[ It's that stupid baby. The awareness of it keeps prodding at Hei's patience like a sharp stick: makes his anger erupt in unexpected, irregular spikes of heat. In the shower though, surrounded by sluicing water, he dredges up the reluctant recognition of his anger. It's not exactly stress about the baby. It is his own uncertain status in Korra's world. For years he's existed according to fluid codes of obscurity, a pattern he's never diverged from. No real name. No family. No social security. No legal accounts. He's a Contractor -- and they have an aversion to anything official. Any red tape that impedes their exits, any paperwork that leads to their bolt-holes like a breadcrumb trail. ]
[ Except he's going to be a father soon. He'll need a clean identity. Something official. Real, on file, even if it's another alias -- a nobody who is not worth the government's attention. A contingency plan, among the hundreds. If something happens to him and Korra, he knows any baby of theirs will land on its feet. But he wants to place a cushion there. ]
[ Not just a cushion. A nest. Lined in paperwork and fool-proof legalities. ]
[ Toweling himself dry, he slips into a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. Pads into the shadowed aerie of the bedroom, where Korra is still sprawled on the futon, her body an irritable curl. Briefly, he considers sliding in beside her, into the warm declivity of the mattress, apologizing without words but with a kiss to her nape. But he doesn't think he could stand it if she kicked his shin or swatted his hands off in another irrational burst of petulance. ]
[ Instead, he draws the blinds and switches the bright halo of the lamp off. A cool but considerate: Sweet dreams. Vacates to the nursery, to clean up the tools and wooden debris, and then to the livingroom to spend the balance of the evening on the couch, determinedly immersed in one of the dusty Air-Nomad tomes piled on the coffee table. ]
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Date: 2015-03-02 06:05 am (UTC)[ Except he's going to be a father soon. He'll need a clean identity. Something official. Real, on file, even if it's another alias -- a nobody who is not worth the government's attention. A contingency plan, among the hundreds. If something happens to him and Korra, he knows any baby of theirs will land on its feet. But he wants to place a cushion there. ]
[ Not just a cushion. A nest. Lined in paperwork and fool-proof legalities. ]
[ Toweling himself dry, he slips into a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. Pads into the shadowed aerie of the bedroom, where Korra is still sprawled on the futon, her body an irritable curl. Briefly, he considers sliding in beside her, into the warm declivity of the mattress, apologizing without words but with a kiss to her nape. But he doesn't think he could stand it if she kicked his shin or swatted his hands off in another irrational burst of petulance. ]
[ Instead, he draws the blinds and switches the bright halo of the lamp off. A cool but considerate: Sweet dreams. Vacates to the nursery, to clean up the tools and wooden debris, and then to the livingroom to spend the balance of the evening on the couch, determinedly immersed in one of the dusty Air-Nomad tomes piled on the coffee table. ]