[ Leaving herself in his hands, as if she has absolutely no remote idea that he'd once made her death his priority. She knows, of course she does, but exhaustion and despair make her forget. Holding her so close makes him want to forget it too. Broken rafters -- damaged people -- are Hei's specialty. But he's usually one who causes the damage. Not the one cleaning it up. ]
[ There's a strangeness in this scenario that's as novel to him as it is for her. ]
[ In the bathroom, he directs her away from the mirror. Lowering the toilet lid to perch there, he tugs her closer by her hips. Undresses her with steady fingers; bottom to top. He can untie her boots with one hand while he tackles his own with the other. It's only a moment before he's dropped both pairs heavily on the tiles. Skinning down her blood-stiff jeans, he slides his palms up the outsides of her legs, ankles to hips, his thumbs resting on the jut of her hipbones. He kissed each ridge, feather-light, then rises, his hands still splayed there. Kisses her mouth, a soft pressure, a softer tongue -- warmth but no spiking heat. Not yet ]
[ Under the nurse's top, her undershirt is caked in dried blood. He peels it off carefully, before shedding the rest of his own clothes, and tosses the ball of wrinkled things into the laundry basket. It's not consideration, so Korra isn't reconfronted with the bloody garments if she returns to the bathroom. It's years of training, to dispose of the evidence linked to a crime scene. ]
[ In the shower, he steps behind her, not quite touching. Reaches past her head, and the spray comes on -- cold at first like a slap, then hotter. This close, her body is beyond pedestrian, beyond ignorable. But he tries to think clinically, tipping her head forward into the water-stream, his fingers combing through her hair. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ There's a strangeness in this scenario that's as novel to him as it is for her. ]
[ In the bathroom, he directs her away from the mirror. Lowering the toilet lid to perch there, he tugs her closer by her hips. Undresses her with steady fingers; bottom to top. He can untie her boots with one hand while he tackles his own with the other. It's only a moment before he's dropped both pairs heavily on the tiles. Skinning down her blood-stiff jeans, he slides his palms up the outsides of her legs, ankles to hips, his thumbs resting on the jut of her hipbones. He kissed each ridge, feather-light, then rises, his hands still splayed there. Kisses her mouth, a soft pressure, a softer tongue -- warmth but no spiking heat. Not yet ]
[ Under the nurse's top, her undershirt is caked in dried blood. He peels it off carefully, before shedding the rest of his own clothes, and tosses the ball of wrinkled things into the laundry basket. It's not consideration, so Korra isn't reconfronted with the bloody garments if she returns to the bathroom. It's years of training, to dispose of the evidence linked to a crime scene. ]
[ In the shower, he steps behind her, not quite touching. Reaches past her head, and the spray comes on -- cold at first like a slap, then hotter. This close, her body is beyond pedestrian, beyond ignorable. But he tries to think clinically, tipping her head forward into the water-stream, his fingers combing through her hair. ]