughts right now. Because no matter what he does or says, how he engages her attention, there is an undiluted link between the two women. Pure and touchingly true. Probably she only wants to keep the damn baby because she's at the age where she's secure enough to consider nesting. The fact that it's his DNA is incidental. As soon as he lets her down -- and he knows he will -- she'll remember she has Asami to fall back on. Once she gets a renewed taste of that, of a relationship that's as placid as a leaf floating in a spring pond, she won't want anything else. He, Hei, will be extraneous. ]

[ The cold certainty sets up inside him like an itch, until he can't stay still. ]

[ He doesn't listen to her. He shakes his head, dry-eyed and sere, and jerks to his feet. Instead of going to her, he goes to the kitchen. Yanks open the fridge, as if looking for something to eat, but it's really just to feel the cold air bathing his face. He takes nothing out. ]

[ Without turning around, he says, in that manner of plainspeaking that comes across as casual brutality. ]

I don't want a baby. Not now. Or ever.

[ It is a tragedy, just waiting to happen. The first time certainly was. The brief era while she'd been pregnant, while things were sheened with hope, she'd looked as if she had no thought in her pretty head. But his head had too many. Thoughts of what kind of father he'd be, thoughts of disappointing Korra, thoughts of great and miserable wrongness, of guns and wars and corpses and death, and even now as he speeds to outrace them it's oh, christ, oh christ -- ]

[ He refuses to allow a baby into their lives. Or worse, to allow Korra to carry it -- only to nearly lose her to a gore-red tide of complications like last time. ]

[anatural]

[That's not true at all, and if he weren't in such a mood, he would realize it. When she's struggling with her Avatar responsbilities, Hei is still the first person she talks to. When she's angry about something that's happened, she rants to him. He's the one who knows the details of her days; he's the one she comes home to. The only reason she told Asami about the pregnancy first is because she needed someone who would listen and not react with knee-jerk emotion. Her parents would insist on keeping the baby; Hei would insist on terminating. Asami is the only one who would let Korra work out her feelings for herself. That doesn't mean Asami is first & foremore in her thoughts; it doesn't mean Hei is irrelevant. It means that not everybody can be everything to everyone.

She sits down at the kitchen table and watches him stand at the fridge. She refuses to react to the brutality in his voice.]

What if I do?

[She's never really wanted one before. She isn't 100% sure she wants one now. Her feelings on the matter fluctuate from moment to moment. But what she definitely wants, what she needs from him, is to know that what she wants matters to him.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ 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. ]

[anatural]

It's not all bad. [He's not all bad. He's no paragon of humanity; she's not loveblind enough to even think that he's a particularly "good" person. But he's not as awful as he thinks. He doesn't appreciate his own complexity; he sees himself in black & white.]

Hei, I wouldn't have spent the last ten years of my life with you if you didn't have something inside you. [She wants to reach out and touch him, but she doesn't know how welcome that would be right now.] I love you. [Would he make a great father? Of course not. But he could be good. And there is plenty in him that is worth loving, and preserving.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Love. He wishes that word was a cure-all. Wishes he could absorb it into himself, in the way of rainwater and parched soil. Let it seep between his cracks and fuse them together. But as much as Hei is no sociopath, he's not Pavlov's Dog either, showing his belly for love. For just the word. He knows first-hand what limits love has. How it restricts your choices. But also how it doesn't, in the end, erase the innate selfishness of your nature -- or your instinct to survive. ]

[ He doesn't turn around to face her. He stays where he is, high-shouldered, knuckling the edge of the counter. But he can see her, in a five-degree scoop of peripheral vision that coheres the whole image of her brilliantly together -- the motes of taste and sound and scent piling together like the unexpected pieces of a solved puzzle. If he meets her gaze, he might reconsider his misgivings. Might melt, by slow degrees, into acquiescence. That fucking cardinal flaw in his nature: an inability to hold out against the girls in his life. ]

[ He can almost hear Maxley's jeering voice. Still pushed around by women. ]

[ Exhaling, Hei squeezes his eyes shut. When he speaks, he tries to iron out the ragged edges of his voice. ]

You think that. But I'm better acquainted with my worth [ or unworthiness ] than you could possibly be.

[ She hasn't met the real Black Reaper. She's seen shadowy glimpses, true -- but each one has left a mark. She believes he's twisted and damaged, but essentially a decent person. Or someone trying to be one. She can't comprehend that he's so far beyond decent there isn't a word for it. He's someone who should be in prison for life. Who should be marched out before a firing squad and shot. From childhood to adulthood, he's lost count of how many he's slaughtered. Children. Elderly. Pregnant women. He wonders how Korra would react knowing he's made a career out of worming his way into the lives of his victims, deceiving, cajoling and sleeping with innocents and monsters alike, knowing even as he gained their trust that he was guiding them to ruin or death. ]

[ Quieter, half-dry, half-rueful, ]

You don't even know my real name.

[anatural]

I don't think you see your own worth. [It can be hard to have perspective on yourself. Faults are magnified; goodness is erased. He acts as though he's unknowable, as though she's completely ignorant and taken in. But she knows him, even if she doesn't know the details. There is nothing he could tell her about his past that would surprise her — and that would likely surprise him.] A name is just a name. It doesn't mean anything.

[She hesitates for just a breath, then stands, slowly. It's never a good idea to come up on him suddenly.]

Look, nothing is set in stone yet. I just want us to talk about it. Look at me. Please.

[mortemscintilla]

[ A name is just a name. Deja vu flickers. Strange, how his life acts as tunnels crafted from looping möbius strips. Everything Amber had said to him, that he's said to Korra, she echoes back at him now. Existence is fucking uncanny. Dimly, he wonders if this -- the conversation, the news of the baby -- is the Point. That instant in time, measurable in seconds, that acts as the hinge for everything you've ever done. Everything feeds into that moment: your backlog of experience and behaviors determine how you enter that moment and how you'll walk away from it afterwards. Every way you've ever been hurt, every grievance nursed, every secret fear, those moments where you've stood up or stepped down and all the love in your body -- it all matters when you reach the Point. It is all brought to bear. ]

[ And you'll look back in the aftermath, trying to piece together how A met B. Except the threads are tangled, yet the links exist in ways you can't even imagine. It's a matter of debts to be repaid. Balance. ]

[ He doesn't want to look at her. Not when his flesh goes hot and cold at her very proximity. Except her pleading voice is like a hook in the vitals. He flicks a glance around her face, reading her, his own face held deliberately inexpressive. Except there is something in his eyes. Soft, tentative, full of hope and the prescience of bitter disappointment. Everything that is hard, glinting, sharp Bk201 for the moment stripped away -- leaving someone unrecognizably tired and raw behind. ]

[ In a different voice, almost a whisper, ]

You can't keep this baby. There are a million reasons not to. You've just got your life on track. Don't throw it away. I've seen you nearly die once already. And it made me crazier than usual. [ He laughs, sort of. It is the kind of noiseless sibilation you can mistake for something else. Like a man's throat being cut. ] I'm not so strong as you, I guess. Or so brave.

[anatural]

[The softness in his eyes makes her bold, and she reaches out to touch his arm, quietly inviting an embrace.]

My life has been stable for awhile now. And believe it or not, I'm healthier now than I've ever been. This would be the time.

[She gets as close as she can — whether it's wrapping her arms around him or simply pressing against him.] I love what we have. But I think that we could love this too.

[mortemscintilla]

[ We. Us. He wishes he could trust those plural pronouns as more than just glittery, cored-out shells. Wishes he could meet those bright eyes, that unflinching gaze, and let it coax him like a magnet to True North. The trust she has in him, the unfailing optimism, is excruciating. She's ever-ready to believe he has reserves of inner-strength he doesn't use -- moral resolve he doesn't use -- and that if he tries it will come to him. He knows right from wrong, sure. But the question is whether he's capable of choosing right. For her. For the baby. ]

[ He doesn't know. She's right up close, so he's inhaling the cloud of her aroma, her warmth enveloping him so he's helpless against the fragile tenderness wafting through him, helpless against his body's blind instincts. Except that existence going forward with a baby seems insupportable. He barely knows who or what he is anymore -- except that he's not someone who should be a parent. Inviting an innocent life into their precarious relationship could be a torture as much as a tantalizing blessing. And a if everything falls apart, it might never resume its usual shape and solidity. Their happiness would not just be bent. It would be broken to pieces. Perhaps erased forever. ]

[ Is he willing to risk that? ]

[ He doesn't gather her into his arms. But he doesn't jerk away either. His eyes, a few inches away, glint in orbit above hers -- shuttered, but quietly scared, too. ]

Or we could hate it. There's no way to be sure ... [ A breath, before he manages a tight, rueful half-smile. ] Having a baby is about what we need. It's never about the baby. Not until it gets here. Once it does, you can't send it back. You understand that, right?

[anatural]

You know, my parents told me the same thing about bringing home a wild polar bear dog. [A little humor to off-set the annoyance. When he gets scared or emotional, he tends to treat her like a particularly ignorant child, which drives her crazy, but it's better than the ice-cold bitterness.]

I understand the responsibility. Believe me, this is not a decision I'm taking lightly. We have a few weeks to think about it. But I want us to seriously think about it. [She tentatively wraps her arms around him, wanting to have him close, not wanting him to feel confined.] I know it sounds kinda cheesy, but we have the chance to make something together. [A part of Korra has been itching for a new challenge, something else that she can commit her endless energies to. The world doesn't need the full force of her attention; in fact, it needs her to step back. Her spiritual journey is unfulfilling. A new responsibility feels like exactly what she needs.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ The embrace diffuses his tension. But not completely. Against his will, his roaming hand slides up her spine, cradles the back of her skull, a melony warmth through the thick tumble of hair. His gaze never wavers from hers, but there is something wistful, drifting, in its gleam. Of course to her this is an adventure, a journey of self-discovery. Something novel and excitingly rewarding. But for him it's a an omen of disaster to come. It might not be, sure. Everything could turn out okay. But there is no way of knowing that. Even if the pregnancy is smooth sailing, if the baby is born healthy, ten toes and ten fingers, there is no guarantee he'll be the kind of person to keep a child. What would he do with a tiny human being? ]

[ He can't say that to Korra. How can he, when she's smiling in that softly glowing way that is identical to when she's absorbed in her katas, all the elements flowing through her, an incredible trancelike wave, as if her essence is breaking free of her flesh and flying up in a blur of burning light. Happiness that pure is rare but amazing to see. Affection wells in him, warring with cynicism. He could believe her. Believe in her -- and let her guide the way. Unconventional and brashly independent as she is, she is also able to compromise instantly and enthusiastically when she sees the need for it. Perhaps this quality more than any other is why she is the chosen one, the Avatar, and why she glides so effortlessly through fiendishly delicate situations like this. ]

[ He doesn't know. The fear that springs through him is enormous, but also selfish. Because baby or no baby, it's Korra he can't bear to lose. ]

[ With effort, ]

Look. I'll try. As much as I can. But don't pretend what I am won't be an issue. Children never stop needing. Everything costs -- one way or another. Whatever I feel, whatever I do -- it may not be enough.