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fuse_box2015-06-27 01:29 am
mortemscintilla) wrote in fuse_box2015-06-27 01:29 am
Entry tags:
It's my party
WHO: Korra & Hei
WHAT: Everything continues to be awkward and terrible. At least there is cake.
[ Tonraq's death had cast a pall over Mai's first birthday. But the second -- navigated by the traditional lunar calendar -- falls on a different day of the year, so there is no threat of celebrations and mourning crisscrossing. Korra isn't one for funeralizing anyway, Hei knows. Her father is gone, and she won't let him out of her heart and mind -- he'll always be with her as long as she's alive. But she needs to live, while remembering her existence is defined not just by death. There's loss, but there's also joy. Old sorrow, but new life, too. ]
[ At least, he figures those are her reasons for this little party. ]
[ Asami had phoned him the week earlier. She'd invited him to brunch at Kwong's, explaining that Korra and Mai would be there. I know you only see them once a week. Maybe it'll be nice to socialize a bit more. Aching to go see his daughter -- but wary of making Korra uncomfortable -- Hei reluctantly declined. In dreams, he saw Korra, Mai and Asami as if in a sumptuous watercolor painting. Imagined them at the restaurant, cozied under the multicolored glow of an expensive stained-glass lamp, sipping tea from colorful crockery. He dreamed, as sloppy brushstrokes filled out the scenery, that they were all relieved by his refusal. He saw Mai's face melting into blankness, a doll devoid of any recognition for him, before the dream shivered away like paper torn into soggy bits. ]
[ He tries not to think about it. Mostly, he keeps himself too busy to think. He's moved out of the dump he'd rented, to the forty-sixth floor of one of the twin high-rises that Future Industries has constructed downtown -- a sleek but affordable complex. He chooses a three-bedroom corner apartment. The place is bright, airy, larger than he needs so most of the rooms go unused. But he likes living on the top floor, with a glittering view of the city, above it all. Also, at the time he'd rented it, it was to his advantage to take a place that didn't fit the profile of what a loner, recently separated and with minimal needs, would take for an apartment. ]
[ (It wasn't his only reason -- sure. But it also wasn't the first time his wishful thinking had blurred so seamlessly with his operational instincts.) ]
[ He's still working with Future Industries. With -- not For. The quirky old tech he'd been assisting has freelanced into weapons manufacturing -- and Hei had resolved to go with him. The arms trade isn't his main interest, though. He's spent the months since returning from the Enterprise rebuilding and restructuring the network he'd left behind. In Republic City, the basis exists for a competitive, free market of intelligence. The police force needs it, the President's entourage need it, as do the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation, the Water tribes. The means to access terrorist cells, to infiltrate the dens of well-connected kingpins, to assassinate political rivals, to create elite military units. ]
[ He is working toward developing his own private op. Hell, ever since the furor in the Earth Kingdom, there are new outfits springing up all over, the equivalent of Halliburton and Blackwater and K-Crucible, and it's hard to tell where the governments end and the shady private sector begins. Buyers have got their choice of which faction to gather intelligence, manpower, artillery -- or cannon fodder -- from. Hei intends to make sure his product is better than best. ]
[ (He knows, if Amber were here, she'd be laughing at how his life is playing out.) ]
[ A few nights before the big day, his phone rings late, while he is in bed, his eyes getting heavy over a book. This time it is Korra, inviting him to Mai's birthday. Not a huge celebration -- just a small intimate gathering. Startled, Hei agrees -- before he can think twice about how stupid and heartbroken this will leave him once he's there. He doesn't want to socialize with Korra's friends -- or be reminded of the life he'd tossed away. Doubts, too, that he'll get much private daddy-daughter time with Mai. But it will be enough to see her. She's growing, little by little. He doesn't want her to have no concrete childhood memories of her father beyond their one-hour playtime on Fridays. ]
[ When he first approaches the Beach House, he thinks it has caught fire, but the vapor wafting out of the windows is sweet incense. Something stops him from just knocking on the door; maybe the bright undercurrents of people in the air. Peering through the window, he watches Korra bustle around, her gestures elegant and formalized, like a medieval dance, with a whole host of partners. Tenzin, Pema and the Air Babies. Jinora and Kai. Asami. Mako. Bolin and Opal. And in their midst, impossibly small, the glowy sparkle in her eyes outshining everything in the room, is Mai. ]
WHAT: Everything continues to be awkward and terrible. At least there is cake.
[ Tonraq's death had cast a pall over Mai's first birthday. But the second -- navigated by the traditional lunar calendar -- falls on a different day of the year, so there is no threat of celebrations and mourning crisscrossing. Korra isn't one for funeralizing anyway, Hei knows. Her father is gone, and she won't let him out of her heart and mind -- he'll always be with her as long as she's alive. But she needs to live, while remembering her existence is defined not just by death. There's loss, but there's also joy. Old sorrow, but new life, too. ]
[ At least, he figures those are her reasons for this little party. ]
[ Asami had phoned him the week earlier. She'd invited him to brunch at Kwong's, explaining that Korra and Mai would be there. I know you only see them once a week. Maybe it'll be nice to socialize a bit more. Aching to go see his daughter -- but wary of making Korra uncomfortable -- Hei reluctantly declined. In dreams, he saw Korra, Mai and Asami as if in a sumptuous watercolor painting. Imagined them at the restaurant, cozied under the multicolored glow of an expensive stained-glass lamp, sipping tea from colorful crockery. He dreamed, as sloppy brushstrokes filled out the scenery, that they were all relieved by his refusal. He saw Mai's face melting into blankness, a doll devoid of any recognition for him, before the dream shivered away like paper torn into soggy bits. ]
[ He tries not to think about it. Mostly, he keeps himself too busy to think. He's moved out of the dump he'd rented, to the forty-sixth floor of one of the twin high-rises that Future Industries has constructed downtown -- a sleek but affordable complex. He chooses a three-bedroom corner apartment. The place is bright, airy, larger than he needs so most of the rooms go unused. But he likes living on the top floor, with a glittering view of the city, above it all. Also, at the time he'd rented it, it was to his advantage to take a place that didn't fit the profile of what a loner, recently separated and with minimal needs, would take for an apartment. ]
[ (It wasn't his only reason -- sure. But it also wasn't the first time his wishful thinking had blurred so seamlessly with his operational instincts.) ]
[ He's still working with Future Industries. With -- not For. The quirky old tech he'd been assisting has freelanced into weapons manufacturing -- and Hei had resolved to go with him. The arms trade isn't his main interest, though. He's spent the months since returning from the Enterprise rebuilding and restructuring the network he'd left behind. In Republic City, the basis exists for a competitive, free market of intelligence. The police force needs it, the President's entourage need it, as do the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation, the Water tribes. The means to access terrorist cells, to infiltrate the dens of well-connected kingpins, to assassinate political rivals, to create elite military units. ]
[ He is working toward developing his own private op. Hell, ever since the furor in the Earth Kingdom, there are new outfits springing up all over, the equivalent of Halliburton and Blackwater and K-Crucible, and it's hard to tell where the governments end and the shady private sector begins. Buyers have got their choice of which faction to gather intelligence, manpower, artillery -- or cannon fodder -- from. Hei intends to make sure his product is better than best. ]
[ (He knows, if Amber were here, she'd be laughing at how his life is playing out.) ]
[ A few nights before the big day, his phone rings late, while he is in bed, his eyes getting heavy over a book. This time it is Korra, inviting him to Mai's birthday. Not a huge celebration -- just a small intimate gathering. Startled, Hei agrees -- before he can think twice about how stupid and heartbroken this will leave him once he's there. He doesn't want to socialize with Korra's friends -- or be reminded of the life he'd tossed away. Doubts, too, that he'll get much private daddy-daughter time with Mai. But it will be enough to see her. She's growing, little by little. He doesn't want her to have no concrete childhood memories of her father beyond their one-hour playtime on Fridays. ]
[ When he first approaches the Beach House, he thinks it has caught fire, but the vapor wafting out of the windows is sweet incense. Something stops him from just knocking on the door; maybe the bright undercurrents of people in the air. Peering through the window, he watches Korra bustle around, her gestures elegant and formalized, like a medieval dance, with a whole host of partners. Tenzin, Pema and the Air Babies. Jinora and Kai. Asami. Mako. Bolin and Opal. And in their midst, impossibly small, the glowy sparkle in her eyes outshining everything in the room, is Mai. ]
[ For a minute Hei just stares at her, as if he is watching some mimed play. His daughter, and Korra -- his best beloveds -- right there on the other side of the glass. A strange object lesson -- of everything he'd almost had, and foolishly squandered. ]
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Asami had been surprised that Korra invited him without any kind of prompting. She doesn't trust him, will probably never trust him completely, but after a year, she feels he's earned a little more time with his daughter. After the party, she wants to talk to him about visiting more often.
Assuming he even comes. He said he would, but Korra is half-convinced he'll chicken out. He's never been comfortable in crowds, or with her friends, and he's usually very punctual. (She gave him the right time for the party, didn't she? The past week has been so crazy, she doesn't actually remember what time she told him. Wouldn't that be awkward...)
But she forces herself not to worry about it, to just focus on her daughter. Mai's infectious happiness makes that easy enough. And then finally she hears Asami say —]
Don't just lurk outside! Come on in!
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[ Slowly, not detaching his gaze from Mai, Hei slinks inside. The air smells cinnamon-spiced; the table is festively cluttered with trays of marble-textured tea eggs, the round shapes to symbolize unity and continuity, dumplings swimming in herby stew, bright red bowls of longevity noodles, steamed pink buns filled with moon-peach paste, and sea crab fragrantly stuffed with sea prunes and mushrooms. At the edge of the table -- where Mai flutters like an antic butterfly -- is the stickiest, fluffiest, creamiest cake he's seen in his life. (Asami must have fetched it from one of the high-end bakeries.) ]
[ Furtive, he draws himself up and nods at everyone with as much spirit as he can muster. The way they are looking at him nearly makes his balls shrink up. Appropriating a corner of the wall to slouch against -- Mako, his apparent twin in hawkish posturing, is slumped against the other -- he marks potential exits out of second nature. ]
[ Then Mai bounds up to him in a swirl of mauve and periwinkle robes -- the knees are already smudged with dust and there is a pink juice stain on her blouse -- and Hei forgets to be aloof and operational. Baa! Baa! It's almost a song, sweet and bubbly and pure. She waves her hands, tiny hands starfishing. Reflexively, he scoops her up; his stomach is foamy with a strange exhilaration. ]
[ Quietly, (fondly), ]
Having fun?
[ Caaakecaaakecaaake! That's a new one. One corner of his mouth moves in a small, rueful way that is unmistakably a smile. ]
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I was starting to think you — Mai, no hitting! [The little girl was fascinated with the sounds her hand made when she slammed it on things and is currently testing it out on Hei's face — too little and innocent to know what a particularly bad idea that is. Once she's stopped and Korra's judged Hei's reaction, she continues.] I was starting to think you weren't going to make it.
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[ I was starting to think you weren't going to make it. ]
[ Distracted from their game, he glances at Korra. Each time he meets her eyes, a dozen conflicting feelings tear at his heart. He wishes he could make things different -- better for her and Mai -- instead of wasting so much energy trying to control the tailspin of his own life. To be a father, a caretaker, a lover, everything he ought to be. Except he is beginning to get the message that his role is always going to be more complex and difficult. ]
[ He says, a bit gruffly to cover for the feeling behind his words, ]
I've missed a lot of things. Not planning to miss this, too.
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She continues in a gentler tone.] She hasn't had her dinner yet, if you want to feed her. It's in the fridge. [The little girl is still too young to eat most of the food laid out for the guests. Korra lingers a bit, in case Hei wants to hand the baby back to her, but assuming he doesn't, she'll go off to talk to her friends and give him some quality time with his daughter. Always with a weather eye on them both, but not hovering the way she used to.]
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[ He doesn't return Mai to Korra's arms. Letting her flit off to socialize with her family, he bears the crowing toddler to the brightly-lit kitchen. Dinner is a touch-and-go affair. Mai's babbly happiness and scatter-brained inattentiveness gradually gives way, as he tries spooning food into her mouth, to tearful frustration at not being able to see her cakecaaaakecake; her poor appetite that is really hungry fretfulness; her general air of fizzing over with so much excitement that she can't function at the simplest tasks. ]
[ Patiently, he coaxes her to nibble on salted crackers. Slips spoonfuls of creamy congee into her mouth, distracting her with conversation: he's discovered quickly that she grows still, transfixed, by the sound of his voice, the gravelly up-and-down cadence of it. So much of what he passes into the tiny pink ears is in Portuguese or Mandarin, but Mai never seems to object. She listens with round eyes, her wet little lips parted to accept dinner, while Hei talks about the most mundane things -- from the rainy weather, to the stagnant water on the roads, to the park he'd like to show her, to the marketplace where they sell citrusy mangosteen with crushed ice. ]
Maybe later, [ he says, a near-whisper as he scrapes Mai's bowl clean to deliver the last bites of congee, ] You can stay over with me. Eat the snacks in my fridge. Make a mess of my flat. That sort of thing.
[ Mess-mess!, Mai coos, waving her hands and nearly knocking the bowl down. Catching it neatly, Hei smiles, ignoring that dull, carved-out ache in his chest. ]
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She arrives just in time to hear You can stay over with me, and her heart freezes. Without even realizing it, she's halfway into the kitchen and pulling Mai into her arms.] Don't.
[Fortunately, Pema is nearby, and Korra hands the wriggling toddler off to her. She doesn't want Mai to hear this conversation.]
Don't you ever say something like that to her without talking to me first. Do you understand? I am not going to be the bad guy because you get her hopes up and I have to say no.
[Mai's too young to understand what Hei told her, which is the only thing keeping Korra reasonably civil about this. She knows it's inevitable; by virtue of the fact that Hei isn't around all the time, he's already the "fun" parent, while Korra's the one left to handle discipline and the unpleasant parts of parenting. But she refuses to let him think he can manipulate their daughter to get what he wants. She is nipping that in the bud right here, right now.]
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[ Jaw tight, he meets Korra's gaze. Her voice is harsh, and her eyes burn with a barely-banked fire. Mistrust. Disappointment. Something much worse than anger, anyway. He's seen that look before, and hates how he's always the one who sparks it. After what he's done, she'll always, in her heart, think him a bandit, and be willing to believe anything about him as long as it is terrible. ]
[ He can't blame her for any of it. He can blame himself, though, for being short-sighted. He doesn't imagine Mai will ever be allowed to stay alone with him. He also doesn't imagine he'll be allowed uninterrupted hours with her -- not in a way that won't force an ugly confrontation. Any hoped-for reconciliation with Korra is also threadbare fantasy. For a little while he'd let himself hope ... but now he remembers. ]
[ Bitterness is like rising ice-water. ]
I'm sorry.
[ This is what happens when he starts to think ... what he shouldn't think. Both Mai and Korra deserve so much better. ]
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It's fine. Just... talk to me before you make offers like that. [She can hear Pema calming the fussy Mai... and Hei's expression, the way something inside him seems to curl up like a salted slug. Korra doesn't want to be the Bad Guy.]
I haven't even seen your new place yet. I can't let Mai visit you there until I've seen it myself.
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[ Something in his chest twinges -- his heart slamming its fists against his ribcage like a starved beast. He's reminded that the greatest victory his own failure has won is for every truly happy memory he ever has of Mai and him to be locked inside a cage. He's not allowed to have any joyful parenting memories that don't have Korra in them. Because all the wonderful moments (chasing his squealing toddler around the yard with the watering can, balancing her on her tricycle, showing her how to gather seashells) were only possible because Korra was standing by, approving. ]
[ You have no one to blame for it but yourself. ]
[ He closes his eyes briefly. Breathes in, breathes out. (Tries to convince himself that the aching bolus in his throat is from dehydration, not grief.) ]
[ Meeting Korra's look, he tries for a half-smile, dredging up playful pretense. ]
You could drop by. I'd make those empanadas you liked.
[ Like old times, back in the City. Except not. ]
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How about tomorrow? I can ask Jinora to babysit for a few hours.
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...Sure.
[ His eyes are downcast for a beat with something like shyness, and his voice carries a soft honesty that makes him feel nearly as young as Mai. ]
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Great. I'll talk to Jinora now. [After a moment.] You should get some dinner, too. We'll be having cake soon.
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The next day
Taking a deep breath, she steps inside and heads up the elevator to the top floor. His windows better all be locked properly.]
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[ The bedroom is simple. A wide dark futon bed and a nightstand. A sprawling rug in geometric patterns of red and black. No weapons in sight; the spring-loaded blades are tucked into digital and manually operated enclaves in the walls, at strategic spots in the flat. The rest of the heavy artillery rests in the antique, unpolished naga dansu -- a big, top opening chest with trick compartments. It is securely locked, draped with an embroidered blue obi, then decked with a small sculpture of a lion-turtle, and lacquered red sake bottles, the better to deflect attention from the chest's contents. ]
[ Such precautions are part of Hei's routine. But for Mai's sake, more than anything, he plans to keep his defense subtle and layered. ]
[ The livingroom is large: sparsely but elegantly furnished in shades of charcoal gray and cream. A collection of black leather sofas, a single hanging scroll with a Thangka-esque motif, a marble fireplace that is filled with vases of white hydrangea. A highly polished knee-holed desk faces a wall lined entirely with tightly-packed volumes of books. Well-thumbed tomes that include many on the bugei, or warrior arts, some of them quite old and obscure, containing information on combat techniques thought to be too dangerous for modern air-bending -- spine locks, neck cranks, and the like -- techniques that are, consequently, largely lost to the art. ]
[ The last wall consists almost wholly of glass. In the evenings, when dusk falls, the cityscape is a mosaic of living color and motion. Tonight, the buildings are a hazy smear, blotted out by the watery glitter of rain on the glass. It is felt rather than seen, and adds a sense of dreamy enclosure to the atmosphere. ]
[ Hei's neighbors -- who've left a tray of grass jelly in his fridge -- have complimented that flat as an abode for someone with a sense of neatness and aesthetic. No one would realize it's the home of a murderer. ]
[ In anticipation for Korra's visit, he's prepared meat empanadas with a sweet-sour sauce seasoned with parsley and oregano. His stomach is frothy; whipped up to a pitch of quiet excitement that is almost dread. He doesn't want to make presumptions about Korra's visit. He understands this is a test: she wants to ensure the apartment is up to baby-standard, so she's comfortable with bringing Mai over. ]
[ But if she's here for other reasons ... His imagination stalls, dies. He doesn't want to be a credulous fool; he knows better than to place hopes where there are none to be expected. He's bought into that wishful mindset before and it is galling. Worse than that. ]
[ Dinner and civil conversation. That's all it is. All it can be. ]
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She reaches his door, her stomach doing flipflops as her entire body tingles in anticipation. Get a grip on yourself! She shakes her head and knocks on the door.]
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[ After the table is set, he slumps for a few moments with his cheek on the desk, eyes closed, as if waiting for a guillotine to come down; as if wishing for it. He's not sure the evening is worth his enthusiasm, his efforts. Korra may just drop in for five minutes, decide the flat isn't baby-proof enough, then walk out. In a dissatisfied mood he abandons the imbroglio of food the dining table has become and begins preparing for the day. Between shower and shave he wonders if Korra plans to sell the Beach House and move in with Asami; when getting dressed he thinks about Mai in those swanky baby-clothes at her birthday and recalls an olfactory expensiveness to them that undermined her dusty-powdery-little-girl scent. Most likely they were a gift from Asami. ]
[ This bugs him, in a way he can't pin down. Not anger at Asami, exactly -- just a crumbling realization that strangers are lavishing more attention and money on his child than he ever has. ]
[ It's your own damn fault. ]
[ The knock rouses him. Nerves jangling to the sound, he goes to answer the door. He knows it's Korra, yet there's a strange jolt in seeing her there, at the threshold of a place he inhabits but she doesn't. It is like running toward an open doorway in a state of high enthusiasm and colliding with a pane of glass. A reminder that their lives are separate now. ]
...Hey.
[ He'd imagined himself greeting her calmly, without hesitation. When he brings the word out though, it is nearly a whisper. ]
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Except she's an adult, so she does neither. She's here for a reason, after all. For Mai's sake, she'll endure these painful feelings.]
It smells great. Can I come in?
[Dangerous, dangerous territory, but it's all for her daughter.]
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[ Her words cut through his sentimental fog. Blinking, he remembers himself. ]
Sure.
[ He steps back, drawing the door open wide. Tension gathers up a fine knot in his stomach, but his face stays politely impassive. They're just two exes together to dredge up a proper arrangement for their child. Half-family, half-strangers. That's all it can be -- no matter how terribly he wishes it was different. ]
[ Inside, the rainfall splatters the windows in graceful motions, a leisurely sweeping from one side of the sky to the other. The water, backlit against the glass, throws mosaic reflections across the livingroom. Gesturing for Korra to make herself comfortable, he drifts to the gleaming kitchen space, getting laquered cups from the shelf. He needs to treat her as merely a guest. That will keep it simple. ]
You want something? Tea. Water. Sake.
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Tea, please. [While he prepares the tea, Korra takes the opportunity to look around without leaving the living room. (Tempted as she is to explore the other rooms, she'll wait until Hei gives her the tour. This isn't her home; she can't wander through it at will.)]
This place is beautiful. [Just as spartan as you'd expect from Hei, but the amount of sunlight coming through the windows, even on a rainy day like this, softens it, making it seem homey. No sign of his weapons, but that's no surprise. Of course he wouldn't leave his weapons out in the opens -- but has he secured them from an inquisitive toddler? That's what she's worried about. Mai has a way of getting into the things you'd least expect.]
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[ He takes down cups and saucers, brings out the sugar bowl with its tiny spoon, slices a lemon, pours evaporated milk into a crystal glass creamer. When the kettle boils he warms the pot and makes the tea, a frothy black pu'er, the steam wafting fragrantly through the air. He brings the hot drinks over with the plate of his neighbors' grass jelly -- he hasn't tried it yet, but it seems mild enough that it won't spoil Korra's appetite. ]
[ Quietly, he follows her gaze around the satisfying proportions of the loft, the glow of lights filling the skyline outside the rain-blurred window. Beautiful she calls it, and he can tell it's not exaggerated politesse. The question is: will she find it suitable for Mai? There are no weapons in sight; no barbed edges or sharp corners, no delicate curios that a toddler could grab and accidentally choke on. Everything dangerous is sealed and mechanized: the keypads to activate the heavy artillery are concealed, and too high up for a child to reach. ]
[ Carefully, he hands her a steaming cup of tea. The gesture makes him weirdly shy and self-conscious, a transfer so ordinary that it calls up every longing for family and domesticity and every atom of maladjusted solitude defining him, things he can't even put into words. ]
[ Clearing his throat, he says, ]
I'll show you around.
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Let's start with Mai's space. [Korra is far from ready to offer sleepovers, but there should be a part of the apartment dedicated to storing toys and baby supplies and where she can be changed. If Hei expects that Korra will schlep all of the baby's necessities along with the baby herself for a visit... Well, that will tell her a lot.]
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[ Quietly, without looking at Korra, ]
It's the sunniest room here. Tends to heat up, though. So I had a special glass installed.
[ He touches the controls on the wall just outside the door, and watches as the glass in all the windows goes first grey, then dark. ]
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It's great. [She unconsciously reaches out to squeeze his hand, though she drops it quickly enough as she comes to her senses. You can't fall into old patterns.
A little brusquely, she adds: ] You're going to need some shelves, though — or boxes. Someplace to put her toys so they aren't lying around.
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[ His pulse rises to a hopeful waver, though his expression remains guarded. Her response isn't a definitive Yes, but there's a promise in the way she demands that he get boxes, mentions Mai's toys as if intimating that she'll be spending more than a single hour here. His heart races at the idea -- slow steady tread, up, down -- and he thinks of the little girl superimposed in the brightly-lit blue room, her soft paddling footsteps, the way she giggles out in high clear joy as she dandles her toys or smears paint across paper with her tiny fingers. Impossible for his mind to maintain its usual cold pitch of sobriety, with memories of his daughter. Happiness always nibbles at the edges of his aloofness, infecting him with warm thoughts. ]
[ From the corner of his eye, he notices Korra's hand flutter toward his -- before hastily withdrawing. Blinking slowly, feeling torn between wishfulness and cynicism, he says, ]
You can ... make a list. If you want. Tell me all the things Mai would need.
[ Her preferred brand of diapers. Powdered milk. Cereal. Her favorite toys. ]
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