[ Except the baby will be a mess. Why bother to deny it? It's not that he doubts Korra's nurturing instincts. He knows she'll be a good mother, regardless of his own failures, or the prospect of them. But it is so abstract, all this fuss over a little thing that barely qualifies as an asset, in any shape or form, yet will drag on them all like a millstone. Sometimes, in the midst of his daily routines, Hei's mind is tickled by a curiosity of what the baby will look like, sure. Whether it will be a photocopy of his features or Korra's, or both seamlessly blurred, or what sort of personality it will exude, distinct right from the cradle. But it is just a thought, and not even a properly formed thought -- a half-glimpsed reflection of a thought, which is eclipsed by his ever-present paranoia and dread. ]

[ Still, it's important to support Korra. To make sure she coasts smoothly through the pregnancy, and doesn't merely cope with it alone. He's learning to treat any discussion about the baby matter-of-factly, despite the dark humor, the secondhand bitterness, lurking beneath his words. ]

[ When Korra trots out the names, he pauses, halfway through sprinkling salt and pepper across the sliced portions of rosy-pink prawns. An uncertain look passes over his face before disappearing behind a near-imperceptible frown. ]

'Nanuk' of the North. Or South, in this case. [ The very blandness of the tone manages to convey how dubious he is. ] It's ... manly.

[ At her question, he blinks, before pivoting toward the counter again. Tips a shoulder, not dismissal so much as a tactful deference, as he brushes a fine sheen of oil across the prawns. ]

I figured we'd leave it to your parents. They'd want a grandchild that reflects the Water Tribe's values, and ties in with their own bloodlines. Right?