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[Does it count as a dirty secret if even she isn't aware of it? What draws her to Li is the same thing that had drawn her to Mako. She's still young enough to feel desperate for approval, but she doesn't want it easy. She doesn't yet value anything she doesn't have to fight for.

She tells Tohru that she's going to check on a friend, and heads over to his apartment. She doesn't run into any ghouls on the way -- the first bit of good luck she's had in weeks. She hesitates in front of his door, then forces herself to knock.]

[ If she only knew. Some things, even fought for, aren't worth it. The sacrifice -- to your sanity, to your self -- doesn't equal the reward. It's not something he'll say to her, though. Just as in a war-zone, the variables of human interaction are unpredictable. The outcome of one disaster isn't a frame of reference for another. It's something new (something terrible) every time. ]

[ Her trip to the apartment gives him ample time to dress and put the assemblage of weapons on his table away. No need for her to see the artillery he's packing indoors -- or the paranoia, choked on a firm leash, that fuels his collection. He hears the tread of her steps before the quiet knock. Goes to the door, opening it to let her in. No verbal greeting. But the smile he shoots her is small and genuine. ]

[ It hasn't occurred to him, until he's set eyes on her in person, but he needs a break from calculations and skull-bashing too. ]

Hey. [She smiles back, fleeting and unusually diffident, and quickly steps inside.] Thanks for letting me come over.

[A moment's hesitation, then she leans up and presses a quick kiss to his lips. So much has happened between them since the last time she was here -- the Underground, the curse with Chekov, the ghouls. She has a lot of questions she still wants to ask him. Just not tonight. Tonight she's pretending that everything is normal. (Not that anything between them has ever been "normal", but tonight she's ignoring that too.)]

It's nothing. [ Her smile, to him, seems brittle and too bright. It's obvious she's come here to avoid something else. (A choking atmosphere at her apartment, the spreading disaster on the Network, her own thoughts.) He wants to ask, but he can hardly force her to talk about her problems. They're not his concern. Everyone's exhausted and mired in problems as it is; this has been a rough week, and half the City's coasting on adrenaline. ]

[ Anyway, Hei lives by manufacturing illusions for other people. He can do the same for her. In return he gets to fixate on something fresh and new, on her body and working his tension off on her. Simple. Cut and dried. Except, after he locks the door behind her (after a quick sweep of the entryway in case she wasn't followed), he reaches to touch her shoulder. ]

You okay?

[ Again. Full of encoded messages. What's eating you? ]

[She pulls her shoulder away, just a little. It's like he's poking a bruise -- one so deep, the skin hasn't even discolored yet.]

I'm fine.

[It's been a rough week, yeah. She's not going to pretend she's happy about anything that's happened. But she did what she had to do. She just has to keep telling herself that.]

[ There's a moment's impulse to prod further. He knows what I'm Fine covers up in himself. It reminds him of being in Heaven's War, after missions, when he'd sit at the corner of the campside and whet his blades the whole evening. No eye contact, no words, no sign of what was going through his head. Because there was nothing at all. He'd simply shut the ugliness in him mind off; locked it in a box that would never be opened again. I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. ]

[ And, every time, Pai would look at him and say, You're lying. ]

I see. [ He brushes past her, toward the open kitchen space. Casts his question into the space between them, casual, more for her sake than his. ] Want something to eat? There's -- [ He peers into the fridge. ] Day-old pizza and moldy penicillin. [ Okay. Yuck. ]

[She really should know better herself. Hadn't she learned her lesson with Amon? But admitting to fear and helplessness is different than facing what happened this week.

There's a small sense of relief as he brushes past. She follows him to the kitchen and leans against the doorframe, enjoys the view as he opens the fridge. When he lists the contents, she crosses her arms and smirks with genuine amusement.]

Seriously? I'd've thought you'd keep more in your kitchen, as much as you eat.

[ He straightens and shuts the fridge. Mirrors her smile, but with a wry edge. He hasn't yet let her deflection go. If there's another moment, if his curiosity is still intact, he'll press again. For now, he settles for her amusement. It's better than that too-chipper smile earlier. ]

So I've neglected groceries these few days.

[ Food is, often, the first thing that goes if he's depressed or distracted. Having no roommate (Mao didn't count) also puts less priority on what's in the fridge. But there's a tupperware dish of home-cooked katsu curry and prawn salad on the counter. His neighbor lady sent him a meal that afternoon as thanks for 'fixing' her TV. He pops open the lid, and unsnaps a pair of chopsticks inside. Extends them to Korra, offering a juicy bit of shrimp. It seems romantic. But he's really checking if the food's not poisoned. ]

[ Sorry, kiddo. Priorities. ]

[Romantic? Try awkward. For a moment she looks at him like "What am I supposed to do with this?", then cautiously takes the shrimp in her mouth. It's surprisingly hard to eat something that someone else is holding.]

That's really good. Did you make it?

[Not sick or keeling over dead. Or stoned. Food is safe for you to hog, Hei.]

Not this time. My neighbor thinks I'm malnourished, that's all.

[ He waits a moment after she swallows. No harmful side-effects. Cautiously, he tries a piece of shrimp himself. It is good (although the cook in him says it'd taste better with X seasonings, Y spices, Z veggies). The first touch of food on his palate stirs an unexpected hunger. He inhales the rest in a matter of mouthfuls. ]

[ He does, however, make a point to feed her between bites. You're lucky, Korra. He's evidently pleased to see you. ]

[After a bite or two, she gets the hang of it and doesn't have to take the food so carefully. It's such a surreal moment, she almost laughs.]

What am I, your pet catowl?

[Her hand darts out to snatch a piece of shrimp -- she can feed herself, thank you very much. But she's enjoying the little game.]

[ He'd fed Carmine this way in apology for breaking her fingers. But the dynamic here is very different. It doesn't feel surreal to him, so much as weirdly intimate. (For once, that intimacy is genuine rather than manufactured.) Were their positions reversed, he wouldn't be half as amiable; he's never trusted anyone enough to mouthfeed him. ]

Please. A catowl [ whatever the fuck that is ] would be less trouble.

[ But the tone is as flippant as he gets. She's not affiliated with any enemies (so far). She doesn't lie compulsively. Doesn't talk forever about nothing. She's not a psychological vampire. Not on drugs. No Daddy Issues that he can see. That's simpatico enough in his book. He sets the empty dish aside, popping one of the crinkly red peppers in his mouth. Leans in to kiss her, all at once, letting her taste the sizzle on his tongue. ]

You're the one who's trouble.

[Half that sentence is lost against his lips. She smiles and slips her tongue inside with a little hum of pleasure. The pepper tingles at first, building up to a burn and she breaks the kiss. She wiggles her tongue in the air and makes a face. It's not bad, just unexpected. Not a lot of spicy food in the South Pole.]

Ack!

[She can't help it -- she starts laughing.]

[ He watches her face cycle through that roulette of expressions. His mouth quirks into a subtle curve; he can't help but think, indulgently, how unsexy she looks with her face pulled out of shape every five minutes. He's used to women who express the equivalent emotions and expressions of mannequins. ]

[ The laughter though. That makes him want to kiss her again. Instead, he reaches for a bottle of water at the counter and hands it to her. ]

You look like a cat [ catowl? ] hacking a hairball.

[She opens the bottle and takes a long sip.]

I wasn't expecting it to be spicy!

[She leans against the counter. The unexpected laughter, now faded away, poked holes in her defenses. It's hard to let only one emotion out. She looks away and takes another sip of water.]

You were right, by the way.

[ Hei tilts his head, gaze steady, as her laugh fades to pensiveness. He understands the cyclical nature of trauma; how grief can zagzag in like sparks, jarring you with unhappy recollection in the midst of conversation, work, sleep. Not all the smiles and snacks in the world can mask the craziness in the air with the recent curse. ]

[ But he knows it's more than that, for Korra. Something big has gone down. She is shaken, down to her vitals. Quietly, he asks, ]

Right about what?

[ Although part of him already knows. ]

The monsters. [She almost says My friends.] I had to get rid of them.

[She says it casually. It's just something that happened to her. Like Amon taking her bending. Unpleasant, but no big deal.]

[ The monsters. Of course. Except he almost hears that aborted word. My Friends. Hard not to, when she was so sold on the idea that they weren't illusions puppeteered by the Deities, but remnants from home. He won't say I told you so -- she had to learn for herself to believe it. He won't say Want to talk about it? -- she has walls, and he does too; there's no need to break hers down and pry for details when the threat is over. ]

[ But he recognizes her brand of nonchalance. He'd felt it as a child-soldier; the constant mental turmoil or erasure of turmoil or deliberate suppression of turmoil. I'm fine. I'm okay. The zombies may not have been her real friends. But dead is dead and killing is killing. There is no aggrandizing or prettying it up. He wants to say something kind, but he's the last man who has any right to attempt it. He doesn't feel pity or shock. Still, he understands, which is good enough. ]

I see. [ A moment's pause. Exhaling, he holds a hand out. ] Come here.

[She looks at him uncertainly, doesn't reach out to take his hand.]

Why?

[Poorly feigned confusion. She's aching for comfort, but she doesn't know how to accept it while still pretending that everything is okay. Safer to pretend she doesn't know what he's offering because she doesn't need it.]

[ Hei's eyes stay on her, measuring. Her reply is so transparent, but again, it's understandable. She's being careful to show as little emotion as possible, because if she lets go of that control, he suspects she won't be able to talk at all. Showing emotion in this world gets you trampled. No respect for the weak. ]

[ Except, away from the Syndicate, with the freedom to dictate who and who not to keep as allies and enemies, he can relax that very control. This is what happens when you're given the choice to call your own shots -- you can afford a degree of softness. He catches her arm, draws her in. Tucks her face into the crook of his neck. The hug is solid but not confining. ]

[ She can draw away if she wants. Or accept it for what it is -- a moment of simple contact. ]

[There's a shuddering breath, the slightest resistance as he pulls her in. She doesn't need this, really, and she can prove that at any moment by pulling away.

It's just, it feels nice, being held like this. He's solid and warm and she likes hugs, has always liked hugs. Pressed against him like this, she can hear the steady rhythm of his heart. She focuses on her breathing, inhaling and exhaling in time with his pulse, every breath a reassurance that he's warm and alive and human.

She wraps her arms loosely around his waist, as though it's just something to do, but the rest of her presses against him like she's trying to become a part of him. She nuzzles his neck, trying to block out every last bit of light so she can pretend the world consists of nothing more than the physical sensation of his body against hers.]

[ Hei hears the catch in her breathing. Feels her tense, then melt against him. Arms threading around his waist, soft hair under his chin, the same Korrasmell that's grown as familiar as the thub of her pulse. He strokes her hair with one hand, the other spanning the small of her back, folding her closer against him. Little by little, he lets her give in to it: into his silence, into the tightness of the embrace. ]

[ He's done this enough times for Pai. For Amber. For Yin. She doesn't feel like any of them, but she sparks the whole gamut of responses. Control. Consolation. Closeness. It's surreal, how time blurs everything. She'd started out half-terrified of BK201 and his mask. Now here she is, trusting him enough to hide her face in his neck. No fear of strangulation or electrocution -- although he can dispense both so easily. (He still would, if he needs to. But he doesn't have to.) ]

[ After a long, long moment, his grip loosens. He tips up her pointy chin to look into her face. ]

Any better?

Mmhmm. [It sounds like a 'yes', but no, not really. He pulls back and all of her problems are still there, chipping away at her defenses. She can feel the cracks.

Tenzin had held her like this once, after she had gone to face Amon alone, stroked her hair as she cried. But when she thinks about Tenzin, all she can see is his rotting flesh. The beating of her heart sounds like the shovel as she severed his neck.

She leans up and kisses him, closing her eyes so she can't see his knowing look. She doesn't want him to understand. She wants her pain to be special and unique. (She doesn't want anyone else to hurt this way.) The kiss is meant to be a distraction so he can't see the cracks, even though a part of her knows it's a vain hope. She's never been able to hide anything from him and that scares her, even more than the mask.

Maybe she's just trying to distract herself.]

[ (The Any better? was rhetorical, for the record.) ]

[ In her place, he wouldn't want understanding either. It's another word synonymous with jimmed locks. It's something people step in to steal, to use against you. It's too intimate, understanding. Lets a stranger see all of you, even without trying. ]

[ Her kiss is easy to interpret as smokescreen. If she was aggressive about it, covering his mouth to simultaneously press him into service and shut him up, he'd feel a stab of irritation. I'm not your damn whore. But. Come on. He's used her twice as a fast-track out of feeling shitty. Even if it didn't work long for him -- she's entitled to try the same thing. ]

[ His breath is steady, but his slow exhale against her mouth carries the faintest soothing edge. He tries to keep his lips soft, the tongue smooth -- a slow build-up instead of the preferred quick-&-dirty shortcut. Circling her closer, he spans his hand down her back, scraping his thumbnail along fabric, until his thumb is hooked snugly in the waistband of her jeans. He twines the fingers of the other hand into her hair, rough pads of fingers massaging her scalp. Trying to make her feel safe. Trying to make it mean something. ]

[ Ridiculous, of course. But isn't the illusion everything? ]

[She shivers as he runs his hand down her back and tightens her grip around his waist. His fingers coax out a quiet sound of pleasure.

She tugs at his shirt, her hands seeking skin. It's impossible to feel completely safe around him, not when he can see right through her. She's not used to dealing with people who can make her feel small. But right now, that's okay.

She's spent her entire life taking pride in her strength, in how quickly and thoroughly she could pummel anyone who stood in her way. She's never thought about or cared who she hurt. She was doing The Right Thing.

She doesn't know what to do when the Right Thing feels Wrong. Questioning her actions, she questions what she's always taken pride in, how she's always defined her worth.

Being with him right now isn't just an attempt to forget her pain. She wants to remind herself that she doesn't just have to hurt people.]

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