love builds prisons

[anatural]

WHO: Hei & Korra
WHAT: After losing the baby, Korra sneaks out of the metal clan city to find Zaheer.

[Korra walks quickly and quietly down the corridors, using every technique she'd learned during the civil war to remain unnoticed by the guards. Snow and metal were two entirely different elements, but when you looked beyond the surface differences, the techniques for one can guide techniques for the other. She's heading for one of the isolated service doors that open up to the world outside the metal clan's city. Naga's already outside — earlier that day Korra had gone for a ride with her, and returned on foot after the guards had changed shifts. Her escape has been carefully, meticulously planned. The only person who could stop her is Hei, and he's not going to notice. He's been off in his own little dark world since she lost the baby. He doesn't see her at all.

Nobody does. Tenzin, Bolin, Mako, even Asami... They're so caught up in their pain for her that they can't see they're drowning her. Every time they say Korra, I’m so sorry, all she can think is Why? She's never wanted to be a mother. The Red Lotus is gunning for her and every other world leader. It's honestly for the best that the baby is gone. She knows there's a part of her that's grieving, but she can't feel it. That numbness and detachment frighten her, but there's no one she can talk to about it because all she'd get is more sympathy and orders to rest. Take it easy. Stay inside. Love will once again build her a prison — but she doesn't plan on giving it the chance. More than anything else, she's the Avatar, and she's not going to just hide inside a metal fortress while the world burns because she's "recovering." Even if she has to do it alone, she's going to find Zaheer and stop him.

She reaches the service door and lets out a relieved breath. Almost there.]

Comments

[mortemscintilla]

[ 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 -- ]

Korra?

[candothat]

[There isn't time for Chekov to be confused when his molecules reassemble on what appears to be a battlefield. He instinctively drops to the ground--not bravest course of action, but projectiles and debris are flying through the air, it's dark, and the lieutenant knows better than to fling himself blindly into a fray.

Blindly being the operative word. Some kind of orange light flickers nearby, but it's nothing compared to the bright white of the Enterprise's transport room. The eighteen year-old reaches for his phaser as he wills the dim shapes around him to resolve themselves into something recognizable. His training tells him that he shouldn't draw his weapon before taking stock of his situation. The imminent threat of death, however, overrides rules and regulations; the Prime Directive is remarkably unimportant in the midst of explosions, incoherent yelling, and--

Lava?

Chekov scrambles to his feet as the ground begins to shake, roil, and crack. All he can do is hope that he's dashing to safety instead of a different kind of death.

The explosion directly in front of him kills that hope. Earth and rocks pelt him in the wake of the explosive boom and he tucks his head and limbs in close to minimize the chances of injury. There's no time, no time for self-assessment, and Chekov is running again with his phaser drawn. If he's injured, slowing down to think about it isn't going to help him. He has to reach some kind of safety and hail the ship.

His eyes are adjusting to the dimly-lit nightmare in which he has found himself. He veers away from what appears to be the heart of the battle, away from lava and explosions and the cacophony of unintelligible voices--and right into an unyielding dark mass. The lieutenant tries to redirect himself at the last second and succeeds only in crashing to the ground, knees-first. Pain doesn't register. He has to keep going, has to see what he hit, and he rolls onto his back and brings the phaser to bear on the potential threat.]