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[ He's so tired. ]

[ Despite the chaos tearing through the City, he finds himself succumbing to a strange lethargy -- and, to be honest, an odorless, pervasive smog of boredom. Work carries on as always, with 'Li' operating on gormless, smiling stand-by, like an automaton or a lifesized model of Bozo the Clown. BK201's excursions to the Underground continue, but there's a coat of grungy repetition crusting each scuffle, each victory or defeat. The Anonymous rebellion carries on making waves in the form of heated discussions, pockets of unrest, and the latest colorful crush of circus-folk Topside. But in its essential energy the City is immutable, much like Hei's ennui. ]

[ Two hours ago, having returned from work and letting his knapsack fall with a thud at the table -- knives, wires and all -- Hei finds himself soaking in the bath. He's bathed, in the last three days, nine times. Vaguely, he gets the sense that it isn't the fug of the outdoors he wants to wash off, but something else, something not susceptible to lashings of hot water. But he doesn't read too deeply into it. He feels as if he's turned into the worst sort of navel-gazer these few months, overanalyzing every angle from an emotional rather than a pragmatic standpoint, where in the past he could act with the cold rationality of a killer-cyborg. Or so it seems now. ]

[ (Truth is, he's been awfully pensive these few weeks, miserable for no apparent reason, suffering fits of paranoia, dreaming of past traumas he thought he'd gotten the fuck over. He, who could once disarm a storm of opponents in the wink of an eye, he seems to be turning into a spineless milksop who'd rather stay ensconced in the kitchen, cooking and hiding from life, rather than out grabbing it by the balls.) ]

[ You've gone soft, he thinks, as he turns the hot tap with his toes. At the edge of the tub, his Network device blinks, broadcasting Korra's number. Hei lifts a streaming hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and thinks, Exhibit A. ]

[ Reluctantly, he reaches to switch the device on. He doesn't bother reverting to audio. He's undressed, but it's nothing she hasn't seen before. Anyway, the lens only shows him from neck-up. Korra's Hi and her lilting giggles reverberate off the steamy acoustics of the bathroom. Hei can't help but think how flat and tepid his own voice sounds in comparison. ]

What is it?

[ Excuse the bite in his tone, Korra. Long day, that's all. ]

[Well that's a giggle killer. It's also proof positive that there was something in her drink, because while the giggles are gone, her sense of pure happiness remains intact. (A girl could get used to a feeling like this.) The bite in his tone doesn't bother her a bit.]

Sorry, is this a bad time?

[She can't stop a goofy smile (and why would she?) because she's just really happy to see him.]

[ What the hell is she smiling about? Hei thinks. In almost the same breath, another thought blooms. When is there ever a good time? ]

[ Forcibly, he trammels the rancor underfoot. Half his life in the City seems to be spent swinging between indifference and ill-temper, but none of that is Korra's fault. In truth, it's not at all disagreeable, seeing her. He's been monitoring her progress, post-injury, for the past few weeks. The arrival of her friends, while not worthy of a fuss on his part, had nonetheless encouraged him to maintain a distance. ]

[ Now though, there's an urge -- sudden and sharp -- to see her in person. In this sense, at least, he's undeniably softer than he used to be. (It's still not something he's used to, wanting a person or idea or sensation, without agenda or purpose.) ]

I should be asking you that. [ A humid haze hangs above the tub, fogging the Device's lens. He swipes it clean with a thumb. Neutral-toned, ] Lots of 'guests' at your place. [ Just a reminder, that he has been keeping an eye on her. ]

[Lots of guests... Her lips twitch fondly. Tenzin, Mako, Bolin, Zuko (Asami too, though her stay was so short). She's so glad they're here, even with everything that's gone wrong between her and Mako.]

Yeah, it's gotten pretty crowded.

[She tilts her head inquisitively as the image on her screen fogs up.]

Where are you?

[ Crowded, yes. But at least her dots are, temporarily, all connected. She's tethered securely to the cozy rookery that the Beach House runs every danger of becoming -- a phenomenon Hei has seldom personally experienced. He's been part of several teams, several makeshift families, true. But ultimately, he is bound only to Pai. And Pai, as a Contractor, had few loyalties. The siblings' familial compass -- their sense of belonging with strangers -- had always been subjective. ]

[ (The closest he's come to fitting in Pai's absence, had been with his team in Tokyo. And, in unsettling degrees, around Korra.) ]

[ At Korra's question, Hei holds the Device at an arm's length. Closes his eyes and slips down under the water's surface, his hair swirling upwards as his heavy skull sinks like a stone. After a moment or two, he opens his eyes to meet the blurred screen. Lets a stream of bubbles leak out his nose, before plopping back out, water streaming down his face, plastering his hair and webbing his eyelashes. ]

[ Hope that demonstration answered your question. ]

Oh. [She blushes a little, hormones spiking. It has been.... awhile, and hard not to think about the things they've done in bathtubs.

A partygoer sashays past, carrying a tray of drinks, and Korra has to resist the urge to grab one. She doesn't want to get too used to the artificial happiness.]

[ That spike is palpable across the line. Perhaps even mutual. Which, with Hei's history of deception and artifice, comes as a surprise. He doesn't smile. But there's a slow relaxation -- or just a semblance of it -- creeping into the line of his shoulders, as he settles back against the tub's lip. Wiping the dripping hair back from his face, he studies Korra's surroundings from his end. Strange, how that would've been his first instinct when she called, but is now an afterthought. (Again, that voice sneers: Getting softer by the day.) ]

[ He shakes it off, even as he thinks, not for the first time, that something deadly has happened here. (But all the things in his life have taught Hei that everything good comes with a price, and that the best things of all are indelibly braided with a fear he must learn to shake.) ]

[ Finally, the steam above his tub swirling back and forth with the slowness of clouds. he murmurs, ] Is this a social call? Or is there something you need? [ Matter-of-fact, but not cruel. Because he may be getting soft. But he's not that soft. Nothing is without a purpose, after all. ]

Social? [She shrugs.] I mean, it's been a month. [Radically redefine the terms of their relationship and then not talk for a month -- that's just kind of weird.] I wanted to talk to you.

[ It's been a month. I wanted to talk to you. There it is again. That ordinariness, as if they're normal people, or as if he's a run-of-mill sex-buddy or boyfriend, someone it's polite to keep in touch with from time to time. Hei doesn't bother telling her how much this fling of theirs matches the patterns of his previous short-lived affairs. Beginnings -- and ends -- in inauspicious circumstances. Weeks between rendezvous. Sudden hellos and open-ended goodbyes. ]

[ Firmly, he reminds himself those were affairs with fellow professionals. Most of them knew where to draw the line. Knew which promises he'd keep and which ones he'd inevitably break. But Korra is a beginner at this. Worse, she has no idea what sort of convoluted world he's from -- the secrets, the agendas and mindgames. Yet, so far she's kept her head admirably above the water, where even the most tenacious and seasoned players would've drowned. ]

[ It's that -- and a wistful, unexpected pang of fondness for her -- that has Hei saying, ]

We can talk better if you come over.

Edited (hello typos my old friends~) 2013-07-04 01:44 (UTC)

[Another spike of happiness -- is it the drink or is it real? Why overthink it? Happy is happy.]

Sure. See you in a bit?

[What she's forgetting is the distance between Hei's apartment and her place in the gardens. Her trip over both takes her longer than it should and tires her more than she'd like. (She has been walking about pretty much all day -- her doctor is going to ream into her for pushing herself when she sees him next.) She leans heavily on her cane as she knocks on Hei's door.]

[ It takes her longer than usual to arrive. But Hei chalks that up to her injury and doesn't worry about it. While a decent person would've met her halfway, he's never been one to coddle. Not without a purpose. If she wasn't up for the trip, she'd have said so. Hei's learnt early on when to call it quits, the limits of his endurance. Korra will too. If not now, then eventually. ]

[ By the time she arrives, he's dressed and fixed himself a 'small' snack. The apartment smells of laundry, wok-fried food and the distinct undertone of a fresh vacuuming, but Hei can't say it feels any less bleak. In the shifting pale-blue glow of the TV, slumped on the couch with a damp towel slung around his neck, he catches the tread of Korra's footsteps. They seem clunky, distorted by both her limp and the cane -- but still recognizably hers. ]

[ Nonetheless, Hei waits until the requisite knock before letting her in. He's come a long way since first accepting Korra's presence in his life. But that doesn't mean he's letting go of all his precautions. Leaning forward to line one eye with the peephole, he makes sure she's alone before there's the sound of clicking locks -- more than one, no surprise. ]

[ Only when the door swings open, does he allow his lips to twitch in an almost smile, part welcoming, part weary. ]

Come in.

Thanks. [The smells almost knock her over, attacking her with sense memories of previous encounters. The fun ones, not the mistake with Chekov. It's been so long since she's been here and yet each moment feels tangible and immediate. It's both strangely comforting and a little distracting.

She leans forward to brush her lips against his, just a quick, welcoming touch.] Hi.

[ Hei steps back to let her in, glancing around the landing over her head. Nothing sets off his radar. It troubles him that even now, with all he's been through with Korra, with all they've shared, good and bad, he's inherently distrustful of her. It makes him wonder if he'll ever be able to completely relax with her, or with anyone. ]

[ Reaching past her to shut the door, he's taken aback by the kiss. (After the Bad Night, he's been carefully neutral about all physicality with her. Again and again, he's reminded agonizingly of Yin, whom he still hesitates to offer a hand to -- in playful warmth, in matter-of-fact assistance -- because he's afraid she'll recoil from his touch.) Still, it's barely a heartbeat before he finds his footing. ]

[ Shutting the door behind Korra with a quiet click, he leans into the space between them. Slowly, like he's giving her enough time to adjust, before one hand curls at her jaw, tipping her head up, thumb pressed into the divot where ear smoothes into skull. When Hei renews the kiss, it's almost tender, lips parted and soft, teeth light against the fullness of her upper-lip. ]

[ It's an unspoken You were missed. ]

[The Bad Night. It wouldn't be truthful to say that Korra has moved past it -- it lurks in her subconscious, ready to attack when triggered -- it's no longer something that colors her every interaction with him. She has more pleasant things to remember. She smiles against his lips and leans into the warmth of his hand.

And ow. She needs to sit down. She pulls back reluctantly and heads for the couch.]

How's Imugi doing? [an effort to pretend that her ultimate objective is just to sit down]

[ If Hei knows what she's doing, he doesn't let on. ]

[ But when you deal with bodies as a cartography of weak-points, you learn to notice these little details. The way someone favors the left foot over the right. The way they angle their shoulders, how they carry the tension in their frame. Strange to realize, that in this weakened state, she'd be so easy to overpower. That if she were a target, she would've been dead by the time she'd crossed the threshold. ]

[ Instead he lets her go, stepping back so she can totter over to the couch. At her question, the lizard -- he still doesn't think of it as Imugi -- stirs listlessly in its cage. And, with its quota of liveliness fulfilled, promptly slinks into one of the cage's alcoves. (Why, Hei thinks, couldn't he have gotten a more cheerful pet? A parakeet, maybe? Or a kitten? In the same beat, he almost snorts. I'd sooner install Korra or Yin in the flat.) ]

[ Sidling after Korra, he perches on the arm of the couch. ] Interesting as ever. [ You know lizards. Eat, sleep, laze, shit, etc. ]

Edited 2013-07-04 03:37 (UTC)

[She taps lightly on the glass of Imugi's cage and waves at the lizard (yes, she knows he doesn't understand or care; neither does she) and turns to give Hei a look.]

You don't seem to like him a whole lot. Why'd you get him?

[Not that she can imagine a pet he would like, but still.]

[ The tapping gets no reaction -- not from Imugi, anyway. Hei, on his part, represses a flickering smile. Why does Korra always strike him as endearing rather than ridiculous? It's beyond him. ] I told you before. [ But she'd just stabbed her best friend that night, so the lapse in memory is excused. ] He helps with the ticking. [ A brief shrug of one shoulder (which reminds him of the damp towel still draped around his neck. He should really pluck it off), ] Made more sense than a roommate.

Yeah, but why not get a pet you actually like?

[ Now Hei does pluck the towel off -- and deposit it neatly on top of Korra's head. ] Why? [ Dry, but in a tone that makes it abundantly clear he'd boot her out if she took the banter -- or him -- seriously. ] Are you volunteering?

Hey! [She takes the towel off her head and thwacks him with it (all in good fun, of course).] No. I am not a pet. [JERK.]

I just don't get the point of having a pet you don't like.

[ Hei ducks, so the wet whippish end of the towel slaps the couch instead. Snatching it out of her hands, he balls it up almost thoughtfully, before saying, ] There's a lot of things you have to do. Even if you don't like them. [ An essentiality of growing up, as anyone less self-aware than Hei would be quick to point out. Except even his childhood, such as it was, revolved around a stream of Do Not Wants and Must Be Dones, like he was a small piece of flotsam in an ocean too vast and dark to control. ]

[Well DUH. She rolls her eyes at him, hard. She's no stranger to doing crap you don't like to do. See: meditation. See: working at the bar and then the Welcome Center. ]

Yeah. But taking care of a pet you don't even like isn't something you have to do. Wouldn't it be just as easy to get a pet you actually like?

[ Hei conceals his amusement as Korra's little face settles into what she probably can't tell is a pout. Reaching out with one hand, he lets his fingers skate the shell of her ear, before tucking a stray strand of hair away. He's done this before, for other people -- always targets or soon-to-be-targets. Never honest, never warm, but there's a quality particular to this moment that makes it both. The room is dark, all flickering shadows and lights from the muted TV, but his smile is all-too-apparent. ]

I don't like animals. [ Cats. Dogs. Birds. Fish. The whole shebang. ] I only picked the lizard because it was the most convenient.

[She's still making that face, though she's not upset. She likes that little gesture -- simple and sweet even though he's anything but.]

Guess that explains why you never come to the Beach House. [They practically run their own zoo there. Dogs, cats, sheep...]

[ Gradually, Hei feels that wire-tense weight in his chest loosening. Something about the dimly-lit apartment, the bright-eyed girl, the quiet ambience, all conspire to make him feel almost-easy. He traces the underside of Korra's jaw with the rough edge of his finger, tipping her chin to regard her. She's not wan and bleary like in the hospital; her cheeks are round and glossy again, and she smells faintly of a sugary drink. ]

[ For the moment his default security awareness is eclipsed by a physical tug of want. (On the one hand -- it's liberating, even life-affirming, to know his ennui hasn't sunk its claws in that deep. To know he's capable of semi-spontaneous contact. On the other hand, it's worrisome.) Firmly, he brushes it off. Leaning in, the slow creaking of the couch presaging the movement, he kisses her again, buttery-soft. Murmurs, lips playing with hers, ] I don't like crowds either. [ Another kiss -- sharp as a bite. ] Or heartsick ex-boyfriends. [ It's an offhand jibe, not meant to be cruel. The gooey puddle of Korra's love-life is of no interest to him. Even so, it's smarter to keep his distance, lest the backwash splatter him. ]

>3

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