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[ Hei shoves his hands into his pockets, takes a breath to align his thoughts. He can be enormously patient and canny with his words when he's softening a target. But he has a habit of reverting to a more aggressive, deep-seated self with her, same as with Amber. The feelings are the source of the problem. They make him forget himself. They bring forth all the default settings, the good, bad and ugly. (For a moment, he's glad his history makes it so difficult for him to love anything and anyone.) ]

[ Easy. Be more tactical. Not just for her. For you too. ]

[ Even with Korra's back to him, he can see the thoughts flitting across her. Disappointment, rage, hopefulness. It comes off her in waves. Hei bites his lip, unwilling to bring the weekend up, resolve at once firm and shriveling, a little voice inside saying Don't. He brushes through the misgivings like a veil of cobwebs, almost feeling them brush his skin so goosebumps of revulsion rise. ]

I was cursed that weekend. That's why you didn't see me. [ And afterward... He had too much on his mind afterward. ]

[She takes a breath and turns back to face him, crossing her arms protectively in front of her. It's the start of an explanation. But it's not enough.]

What about the rest of the week? [That still leaves five days where he could have done something - anything - to let her know he was okay. Exactly what he was cursed with over the weekend is secondary to that.]

[ Her truculence reverberates around him. Fills him with irritation. What has his life come to, that he's being compelled to explain himself to 18 year old girls and to play Nice Guy with Dolls? The Iceman inside him that is ravening and pacing, cannot settle back to gnaw on thin bones after two days of gluttony. His patience is tenuous. An old doggerel fills his mind: How do you keep them down on the farm, once they've seen Paree? How do you make him go back to Neutered Neutrality after he's gone on a thrilling spree: slit throats, created death-fields, dodged bullets. ]

[ How? Answer me that. ]

[ When he speaks next, he sounds too calm; not looking at her, dropping words as if they're a commentary on the weather. It's not indifference but deep restraint. Not trusting his perception of reality. Feeling disappointed by it. Deep within, that cold voice sneers: You could have so much more. ]

I needed a few days to get my head together. [ He says it flatly, but it's not without emotion -- it's there, subtly, in the set of his eyes. ] The curse. Wasn't... pleasant. [ Liar, liar. ]

[Korra studies his face intently as he speaks, looking for any trace of emotion that might give her a clue what's going on in his head. She wishes he would just speak clearly and say what he feels. It would make everything so much easier. (But she's never gone for easy anyway.)

She picks up on that hint of feeling in his eyes, and just like that, the anger is gone. The hurt remains, but she pushes it aside like every other pain, to be dealt with later, alone.]

I'm sorry. [It's an expression of sympathy, not an apology. She hesitates, then reaches out a hand to quickly brush his arm in a comforting gesture. (She can never tell when he'll accept it and when he'll pull away.)]

Edited 2013-04-13 02:42 (UTC)

[ She touches his arm, and he absorbs the warmth of her palm, wishing he could absorb her seeming sincerity with it, and be eased. Instead, he thinks of other hands, grappling against him, shockingly weak and bruised, attached to battered bodies. Right behind Korra, he sees one particular kill -- a little girl perched on the dumpster, her white dress streaked with black and red, the brown ringlets around her neck caked with blood, kicking with her pink boots against the steel. She'd kicked at him when he snatched her up, while he extinguished the life from her, but not for very long. Children were always the quickest kills. ]

[ He doesn't feel an overdramatic surge of regret or self-loathing. But there's disquiet as to why he's seeing these specters at all. Unsure whether they're leftovers from the curse -- or the multitudes he's eliminated back home. Does it matter? The girl's hollow eyes speak to him. Either way, you won't give us the slip. No iota of atrocity can be undone. ]

[ Hei tenses. Half-turns slowly, and puts Korra back. ]

I have to get started with work.

Okay.

[She wants to give him a hug, but she doesn't know how welcome it would be. She doesn't know what else to say. "See you later" feels tepid and weak.

So she just stands, out of his way. She won't leave until he does. It's the only thing she can do.]

[ Turning, Hei slips his blocky keycard into the cafe's back-door, deactivating the alarm. He can feel her standing behind him, as if silently offering him some crumb of reassurance. But he can't take it. Something in him seems to be cut off. It's eerie, the cottony numbness of it. Hopefully he'll be able to shake it off soon. ]

[ Turning, he steps into her space. No kiss, but he passes his arms around her, squeezes her tight for a moment. She's warm and alive and seems so completely sincere, that he can't at first understand why he hadn't wanted to touch her. ]

[ But in the mirrored doors, he feels like he's standing alone, surrounded by haunters on all sides, even before he lets her go -- and ducks into the cafe. ]

Edited 2013-04-13 04:12 (UTC)

[There isn't much time to return the embrace; barely a moment to get her hands to his waist and squeeze lightly.

When he's inside, she turns away. She's reassured, but somehow she doesn't feel any better. She still feels lost, uncertain, a little used. You just need some sleep, she tells herself. It's been a long week, but it's nothing she can't handle on her own. She just need sleep.]

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⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning