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[Korra has largely forgotten about that night -- partly by choice, partly by the reality of life. Trauma can be forgotten, especially when it's followed by ones far worse. Crueler things have happened to her in the City, have been done to her by Hei, even.

She hums contentedly and follows him, squeezing his hand tight. She peers as he buys the candied fruits.] What kind of fruit is that?

[ Events pile on top of events; the world keeps moving, a slipstream of sensations. But Hei never forgets anything. His eidetic memory often made him the envy of his peers in Heaven's War, but sometimes he wishes for the fogginess of thought, the imperfection of recall. It's one deficiency that would leave him happier. (But also kill him faster, because juggling multiple identities requires cold clarity and the talent to memorize and compartmentalize. You have to keep track of all your lies.) ]

[ (Is it any wonder, then, why Hei used to drink himself into acrimonious stupors when he had nothing else to do?) ]

[ At the corner store, he accepts the skewers of candy-fruit, lush and red, the glossy surfaces dripping syrup as they're packed into a bag. In the spill of light from the shop, they look like staked hearts. At his spot half under the store awning, by the pyramids of glossy oranges and mangos, Hei glances at Korra. ]

Apples. Not the kind you'd like.

[ They'd been Amber's favorites too. Sometimes, biting into the fruit, he can still taste that sticky-sweetness of her kisses, muted by the ghostly flavor of her mouth. But of course he won't tell Korra any of that. ]

Not like any apple I've ever seen. [conversational, not combative]

[ Hei hesitates a beat, before lifting a skewer out of his bag. He takes a bite, the surface staining his lips and fingertips a sparkling red. Chews contemplatively and swallows, before he murmurs, ] It's too sweet for you. [ Even so, he hands it over to Korra. (He just hopes Pai won't scowl when she discovers he shared her treat with someone else.) ]

[She blinks, then takes a hesitant bite.]

Not bad. [It's sweet, but not the heavily processed kind, and the tart apple offers a nice counterbalance. She wouldn't eat the whole stick, but she'll finish off that top apple.]

[ Hei's blank surprise blossoms into a mild amusement, showing more in his eyes than the tilt of his mouth. There is red underneath his fingernails and on his mouth, but that doesn't stop him from leaning close to Korra, taking another bite of the apple. How surreal this ought to be. He wants to reimagine this scene -- the surging traffic, the plodding pedestrians, the melting evening sky, the apples, with Amber's hand wrapped around his. ]

[ They'd so seldom done anything like this. How could they, after all? The bittersweet memories they'd made weren't enough. They felt both too small, yet somehow transcended the ordinary. They hadn't done any of the things lovers do in movies that require a sugary montage with a pop soundtrack -- unless you counted explosions, gunfire, and sirens as a soundtrack, and recalibrating rifles, rigging traps and mapping out ambush routes as bonding. Still, those memories of her existed in little snippets, a film reel in sepia interspersed with sensations of sweetness and warmth here and there. ]

[ He shouldn't be thinking of Amber right now. It isn't fair to him; certainly isn't fair to Korra. But over a half-decade of mutual absorption isn't so easy to escape. ]

[ Quietly, before he breaks up the mood, he says, ] Let's get going.

[It's a good thing Korra doesn't know where his thoughts have gone. It would gut her, particularly under the current circumstances. She's too fragile in herself to handle that complete a rejection -- not just not wanting her, but actively wishing she was somebody else.

She continues munching the apple as they make their way to his apartment, poking the skewer back into the bag when she's done with it.]

[ Pai had accused Hei of using Korra as a poor substitute for Amber. Which is, strictly speaking, both true and untrue. Pai is perceptive, uncannily clever, with a breadth of knowledge no fourteen year old should possess. But she is also just that. Fourteen -- and sometimes static in her comprehension of human relationships. What Hei has with Korra ...it's like his affair with Amber, because there's a spark, undeniable, a star in the compartment of his mind that always burns brightly. But it's also completely different than before, not negating Amber or anything in the past, but layered over it, coloring every memory, every sensation. Amber was one of the few people who wasn't afraid to break him -- or be broken by him. Wasn't afraid of him. And no matter how much Hei had cared for her -- and it was so much -- she had always loved him more. ]

[ You don't forget about something like that. ]

[ Of course, he cared for Amber as a hybrid between a monster and a boy does -- a ruthless, desperate, focused emotion that saw nothing besides her. He isn't that person anymore. Can't love anyone but Pai that way, even if he wants to. What he feels for Korra is something conflicted, lust-ridden and muted, his satisfaction mixed with a very adult bitterness and self-doubt. ]

[ He doesn't say any of that, either. Korra's munching and their footsteps are commas in the silence. Keeping his hand wrapped around hers, he fishes in his pockets for the key with the other. Pushes the door open, and guides her into the pale-walled, sunlit flat. ]

...Pai?

[Pai doesn't have any hobbies. She doesn't particularly care for reading, or making things, or....anything.

She jumps up, excited when she hears her brother come back.]

Brother!

[Her face falls when she sees who he brought home.]

What's she doing here?

[ One more reason Hei misses Amber. If he'd brought her here, instead of Korra, Pai would've been her usual curious and calmly amiable self. Asking the older woman questions, flitting girlishly around her periphery, unconsciously imitating her mannerisms with a tinge of hero-worship. Instead, glimpsing the newcomer, she lights up and deflates in the same heartbeat. Pronounces her words with all the delicacy of scorn, the What's she doing here? clunking into the silence with a coolness that expands between her and Korra, pushing them apart. It sounds unforgivably hard-edged. ]

[ Ignoring it, Hei squeezes Korra's hand before letting go. Places the bag of apples on the table, before leaning in and passing an arm around Pai. He looks her over carefully, his eyes a benign blue in the bright, big-windowed flat. His voice is good-natured but also dryly scolding when he says, ] 'She' has a name. [ Then he tweaks the bangs that hang over her eyes, and kisses her, his lips cool and dry against her warm forehead. ]

[ Detaching matter-of-factly, he says, to no one in particular, ] Who's hungry? [ He doesn't particularly care if the two girls get along. That'll happen -- if it ever does -- at their own pace. But he's not about to succumb to the piqued tension in the air, either. ]

[Korra twitches. There goes even the pretense of liking me. Korra prefers painful realities to pretty lies, but she misses the illusion of being welcome.]

I'm...fine. Thanks.

[Pai wraps her arms around his waist, unwittingly possessive. But when she speaks, it's under her breath, so Korra can't hear.] That doesn't answer my question.

[But of course, he's not going to. Nor does he have to. It's obvious he brought her here to fuck her. Pai looks at him. Are you really trying to buy me off with candy apples?]

[ Catching Pai's look, Hei settles his expression into something mild, almost playful but mostly earnest. The candy apples weren't a bribe; more an alleviant for her inevitable sulkiness. It's the most he can do. As it is, he can feel Korra almost vibrating with tension in her corner. Ignoring her for the moment, he retrieves some tupperware boxes from the refrigerator, brimming with garlic scallops, steamed rice and sesame beef, and sets them in the microwave. With neat precise movements -- barely making any sounds as he opens the cabinet doors -- he sets the table. Korra isn't hungry, but he is, and he and Pai usually eat together after he's off work. It seems important to keep her company. Ticked-off as she is, she might not feed otherwise. ]

[ Eventually, he puts Korra out of her misery enough to say, ] Could you get three glasses out of the dishwasher? [ Then, to Pai, ] Come eat something. [ You may murder each other after supper, ladies. Not before. ]

[He hadn't mentioned dinner first! SCREAM. Korra gets the glasses and reconsiders this whole thing. Maybe she should just go. The music idea had been funny, but here? Now? It's pretty clear it's a bad idea.]

[Pai isn't ticked off. And she would have to be dying in order to not eat. She's not an irrational teenager. She sits down at the table, prim as you please, and waits to be served.]

[ Sorry, Korra. You're hot and everything. But Hei's libido usually takes the backseat to his appetite. The microwave dings; he serves the dishes, with a pitcherful of fresh milky lychee juice from the fridge. Heaping steaming portions liberally into both his and Pai's plates, he pours into the glasses -- one, two, three. At her seat, Pai bears such a neat poise that she might be an illustration for a lo-fat cereal ad, in a magazine aimed at schoolgirls, all without looking like she's personally picked up a dirty plate or made her own breakfast in her life. Meanwhile, at her corner, Korra looks jittery, tense, like a wary animal debating between lapping at a watering hole -- of fleeing altogether. ]

[ Sliding into his chair, he catches Korra's wrist, drawing her to him. His gaze is shaded, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips. ] Sit. The drinks aren't poisoned. [ He's already pulled his chair around so he's sitting between the girls at the little square table, rather than at an angle next to either one. ]

I know it's not. [Korra harrumphs and settles down uncomfortably at the table. She still doesn't touch the drink.

SO. AWKWARD.]

[ The flat is very quiet. The sunlight that fills the high airy room seems to pin Hei in place, though it has no power to more than warm him, through the frosted windows. He tucks into his meal with gusto, eyes half-lidded like a cat, soaking the sun up, his mind drifting. His sharp hearing brings him the low surging of the thermostat, the dainty tinkling of cutlery. But these small sounds only amplify the tense silence. At his elbow, Korra seems to be holding her breath. He knows this isn't what she'd envisioned when he invited her over. By his own plan of events, they ought to be in the room upstairs and in bed right now. ]

[ Still, it's not his way to ignore Pai. There will probably be, he knows, a certain period of unavoidable discomfort and hazing between the two girls. He's made up his mind to endure it with patience. Considering that it would be quite easy -- and even correct, in some lights -- for Korra to feel excluded, and for Pai to feel like he's forgetting Amber. The former is inevitable, given his and Pai's grisly and intimate history; the latter, not true in any sense, but a justifiable concern for Pai to have. ]

[ Still, he's resolved to see the mess through. ]

[ To Pai, he says, over a sip of lychee juice, ] You won't mind if Korra hangs around awhile, right? [ Well. Realistically, she will mind. But he'd prefer to give her a say on the matter. It's her living-space too. ]

[Pai looks at him with complete innocence.]

I don't mind if you fuck her.

[Which is true. It's not the fucking that concerns Pai.]

[That.....had been a really bad moment to try drinking her juice. Korra sputters and chokes and gets stuck in a coughing fit. SHE'S JUST A LITTLE KID!!!!! WHY IS SHE TALKING LIKE THAT?!?!?!]

Pai.

[ Hei intones from behind the turned-up flap of his coat collar, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, a one-man Greek chorus. It sounds impatient, but his voice and manner aren't lacking warmth. However there's a wry warning there, too: No need to traumatize our unfortunate guest. Fighting a crooked smile, he thumps Korra on the back. Dust motes float silently in the sun's rays above them. The day is already at its zenith. It will be dark enough for him to go outside to the Underground in another two hours. But if Korra stays, it'll be two hours well-wasted. ]

[ When Korra's caught her breath, Hei raises his eyebrows with a little eyeroll -- not at her, or a Pai. The message that pulses between them is simple. Relax. She's always like this.. ]

[Why should Korra be traumatized? Oh, right. It's one of those stupid human things. Pai pushes away her empty plate for Hei to clean up later and stands.]

I'll be in my room. If you fuck on the couch, try not to break the armrest. [Yeah, she heard about that little fiasco. (Don't ask how.)

An eerie-sweet smile accompanies that warning; she gives Hei a quick kiss on the cheek, and then she's off to her bedroom.]

[THANKS A LOT, LITTLE SISTER. Korra had been just about to catch her breath with Pai dumped that bombshell and walked out the door. When she could finally breathe again, she glared at Hei.]

You told her?!?!?

[ Hei watches Pai flit away with a kiss, that acetate-sweet, insincere smile on her face. When Pai's door clicks shut upstairs, however, he sets his plate aside, gaze dulling into hardness behind its previously pleasant, absorbed expression. She's being a harpy, but it isn't her fault, really. She's practically clouded with an intense dislike of Korra -- with memories of Amber, and the bleak knowledge of her own loneliness in the City. Besides, she doesn't have all the facts about Korra. He's never told her the truth about who Korra once reminded him of. She knows little of the good, and thinks the bad exponentially worse than it is. Holds grudges because she fancies Korra is a replacement of the woman who once meant so much to her and Hei. ]

[ He will have to talk to her. Ask her, too, how she knows about the broken armrest incident. (Has she been reading his expense reports?) But later. Later. ]

[ At Korra's accusation, he gives her a vaguely blistering look. Rises and gathers up the dirty crockery, carrying them to the sink. ] She's curious by nature. What I don't tell her, she finds out herself. [ Rinsing the glasses, then the dishes, he stacks them in the washer. Shuts it with a tight, jerky motion, wiping his hands on a small towel. After a beat, he adds, ] Try not to be so reactive around her. Otherwise she'll try harder to get a rise out of you.

[Korra's heart clenches when his gaze dulls, and she wishes she hadn't said anything. Wishes she hadn't come. Nothing good happens when his eyes go flat.

She stands up, feeling too vulnerable seated.]

Maybe I should just go. [Kind of hard to feel sexy when he's gone cold and there's a teenager who hates her in another room.]

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