fuse_box | who’s idea was this anyway

[ It was Tenzin, who'd tactfully brought up the subject of a Family Bed. It was Tonraq who had matter-of-factly dismissed it and -- for once -- sided with Hei. Contemplating the baby's sleeping arrangements, barely into the first trimester, might be premature. If anything it's a decision better left to Korra. But Hei isn't keen on tolerating a squalling infant in their bedroom. He needs at least one venue to retreat to, for silence and privacy, when the whole house is filled with those explosive baby-cries he's already dreading. ]

[ There's a great deal, in fact, that he's dreading. The weeks have dissolved in a solution of tears, anxieties, lists, plans, heated discussion about ways and means, although no more huge screaming fights. He's still terrified and horrified and worried, but there's a time and a place for that. It's better to focus on the practicalities. He's already child-proofed the house from top to bottom -- edge-guards for sharp furniture, high locked shelves for toxic solutions, safety gates and knob covers for drawers and stairs. He's remodeled the fire-escape and updated the security system of the Beach House -- he's nothing if not prepared. He's also, with Pema's help and the doctor's guidelines, drawn up a meal plan for Korra: all the foods rich in vitamin B6 and folates (endless leafy greens) that she glowers at. ]

[ He's aware all the while, of that extra presence in her, steadily expanding. Wonders if he'll be able to summon any love for it, when all he's gripped with right now is excruciating paranoia. ]

[ Today, he'd planned to help her set up the crib. But on his way back from the factory, he'd caught swirling rumors of an Equalist rally brewing downtown. Despite himself, he'd been piqued. What if it was something serious? Something potentially harmful to Korra? ]

[ Better make sure. The baby is due in nine months. Nine months to erase any major threats in Republic City. To make it a safer place for puppies and democracy and pitter-pattering mini-Korras. ]

[ A pity that is easier said than done. ]

[Seven months at this point, Hei. And yes, early to be preparing a bed for the baby, but Korra wants to do this before she's too roly poly to do anything. She wants to be useful — but she doesn't want to do it alone.

Fucking. Asshole. She repeats those words with every nail she hammers down, every piece she has to wrangle into place by herself. If he's run off scared, she is going to hunt him down and break his balls.]

[ The ballbreaking will have to wait. ]

[ He narrows down the rally to the dingy labyrinth of an old factory. Wet, weeping cinderblock walls, harsh halogen lights, the acrid stench of smoke and sweat from jam-packed bodies. The following is over 1000-strong. The leader is a harshly-angular man, with shoulder-blades that rise into jagged peaks, long dark hair and a sharply curved nose, cold black eyes like crosshairs. His booming voice oozes force and magnetism. ]

[ Invisible in the jostling crowd, his face just a flesh-colored dot, Hei watches him deliver his sermon. Full of poisonous invective, couched in self-righteous rationalization. As each word tumbles out, Hei tunes out its hypnotic allure. Sketches a detailed character-study, from the man's gestures and glances. He's looking at a snake-oil peddler, a puppeteer. An egotist with a sharply incisive mind and an overabundance of charisma. What he seeks is a way to make weak-minded men lend him their blind and unwavering support. Harnesses the power of social insecurity, honing it like a blade on a whetstone. ]

[ Ordinarily, Hei wouldn't care. Cults like these are a dime a dozen. People are desperate for something -- anything -- to believe in. But his concern rises up a notch at how well-guarded he is. At the immensity of non-benders flocking to him. Men and women, young and old, all with the same hunger in their eyes -- the same terrible hatred. ]

[ He watches as a group of benders -- bruised, shackled, gagged -- are forced upon the stage. A few he knows by name. Enforcers for powerful triads. He watches as, one by one, they're gutted execution style, to the deafening roars of the crowd. ]

[ For too long we've remained at the fringes, burning with our sufferings, the leader exhorts over the terrible clamor. But when we make our own fires in this City, the benders will be our tinder. ]

[ A dark thought for the darkness of the carnage. The words linger as Hei watches the blood spill slickly across the stage, oil-spill-black in the fierce lights. Senses the unspooling hatred in the air, like something terrible being born. ]

[ This, he decides, when the rally is over. I investigate. ]

[ Drifting home, the scent of smoke and coppery blood trapped in the weave of his clothes, he resolves not to share details with Korra. It's not necessary. She's under enough stress; he refuses to worsen it. Is half-convinced, in the crawling night hours, that it was stress, as much as anything else, that catalyzed her miscarriage while they were fighting the Red Lotus. No. He can handle this by himself. With patience and stealth -- until he's infiltrated the Equalists' security entourage and disposed of their leader. No one suspects a death stemming from 'natural causes.' ]

[ Returning home, he's aware, abruptly, of the time that's drained away. It is later than he realized. And -- shit. He'd promised to help her with the nursery. He feels the blood flush into his face, right to the tips of his ears. Every excuse tumbleweeding through his head is lame-brained, ineffective. What is he supposed to tell her? ]

[ No point obsessing about it now. Exhaling, he unlocks the door. Steps inside, as if wading through murky waters, unable to gauge the depth of the sea-floor with his feet. ]

[ Quietly, ]

I'm back.

[In a way, he's lucky he stayed out as long as he did. For the first few hours, Korra had assumed that he'd run off like a scared teenager, and her resentment had broiled. After the third hour had passed, she began to fear that something had happened — that he'd been taken somehow. It's happened not once, not twice, but three times before; it could happen again. Looking for him wouldn't do any good; each time, he hadn't been taken from her life, but from her world, by forces beyond her control.

It's happened to him. It's happened to her friends. It could happen to her baby. It's that realization, more than the memory of grief or fears about raising a child alone, that shakes Korra so badly that she has to curl up next to the half-finished cradle and sob quietly. Her body trembles, feeling as weak as she did after being poisoned.

It’s not fair! I thought I was over this! She picks up the hammer and hurls it against the wall, trying to remind herself of her strength, furious at the memory of weakness. She doesn't hear Hei come in.]

[ The house is eerily quiet. Yet there's a anguished energy in the air that nearly threatens to expel him. It's unusual -- the typical greeting for a furious Avatar involves blunt objects hurled at his head. Where is she? Cat-quiet, Hei pads through the corridors, noticing the congealed remnants of supper at the table. Detachment wavers as a small but terrible wave of guilt rolls through his mind, but he blinks and surfaces and breathes. ]

Korra?

[ A thump and a clatter tugs his attention toward the nursery. At the door, he takes in the crib, perfectly near-assembled, a plethora of tools scattered across the floor. Korra sits in the middle. Curled around her drawn-up knees, her heap of hair buried against them. He can hear her sobs juddering around in the air like the muffled bleats of a trapped kitten. Can practically smell the salty broth of her overflowing tears. ]

[ Everything in him aches to go to her. But there's a good chance she'll meet him with a bone-cracking roundhouse. So he stays where he is, his voice sonorous but small. ]

Hey...

Edited 2015-02-24 00:14 (UTC)

[Korra looks up. Her heart constricts with relief, but she can't stop crying, even as she flies to her feet. She grabs his shirt and shakes him.]

Where have you been?

[She wishes she sounded angry, and not pathetically relieved. ]

[ Her overspilling rags jars him. It has to be the damn hormones. Igniting that change, that dynamite inside her. Except that's an unfair simplification. He's been wrenched out of her life so many times. Of course she's formed a habit of assuming the worst. A barrage of suffering endured in unaccustomed loneliness will do that to anyone. ]

[ His hands hover in the air, scant inches from her shoulders. He keeps his gaze level, hoping to curb her anger. ]

Something came up after my shift. I didn't expect it to take so long. Otherwise I'd have called.

[ The sentences are stacked up randomly, like wooden blocks. But everything important he says is underneath the words. I'm sorry I worried you. ]

[She keeps shaking him, though they get softer and softer.]

You've been gone for hours. In that entire time, you didn't have TEN SECONDS to give me a call?

[She hiccups, chokes, hates her weakness.] I didn't know if you were busy, or if you'd run off, or if you'd disappeared. You can't scare me like that!

There wasn't a phone booth to --

[ He breaks off, staring at her blotchy red face, the sluice of tears pouring from her eyes. Half-formed sentences suggest themselves, drafts of defenses and analyses, ways to demonstrate to her that she is not helping anyone by behaving like this, ways to allude to the deranging effects of hormones and pregnancy without making her angrier still. As he thinks more, however, his urge to defend himself dwindles and all that is left is tenderness. ]

[ It doesn't matter that he was in a place with no phone. Doesn't matter that there was no way to slip out of the rally to contact her, because he doesn't want her to be disturbed by nonsense about Equalists in the first place. She is already overwhelmed, she is in distress, she needs understanding. Rightness or wrongness is not the point. Being there for her is. ]

[ With a slow breath, he circles an arm around her, right hand starfished between the warm space of her shoulder blades. Slides the other hand lower, fingers pushing under her shirt hem and stretching across her belly, whose tiny swell can still mean either too many servings of pickled fish, or nothing at all. ]

[ Soothingly, ]

I'm not leaving you. At least not voluntarily.

[ Disappearance and death. They are talking about both. Even here in the nursery, with its half-finished mulburry-mauve walls (a bisexual compromise between boyhood blue and girly-girl pink?), slats of pale starlight falling in neat even bars through the window blinds, the shadow of impermanence lies over them. Welcome to life. ]

Edited (/hurls her phone away) 2015-02-24 02:03 (UTC)

[She shivers and clings to him, sniffles, calms herself by degrees. Now that he's here, she feels silly for reacting like that. Her tears feel overwrought. She never wanted to be this person, weepy and emotional. But the worst part is, she can't even blame the baby. This is all her. ]

I think I put a hole in the wall. [Oops.]

Better than my skull.

[ An attempt at a joke. A bad one. ]

[ He cradles her against him, pressing his face to her hair and kissing the messy strands, waiting until the crying jag has shaken through her and passed. Her meltdown should be silly -- the cliche of hormonal martyrdom, a picture of tragic, abandoned motherhood. Yet there is a depth of fear and hopelessness there that she's never revealed before. At least not to him. He lets it beat against him and dissolve in dwindling sniffles with his eyes shut, staring into the color-splotched darkness in his skull, seeing futures that should never happen. ]

[ After a beat, he detaches gently, smoothing a palm over her tear-dampened hair, cradling her sticky-hot cheek. ]

Tell me you didn't skip dinner.

[ Her weight, just as during her last pregnancy, isn't what it should be. He's always trying to play her with thick fruit-smoothies, crunchy cereals, a stewy melange of vegetable soups -- while she practically froths at the mouth for Meat Meat Meat. ]

[ Hormonal little beast. ]

I did not skip dinner. [She says with an eyeroll, before adding a little sheepishly] I didn't have much of an appetite, though. That salad smoothie you made was disgusting.

[He makes her out to be some veggie-hating meat freak, which it's completely untrue. She loves vegetables: seaweed and ocean broccoli and ice cucumbers. But they aren't filling. Korra doesn't care what Tenzin and Jinora say: veggies do not make a meal. You need meat to make a proper meal. Anything else is just a snack.]

[ Well then. Time to fix you that coveted Proper Meal. ]

[ Hei envelopes her shoulders a moment more, smoothing his palm between her shoulderblades, up along her delicate nape and down the concave course of her spine. She's a delightful little mess: hair tangled, skin splotched red, tear tracks drying. But as always, so hot with rich incessant life. It has nothing to do with that growing sprog inside her. It's just Korra. ]

[ Breaking away, he clasps her arm, guiding her out of the nursery, ]

No salad smoothies tonight. How do broiled prawns in lemon-butter sauce sound?

[ And a drink, he starts to add, then recalls with a jolt why she can't have one. Despite his cosseting, the protectiveness doesn't exactly extend to the promised child. Right now he is completely focused on Korra. The pregnancy is more about her -- her need, her apotheosis and his, almost -- than it is about looking forward to a new person (nuisance?) in their lives. ]

[ He hopes he'll fall in love later, when the child is in his arms. Or at least manage to wring a few drops of sentiment for it. ]

That sounds appetizing. [Exhausted from crying, she leans into him as they walk towards the kitchen. She just needs food. Once she's eaten, she'll feel less weighed down by the future and the possibility that everything she loves will disappear.]

So. What happened at work?

[She's not trying to interrogate him, just make simple conversation.]

[ Hei settles her on a stool, taking in that drained, drooping cant to Korra's posture which says she is inclined to let him do all the cooking tonight. He doesn't mind: he pads over to the fridge, wrenching it open to stare carefully into its interior, while he reshapes his face into something nonchalant, honest. His disgruntled I-work-with-a-bunch-of-idiots tone is almost real. ]

Something jammed the turbines in the factory. Turned out to be a nest of dead animals. The mess was disgusting.

[ With careful motions, he fishes out a container of boiled shrimp, two lemons, garlic paste, and a pale slab of butter. Sets them on the counter, not glancing toward Korra. Already he regrets the lie. But the incident had occurred at the factory, and it is too late to go back on the embellishment, not if he hopes to keep the evening going. Better to dispose neatly of the Equalist issue, by himself, at a later date, so she won't have to know of them at all. ]

[ Washing his hands thoroughly at the sink, soap frothing up to the elbows, he watches the dark layer of grease puddle down the drain. Reaches out to card wet fingers through Korra's hair, before angling past her toward the knife rack. ]

[ Quietly, ]

If it happens again, I'll call before staying late.

[Foolish man. He's not the only person who catches the rumors & whispers on the streets. Korra has heard about this renewed Equalist movement — in fact, she got word of it from the president of Republic City herself. She'd been asked to eliminate the threat, and Korra had refused. Not out of fear, but because (until what Hei witnessed today), they hadn't done anything violent. Korra is not a police officer; it is not her role to enforce the law or the will of government officials. One of the things that Korra likes about this new president — the woman understood.

And foolish Korra — she doesn't catch on that he's lying, not even a whiff or a hint. Even though she should know better, she takes him straight at his word.]

How did a bunch of dead animals get into a turbine?

[ A truly foolish pair. Remember, children: this is why honesty is the best policy. ]

They were alive. Before the turbine powered up and split them in messy halves.

[ He spreads his hands to mime the spray of gore. In a small saucepan, the lemon juice, daubs of the garlic sauce, and six neatly-chopped squares of butter have been mixed together. A fragrant waft of steam curls from the simmering paste, which he stirs with a wooden spoon. Guilt prickles at him, under the surface of his calm. It's unexpected. By now he should be used to lying to everyone. He's a Contractor, and they mix deceptions with the deft touch of a master alchemist. Except subterfuge is a weapon he reserves for threats. Korra has never been one. She gives him far more credit than anyone else, and abusing her generous optimism seems like an abuse of her, somehow. ]

[ He tells himself it's unimportant. Once he's eliminated the Equalists, the fallout won't be an issue. She'll never know. ]

[ Plucking at a bowl of mixed fruits at his elbow, he impales a pear on the point of his knife. Hands it to Korra to munch on, before focusing on butterflying the shrimp, sharp rhythmic toks of the blade. His next remark slides into the burbling braid of silence and cooking, a deceptively harmless non sequitur.]

Speaking of messes ... Have you decided on a name? For the tyke-to-be?

[Korra munches on the pear, even if she's not that hungry. She likes pears.

She does not especially care for the way "mess" is his transition to talking about the baby. She knows his complicated feelings, understands his discomfort and his need to distance himself, but she doesn't like it.]

I'm not sure. Akna, maybe. Or Nanuk. [She actually hasn't thought all that much about it. Her parents have been doing a lot of the brainstorming for her, so they're handling the inevitable family bickering over who gets to be the namesake.] Do you have any ideas?

[ 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?

[It doesn't occur to Korra until Hei repeats the name with a voice that practically drips disdain — and then she almost wants to laugh. No, she has no desire to name her child after Bolin's mover character. Though a part of her is sorely tempted to tease him about it.

She doesn't, though. There are only certain moods where he can take teasing, particularly on a subject as sensitive as the baby.]

Yeah, they'd like that. But it's not their baby. You get a say too. [She kicks affectionately at his shin.]

[ The glint of seriousness under Korra's playfulness catches Hei's attention. Something in her voice, smell. Even her bright eyes seem to flash the message Contribute to this discussion and this relationship, asshole. Hei almost smiles, but doesn't. Instead he tries to think of a name that will appease both Korra and her parents, without the risk of it sounding too much like a bland alias, conjured out of necessity during a mission. His brain is no help: it's crammed with pseudonyms, call-signs, messier codes, victims -- none of which are relevant to the baby. ]

[ A baby. His baby -- and Korra's. Surely he can make en effort? ]

[ Firing up the griddle, he smears it with a few drops of olive oil. Lets it heat up, before he arranges the plump pink morsels of prawns across the tray, sending up faint wisps of smoke. When he speaks, at length, his tone is an odd and perturbing thing, difficult to read, poised on a knife-edge between offhand teasing and quiet uncertainty. ]

If it's a girl ... maybe [ Not Xing. There will never be another Xing. ] Mai?

Mai? [It throws her for a loop, a little. He doesn't pronounce it the same way, but that's the name of Fire Lord Zuko's first wife. It's a strange, funny coincidence.]

I like it. [It's kind of like his name, actually. Hei - Hey, Mai - My. Words that could be other words.] What if it's a boy?

[ The twinge that hits Hei is unfamiliar, as if some intrusive finger is plucking a harp string in his head, trying to get his attention. Maybe it's unlucky to name the child Mai? Especially in light of how her life dissolved into a flaming wreckage of orphanhood and indentured servitude to the Syndicate. But Hei ignores the lure as paranoia. Isn't it necessary, for the child to have a meaningful name, something that plucks bittersweetly at his thoughts, instead of diffusing into a jumble of empty sounds? The memories of Mai that fly into his mind aren't entirely pleasant -- but he treasures what little brightness they yield, like sunlight at the edges of a black curtain. It's the way he's learnt to deal with the darker facets of his life. ]

[ At her question, he pauses mid-way between flipping the prawns over, pale golden-brownish on one side, pink and glistening on the other. ]

I don't know. Maybe -- [ Huang? That ekes out a little frown that smoothes in the same beat, as if a thought has been dismissed, an ironic hilarity burbling and draining away inside him. Much as Hei's grown to respect the old bastard, he has no intention of naming his son after him. Ideally, the chances of the kid growing up as scrod-faced and sullen and sour-scented as his namesake are slim. But the universe has a penchant for cruel whimsies. ]

[ Case in point : Hei being a father. ]

[ Shaking it off, he mutters, ]

If it's a boy, he better have a good right hook, and a stable head on his shoulders. That's all that matters.

[ Not a chip off the old block, by any means. Someone who grows up to be a hundred times better than Hei. Someone whose humanity isn't a facade, a shell. ]

[...are you serious.]

I'd like to think the baby will have both, whether boy or girl. [Sometimes his sexist douchery is amusing — like how much happier he was when she grew her hair long again. It seemed like every time she pulled it up or braided it, a few minutes later he'd be undoing it again. There were times she'd tie it back just to count how long it took him to reach for it. Other times — mostly back in the City, when curses regularly messed with their bodies and shuffled sex organs about — it made her sad. But mostly, and particularly right now, it makes her angry. She knows his sister was a badass force of destruction. She'd seen his memories of his first girlfriend, who was also incredibly powerful. He's fought alongside Asami. And, most importantly of all, he's fought with her. Alongside her, against her — he knows her strength. Gender has nothing to do with it.

Korra doesn't really identify as a woman — the whole idea of "two genders" seems both weird and pointless if she spends any time thinking about it — but she's not stupid. When people look at her, they see a woman. How people treat her is based in part on that perception, regardless of how she herself identifies.

So yeah. Better slip that chauvinism back in your pocket where she can't see it.]

[ In an ideal world, gender does have nothing to do with it. Certainly, Hei has been forged of the kind of unyielding bedrock that doesn't soften for men or women, doesn't differentiate between the two in the battlefield. A threat is a threat, whether it's hidden behind hard-packed muscle and kicking off toxic levels of testosterone, or disguised beneath the allure of soft curves and a coy flutter of eyelashes. Contractors are equal-opportunity killers. ]

[ But it's equally true that everyone's perception of you is colored by your gender. There's no escaping it. Or escaping the man-shaped and woman-shaped traps it confines you within. The world is a labyrinth: to navigate through it, every boy and girl must overcome their own unique hurdles. Cross the minefields of stereotypes, some trivial, others devastating. He'll be the first to admit boys have it easier. The labyrinth is made for men. It's dog-eat-dog, but that's why you have to eat your opponents before they eat you. Small wonder Hei was called a monster behind his back: he'd learnt early that the only way to devour what's bigger than you is to dislocate your jaw. ]

[ If it's a boy-child, then Hei expects the kid to be a fighter. ]

[ If it's a girl ... ]

If the boy's a scrapper, he'll survive. One way or another. This world sees to that. [ Carefully, he flips the prawns on the griddle. They're fluffy and crisped at the very edges, with toasty dark patches. Almost done. ]

[ Quieter, ]

Girls don't have it as easy. From the cradle, they're judged for their lack. To win, they've got to be a hundred times better. Stronger. Quicker on the draw. [ He glances up at Korra, whose stubborn little face reflects a shift from simple annoyance to a more complex kind of anger, a deeper level of outrage. Something in his gaze softens, not combative but confiding. ] Lots of girls are already strong, though. Women, in general, are a lot stronger than people give them credit for.

[ Fiercer. More powerful, the burn of their ruthlessness fed by the complex mechanics of their vulnerabilities. He's seen it in Pai, in Amber, in Yin, in Carmine, in Misaki, in Mai. Back in the City, with Hatter and Carla, their strengths a double-edged sword. Most of all, he's seen it in Korra, Even at her most yielding, most helpless, curled judderingly-tight around him in bed, the tremors of her release still rippling through her in little ebbs and crests, he knows the sun-core of strength that burns inside. Has seen the inner fortitude and self-sacrificing courage that drives her. Avatar, warrior, hero are inadequate words to describe her. ]

[ She's so much more than that. Any daughter of hers will be the same. ]

[It's a nice speech. Korra wants to roll her eyes at it.]

How did we get on this topic from "What would you want to name a boy?"

[Grumping, she slides out of her seat and snags one of the mostly-cooked prawns in an act of petty rebellion.]

[ It's called smokescreen. Not that it's working. How can it, when he lives with a grumpy little Avatar who moves through every subject with such petulant authority, kicking over stones as if by accident to reveal all the squirmy truths hiding underneath? Worms, Roxanne. Worms. ]

[ Lightly, he bats off her hand when she reaches for the sizzling prawns. ]

Let them cook.

[ And they call him a glutton. Speaking of gluttony: the sauce is done. Hei lifts the pot lid, the heavy buttery smell enveloping the air. Pours it into a small ceramic bowl, and gathers a verdant sprig of chives from the fridge. He sprinkles them, finely chopped, across the soupy amber surface, diffusing the saltiness of the butter with a cool mint aftertaste. It is only once he's set the whole dish before Korra, plump pink-white prawns arranged in a bowl, still steaming faintly, does he speak. ]

Look. We'll use Mai if it's a girl. Tulaq [ A phonetic hat-tip to Tonraq, but also an adroit employment of words, as Tulaq means warrior, but is also a tribute to the God of the Stars, ] if it's a boy.

[ Both short and sweet. Also easy to yell in one breath. See? He's planning ahead. ]

[She's not being a glutton! She's just a little peckish. She's eating for two, you know. You're a jerk for making her wait. She pouts, but she doesn't make another move for them. She can hang on a little longer.

And at least he's taking the conversation a little more seriously. Those are names she can work with.

She blows on the food to cool it a little before taking a bite.]

I like it. Both of them.

Good.

[ He jerks his gaze away, an edgy movement that tears across the veil of repose. He can tell Korra is heartened by his enthusiasm -- or least the lukewarm iota of it. He wonders how she'd react if she knew he can enter into these conversations just as if they mean anything to him -- more easily, maybe, because they don't. It is true he is gripped by a paranoid dread at the idea of the baby. But it is like preparing for an enormous chore. He feels disturbingly little of anything else, aside from stress at his inability to manifest the correct fatherly excitement. ]

[ He hopes Korra doesn't find out. He's going through the motions of happiness with her, buoyed by her incredible confidence and cheer, a parasite clinging to a sleek, beautiful animal. There's a wistful pride in watching her, sure: knowing she'll be the sweetest mother in Republic City. But he's afraid he won't be able to go on hiding his detachment, the way he's been hiding it all along, once the baby is here. ]

[ He hopes the floating numbness doesn't last. How terrible, for a baby to feel nothing emanating from the father, but a sense of cool obligation. ]

[ He tries not to think about it. Goes to the fridge, stares as if dissatisfied into its interior, then pulls out a jug of mango shake and pours a glass. His mood doesn't last, and he butts up against Korra next to the counter, quiet and affectionate in a bodily way. Reminding himself he can feel something -- because everytime he thinks about losing her, it tears away at his heart, small piece by piece. ]

[ Quietly, ]

You're being careful, right? No undercooked meat. No heavy lifting. [ He means using a whole washing machine as a dumbbell, not hefting around a bunch of Air Babies ]

[Korra is, while not entirely blind to Hei's antipathy, more optimistic about it than she should be. She remembers her first pregnancy and how, even if he wouldn't admit it, how drawn in he was by the baby, the possibilities that it let him imagine. While that ended badly, she doesn't want to think that it completely destroyed his ability to hope.

He comes up beside her and she leans against him as she eats. The combination of the food and his warmth restores much of her good humor. She takes his fussing with much more grace than she would have ten minutes ago.]

Yes. I'm taking care of myself. [She's not as young and reckless as she was last time. She's not in danger like she was last time. And this time, the baby is a choice, not an obligation. She's not going to take risks with it.]

[ It hasn't destroyed his capacity for hope. But it has left him with the same fast-twitch recoil someone develops when shielding a seeping wound. He is afraid, quite simply. Afraid the pregnancy will end as disastrously as the first one. Afraid the baby will upend the precarious scales of equilibrium he's achieved with Korra -- a sort of uneasy truce, a teetering contentment. A few connections, wired to his brain, spark off a suggestion: Maybe he's emotionally flatlined as a defense mechanism? He's wary of the pregnancy disgorging unhappiness and trauma instead of joy -- so he's shut himself off completely. Maybe that's why he's taking everything day by day, hour by hour, because the future is so imponderable, the changes it bodes so immense. ]

[ He doesn't know. He tries to focus on nothing but Korra, the shadowy waves of hair at once sleek and wild around her head, her gaze the dreamy blue of a frosted skylight at dawn. Against his will, the interior of his own eyes takes on a softer glow. ]

[ Reaching out, he plucks a rosy quid of prawn from her plate. Pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, before he murmurs, both offhand and tentative, ]

Have you considered a nanny? Once the baby's here, there'll be so much work. And we're both pretty busy anyway.

[Someday, maybe, he'll learn that they're not as precarious as he thinks. There is no uneasy truce; they are not at war. They go through patches of hard times, don't always get along, but she always loves him. After almost ten years, that's not going to change any time soon.

Have you considered a nanny? She stares at him, not shocked or appalled — just confused. It takes her a moment to remember what a nanny is.]

No?

[The idea that she could use a nanny never even occurred to her.... She's never known anyone who had one. In the Southern Water Tribe, nannies aren't necessary — children are raised by the community as much as by their parents. Pema never used one, but she has the support of the entire Air Temple Island community.]

[ She loves him. Yet Hei always expects there to be a But. Each time she says I love you, he waits for that unsaid word, the qualifier. There is always one; he's been raised on this home truth, seen it in the faces of his parents when they'd let those strangers take away Xing. Seen it in the strained lines of resignation across Tahara's face, as he'd tried to stick a knife into Mai's back, while brokenly professing he'd always love her. Hei's always believed love is the cruelest false advertisement in life. ]

[ (Not that it's stopped him from falling in love. Pai always said he was none-too-bright.) ]

[ Korra's look is so flummoxed. Moxful of flumminess. He blows a gently exasperated sigh from his lips. Of course she wouldn't consider a nanny. She's from a tribe that practices communal child-rearing. When she'd left the South Pole, it was only to reside in a simulacrum of that system, at Air Temple Island. She doesn't realize that baby in a two-person household is different. She's been looking forward to the day-to-day minutiae of childcare, as evidenced by her cheerful prattling and plans. But at the same time she's not really contemplating the second-to-second endless aspect of it. ]

[ Reaching out, he covers her free hand with his, thumb skimming the knuckles. ]

You should. Being a mother is a full-time job. But so is being the Avatar. Juggle both, and you'll burn out fast.

[ He doesn't mention how much he will or will not be contributing to the childcare. But then, he comes from a world where the most any dads still do with the baby is dandle it on their knee for five minutes, maybe change one or two dirty diapers when the mother is preoccupied, or drop it off to school in the mornings. Everything else is still considered 'women's work.' ]

[She's trying to figure out how it even works. Asami and Bolin are jockeying for babysitting rights, on top of Pema's insistence that the baby be a regular fixture on Air Temple Island... There are no shortage of people who want to help take care of this baby. Even Mako has volunteered to help, with his typical awkward shyness at anything that hints at emotion.]

How would we find one?

[ He knows they have plenty of volunteers for babysitting. It's touching, really -- in a saccharine way. But Asami, Mako and Bolin each have their own lives. Expecting them to drop whatever they're doing at a moment's notice, always at the baby's beck and call, is impossible. Sure, for an evening or two out of the week, they'd be available, obliging. But a few hours of toting a squealing half-pint around aren't the same as constructing your entire schedule around its feeding times, its naps, its baths, its diaper-changes. For such pin-dot care, you need someone who's invested in nothing except the baby's welfare. A stay-at-home parent. Or, if both parents work, then a housekeeper. ]

[ Korra's tone communicates doubt, but her gaze is receptive. Sifting through options, Hei tries to consider candidates who'll fit the criteria. Someone gentle, smart, and trustworthy, who has got what it takes to protect the baby, if necessary. Someone who can cut a swathe through the nasties who will beat a path to their door once they hear the Avatar is a mother. ]

[ I wonder if Pai would be any help? It surfaces with a quiet ache. Every day, provoked by some event or other, he regrets her absence. Even in his own world, after Heaven's Gate vanished, he'd carried the uneasy awareness that a huge, complicated phase of his life was passing by, crowded with significant and deeply emotional experiences, none of which Pai was seeing, none of which she was remotely involved in. It's the same feeling here. ]

[ At length, ]

I'll tell Tenzin to select a few qualified acolytes. We'll interview them. See who clicks with us. Or I'll ask your parents if they know water-benders good with children. A widow. A wet-nurse. Someone they trust.

[The idea of Hei willingly asking her parents for advice makes her snort. He avoids them as much as he can without opening himself to accusations of avoidance. Certainly had not shown any desire for their wisdom or input. And Tenzin... He doesn't even bother hiding that he avoids Tenzin.

A thought occurs to her.]

Would a nanny have to live here? With us?

[She doesn't like that idea at all. She's gotten quite cozy having the house just be the soon-to-be three of them.]

[ Desperate times call for desperate measures. But no, he makes no secret of how uncomfortable he finds Tenzin's blustering company, or the gently-worded interrogations Senna and Tonraq subject him to. His own 'family life' -- such as it was -- in no way resembled the lives of Korra's loved-ones, who are like a soft gloop of glue and colorful bandages and welcoming featherbeds, mending broken hearts and broken bones, mopping up spills of blood, tears and sweat, shoulders ever at-the-ready to lean on -- while Hei is more like a geode trapped under the earth's crust, a hiding place under layers of cooling lava. This doesn't go unnoticed. He knows Korra's friends feel sorry for him and his incurable reserve, and often exchange looks when they don't think he is paying attention. ]

[ Forcibly, he tries to shake it off. Reminds himself that. for better or worse, he's not so alone. Not anymore. He has a baby on the way. He is loved by a wonderful woman who will take him in, even if he's been absent for years. Who will forgive him for him failings even though he can't forgive himself. ]

[ Squeezing her hand, he manages a reassuring sketch of a smile. He hears her worries, and understands them. Privacy, for the two of them, isn't a luxury but a necessity. ]

She could stay at Air Temple Island. Arrive by dawn, when we're leaving for work. Depart by evening, once one of us returns.

[ Basically do what nannies in Tokyo and other big cities do. It's not rocket science. ]

[Hey, it's not the kind of thing that comes completely naturally to someone who hasn't had a typical "job" in years, and whose culture never made a career out of childcare. When he explains it like that, it's so obvious, but it's not something she's ever had to think about before.]

I'm hoping I won't have to leave a lot, though. Things have been pretty quiet for awhile now.

[And they should stay that way, as long as the Equalist situation doesn't get out of hand. She'll have to keep an eye on it, but she has faith. They're all older and wiser than when Amon was in power. Surely they can handle it better this time.]

[ He's determined for the Equalist threat to die a stillborn death. But that doesn't preclude other threats around the corner. With the way Hei has survived, he is always preparing, contingency plans unspooling in his mind and mapped out in practical steps in every sphere of his routine. The constancy of danger and the certainty of how he will deal with it is a familiar, awful superstructure to his life, and at some level he acknowledges that he's preparing at every stage of his existence, whatever lulls of peace he briefly indulges in about as meaningful and relevant as dreams. Only the preparation exists as a home truth -- the preparation, and the purpose it yields. ]

[ At Korra's words, he smiles with a faint affection -- but only because there's something bittersweet about her optimism, her clear-eyed hopefulness. He regards not her face but her hand, curled in his, the knuckles solid under his stroking thumb, the skin like hot calloused velvet. ]

[ Dryly, ]

There's no guarantee they'll stay quiet. A back-up plan is necessary. [ Lifting her palm, he presses a kiss to the center, idle habit meeting sincerity. ] You'll get sloppy as a stay-at-home mom. I don't want that for you. Better to stay in fighting trim.

I'm not about to go lax on my forms. [If there's one thing that makes her happier than anything else, that she finds more fulfilling than anything else, it's bending. She would give up just about everything before she gave up that.

She leans over to kiss his cheek before finishing her meal.]

Could you take a look at the cradle? I don't think I put it together quite right.

Fine.

[ The way he inflects the word makes it sound like a herculean chore. But he drains his glass of milkshake, before slipping off the stool readily enough. He'd been hoping to shower and then fix himself a proper meal. But that can wait. He owes Korra for his absence, for an entire wasted evening. ]

[ In the nursery, padding over the crinkled newpapers strewn across the floor, he regards the half-constructed cradle. All told, Korra hasn't done a bad job. But the rockers on the underside are rickety, and one of the support strips is crooked. ]

[ Sighing, he sinks to his knees. Patiently reassembling the cradle, he lets the task, the mindful hammering, the careful measuring, flatten out his brain. It's strange: all this effort is for the baby, yet he's not thinking of the baby at all. Hours can pass without a single concrete thought if he's preoccupied: just empty, static wind gusting and swirling through his head, snatches of instructions repeating themselves in an endless loop. The bubbling paranoia -- about Korra, about their future -- that so often manifests itself in other forms, as cold nausea, as nameless dread, is, if not erased, at least temporarily buried under the weight of simple exertion. ]

[ It isn't long before the cradle is finished. Not elaborate, trimmed, with hand-rubbed varnish or intricate carvings -- but styled like a pretty antique, solid enough to bear a squalling brat. My squalling brat, he tries to remind himself. The words mean nothing. ]

[While Hei puts the cradle together properly, Korra cleans up the mess from her own meal. Before she can rejoin him in the nursery, nausea and heartburn hit. She grabs a glass of water and shuffles to their bedroom to lie down and put a compress over her eyes. Crying always gives her a headache.

That first pregnancy was so much easier. Even with the Red Lotus and the stress, it had been easier. She hadn't had any morning (or anytime) sickness. Definitely no heartburn. But most importantly... she'd felt more certain of Hei. Once the baby is real, she reminds herself. Once the baby is here, he'll connect with it. It's barely a bump in her belly right now, so of course it doesn't feel like something he could love yet. But he will.]

[ Every pregnancy is different. That's what Pema had gently reassured them. Some started out smoothly and ended with difficult labors, some were the other way around. That doesn't stop the anxiety, which Hei usually controls well, from bubbling up each time Korra suffers from unfamiliar cramps, or a disturbing lethargy that roots her to the spot. Korra's own worries, whatever they are, are well-buttoned up -- but under those buttons is a button-sized baby, half Contractor, half Avatar. (An Avatractor?) There's something decidedly queasy-making about her carrying something that's alive, as vulnerable as a jelly doughnut inside the softness of her belly -- yet as draining as a parasite. ]

[ Most expectant fathers wouldn't think that way, Hei knows. Most would, most likely, make their partner wear some body armor -- find a spare hubcap, even a nice cast-iron frying pan that she could tie around her waist. ]

[ Except the unborn baby isn't Hei's concern. Just Korra. (Maybe that won't change, even after the baby arrives.) ]

[ Creeping silently into the bedroom, Hei ignores the seasick lurch when he finds Korra curled up on the futon, her hair a dark mudslide across her scrunched-up face. Carefully, he settles at the edge of the futon. Reaches out, so the curve of her hot face is met by the cradle of his cool hand. A pregnancy isn't an illness, he reminds himself. Yet in moments like these, it's difficult not to regard it as one. To resent the baby like a cancer festering inside her, poisoning her blood even as it saps the life out of her. ]

[ Quietly, ]

Maybe the prawns were too heavy.

[ He's been keeping track of which foods trigger her pyrosis, and which don't, so he knows what dishes to avoid making in the future. ]

Mmm. [She grabs his hand and tugs him down to lie next to her. She demands cuddles. Dinner and cradle-fixing aren't penance enough for bailing on her, and certainly not enough to make up for the lack of sex ever since she told him about the pregnancy.

This close, though, she can smell the reek on his clothes, no longer covered up by the delicious smells of food. She coughs and pushes him away.] You stink. Go take a shower.

[ Hei can't explain to her, exactly, what the problem is. It's not a physical decline; he's not having trouble getting it up. Nor has the fact of Korra's pregnancy reduced her to a vessel of burgeoning blood-clots, a formless soup of life that he's revolted by. But when he kisses her, it's always fleeting, almost chaste. Right now, sex is at an apoapsis in his life, crowded out by the weight of worries, the deadening pressures of impending parenthood. His entire being is always forking between excitement and dread, between being a pillar of support for Korra but also the unwilling sperm-donor, the silent partner-in-crime. The split makes everything feel surreal and distant from one moment to next. Fills his head with static even as it weighs his bones down with lead. ]

[ He can't say that to Korra. Instead he lets her coax him to sprawl next to her -- only to shove him away because his skin and clothes still carry the miasmic fug from the rally. ]

[ Scowling, Hei hauls himself to his feet. He blames the sprog for making her as unpredictable as a nest of rattlesnakes. She's never kicked him out of bed before for smelling like less than a spring rose. ]

I think I'll take the couch tonight.

[ Stripping his clothes off irritably, striving for that extra, imaginary inch of dignity that this lovesick relationship has deprived him of, he stomps off to shower. Damn hormones. Damn pregnancies. Why couldn't he have hooked up with a menopausal cougar instead of a teenybopper at the useless peak of her fertility? ]

What? [As far as Korra's concerned, he's the unpredictable one. That petulance seems to come from nowhere. He's a very clean person. He doesn't freak out when he's dirty, but he always cleans himself off as soon as he can. There's no reason for him to stomp off top the couch because she told him to do something he would normally be doing.

She's top annoyed to chase after him. If he wants to punish himself by sleeping on the couch, fine. Let him. She huffs irritably and rolls over too her other side.]

[ 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. ]

Edited 2015-03-02 06:07 (UTC)

who’s idea was this anyway

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