Every night Tarrlok combs out her hair. It's amazing how tangled she gets it, especially now that she's picking up airbending. She doesn't care herself until the next morning when she's trying to force it back into the ponytails, so he's started brushing it out for her every night before bed. When he starts, she's usually fidgeting with impatience, but he doesn't rush things. He takes the carved ivory comb he brought from the North Pole and settles on the bed with her sitting between his legs. He has to go carefully, close to the tips at first to work out the tangles. He runs through her hair with the comb held in one hand, then the fingers of his other.
No matter how restless she is at first, the rhythm is hypnotic. Before he's half done, she's leaning back against his chest as he words. She rests a hand on his leg and sighs with contentment as his fingers tenderly ease the tangles away. As his hands brush against her scalp she leans gently into the contact. When he reaches the side of her head she cranes her neck to look up at him and smiles in that way that makes his knees go weak. While he finishes his knuckles graze against her cheek and she reaches up to capture his hand, pressing her lips to it. The look in her eyes is unmistakable. Her hair is only to get tangled again, but he doesn't really mind.