[ She never wanted to be a mother. He certainly never wanted to be a father. ]
[ Yet, in the days that pass, Hei feels unmoored from time, a shadow-puppet lurking at the fringes of his own life. He's barely aware of Korra's presence, even though Su Yin Beifong has thoughtfully placed them in suites side-by-side. He and Korra might as well be living in different countries. He's not sure how to face her, after the recent disaster. Barely wants to think about the night it happened. ]
[ Except he can recall it with pinpoint clarity. The twist of surging panic in his chest as he'd surfaced from sleep. Shaking off the remnants of a dream in which the skinned limbs of faceless children burst through the black jungle soil in South America, a million legs and fingers and toes swaying like wheat in a wind-whipped field. Sour-mouthed, sickened, he'd reached for the warm landscape of Korra's body curled across his. Then he'd smelled the blood. Staining her thighs, a huge dark butterfly spreading out on the sheets. ]
[ She'd been unconscious. ]
[ Everything that followed was a blur. It's strange -- usually Hei has an excellent memory. He can recall conversations from years ago with pinpoint accuracy. Can summon details of fleeting encounters -- words, scents, sights -- at his memory's fingertips in a heartbeat. But that night ... It's as much a distorted white blur as the moment Heaven's Gate vanished. ]
[ He can't remember. He doesn't want to. ]
[ They've all offered sympathies afterward. Every one of Korra's friends, like a fucking chorus of Pollyannas. Tenzin -- of all people -- has told him to stay close to Korra, because at this time it's important they support each other, take comfort together. Except ... he can barely bring himself to look her in the eye. Of course he's glad she's alive. Of course, even if they lost the baby, she still has his support. Of course he still loves her -- loves her without any still. ]
[ But he can't express the heaviness that settles over him later. He's never mourned someone who he's never met -- who wasn't technically alive to begin with. But it seems to involve staring aimlessly into space, while something inside him slowly contracts, iota by iota, forcing the life out of him, at least when it isn't about sitting dully in a chair, or sprawled in bed, or slumped at the dojo, feeling like his body is melting into the atmosphere. All he can think of is that he's failed even in this. He can't hold on to anyone he loves, because his very touch breeds disaster. He's half-ruined Korra by dragging her into his filth, and he knows it will torment him for years, the knowledge. That he can try to change his nature, be a better person, hope for happiness, but all that will come of it is more murder. ]
[ That night -- the first in days -- he slinks away from his room in the early dawn darkness, passing like a shadow through the streets, nearly lightless, deserted of people. It'd be easy to stagnate in his room. Twitching in fitful sleep, or staring blankly at the patterns on the walls. But no matter how low he is, he can't stand idleness. ]
[ The Red Lotus are still out there. Still after Korra. Now, more than ever, he needs to ensure they don't reach her. ]
[ So it's both ironic -- yet not -- that the first person he glimpses near the city's exit is -- ]
no subject
[ Yet, in the days that pass, Hei feels unmoored from time, a shadow-puppet lurking at the fringes of his own life. He's barely aware of Korra's presence, even though Su Yin Beifong has thoughtfully placed them in suites side-by-side. He and Korra might as well be living in different countries. He's not sure how to face her, after the recent disaster. Barely wants to think about the night it happened. ]
[ Except he can recall it with pinpoint clarity. The twist of surging panic in his chest as he'd surfaced from sleep. Shaking off the remnants of a dream in which the skinned limbs of faceless children burst through the black jungle soil in South America, a million legs and fingers and toes swaying like wheat in a wind-whipped field. Sour-mouthed, sickened, he'd reached for the warm landscape of Korra's body curled across his. Then he'd smelled the blood. Staining her thighs, a huge dark butterfly spreading out on the sheets. ]
[ She'd been unconscious. ]
[ Everything that followed was a blur. It's strange -- usually Hei has an excellent memory. He can recall conversations from years ago with pinpoint accuracy. Can summon details of fleeting encounters -- words, scents, sights -- at his memory's fingertips in a heartbeat. But that night ... It's as much a distorted white blur as the moment Heaven's Gate vanished. ]
[ He can't remember. He doesn't want to. ]
[ They've all offered sympathies afterward. Every one of Korra's friends, like a fucking chorus of Pollyannas. Tenzin -- of all people -- has told him to stay close to Korra, because at this time it's important they support each other, take comfort together. Except ... he can barely bring himself to look her in the eye. Of course he's glad she's alive. Of course, even if they lost the baby, she still has his support. Of course he still loves her -- loves her without any still. ]
[ But he can't express the heaviness that settles over him later. He's never mourned someone who he's never met -- who wasn't technically alive to begin with. But it seems to involve staring aimlessly into space, while something inside him slowly contracts, iota by iota, forcing the life out of him, at least when it isn't about sitting dully in a chair, or sprawled in bed, or slumped at the dojo, feeling like his body is melting into the atmosphere. All he can think of is that he's failed even in this. He can't hold on to anyone he loves, because his very touch breeds disaster. He's half-ruined Korra by dragging her into his filth, and he knows it will torment him for years, the knowledge. That he can try to change his nature, be a better person, hope for happiness, but all that will come of it is more murder. ]
[ That night -- the first in days -- he slinks away from his room in the early dawn darkness, passing like a shadow through the streets, nearly lightless, deserted of people. It'd be easy to stagnate in his room. Twitching in fitful sleep, or staring blankly at the patterns on the walls. But no matter how low he is, he can't stand idleness. ]
[ The Red Lotus are still out there. Still after Korra. Now, more than ever, he needs to ensure they don't reach her. ]
[ So it's both ironic -- yet not -- that the first person he glimpses near the city's exit is -- ]
Korra?